Of course I remembered Gretchen; but to meet her as my friend’s wife was quite another thing.  A few steps brought us to the door of a handsome establishment two centuries old, or more; the front frescoed, and the interior neat and orderly as a New England housewife’s.  The floor upon which we entered from the street was paved with a species of marble, black and white, diamond shaped, but too suggestive of cold to be altogether pleasing.  A broad, wooden staircase of a peculiar rich brown hue led to the parlor on the second floor.  The windows looking out into the mountain ranges were draped with ruby-colored damask; the floor was covered with a richly tufted carpet bordered with flowers, and sofas and easy chairs were temptingly arranged.  On a table in the centre of the room, and under an elaborately chased lamp, were implements for letter-writing, magazines, and newspapers.  Through the folding-doors we caught a glimpse of well-filled book-shelves, and a woman’s voice came floating out to the rich, mellow accompaniment of the piano.  There was the rustle of a silk dress.  I turned my head.

“This is my ambition,” said my friend, while a look of pride blended with the manly expression of his handsome face.

There stood Gretchen—­the Gretchen I had known ten years before; no longer the slight blushing girl, but mature in her beauty, a happy wife and mother; the same sweet smile on her lips, and her eye full of gushing gladness as she welcomed me to her home.

The fire was blazing cheerily, and we three talking of the old times, with hardly a thought of the broken links between.

“The college is still the same,” said my friend, “with the high cupola and long galleries.  Gretchen and I visited it last summer; there were few that we knew, and many of the professors have slipped away.  Gretchen’s father was one of these.  We missed him in his quiet home, and above all, in the old church.  A man with dark hair and black flashing eyes stood in his place—­a learned, man, but wanting in the inward fire, the simple eloquence of the old man we used to love.  After service, I strolled past the college buildings, and tried to trace the names we cut on the old beeches, but they were all overgrown.”

“I know nothing that brings home to the heart so quickly the consciousness of increasing years, as to find those whom we used to look upon as children grown to maturity, taking upon themselves the care and responsibility of life.  Here is Gretchen; a deeper bloom upon her cheek, and her eye sparkling with a higher pride.”

“Just as mid-day is brighter than the morning,” said my friend.

Down the hall came the pattering of little feet, and the nurse entered with two stout boys and a lovely girl, a second Gretchen, the same roguish blue eyes, and golden hair rippling away from her white forehead: 

“These are my hopes,” said the father, and a smile curled his lip, amid, his eye filled with tenderness as he glanced at Gretchen’s face.  Lingering over the tea-table where Gretchen presided with more than youthful grace, we talked not only of the past, but of present work and life.