He longed to take her in his arms and draw her to his heart, and kiss the lips that had promised him the greatest joy he had ever known; but there were other carriages near, and curious eyes all about them; so he could only clasp that small hand more fondly, and murmur low and tender words to tell of the deep, true love of which his heart was full.
“You shall indeed go back to England now, my darling,” he said, “but never to teach. You shall remain here until you have completed your course of study if you wish; then I shall come, before this time next year, and take you to my—our home. I shall return with a happy heart now, for I shall have an object to work for and something to look forward to. Ah, my dear, my dear, do you realize what is in store for us?—a long life of joy and love together, with brightest hopes and congenial tastes. Star, my beloved—my star, indeed!”
Who can wonder that she gave herself up to the bliss of loving and being loved, when wooed in this tender manner?
Who could chide this heart-hungry maiden, who had been starving for affection and sympathy, for feeling that she had never known happiness before?
And she loved him with all her soul. He had won all the passion of her young heart, and she gave herself up to him wholly, unreservedly, trusting him without a suspicion or thought that he could be anything save truth and honor itself.
Twilight was beginning to gather when they returned to the hotel where they had left Mr. Rosevelt, but it was not yet so dark but that that gentleman remarked the glorified expression of the young man’s face, and the brilliant light which gleamed in Star’s radiant eyes.
“May I tell our dear old friend, Star?” Archibald Sherbrooke whispered, as he assisted her to alight from the carriage.
She started, and grew crimson.
“Oh, Mr. Sherbrooke, not to-night, please.”
“To whom are you speaking, my Star?” he interrupted, with assumed sternness and reproach.