She leaned out to look as the spirited horses were reined in before the porch, and the sound of laughter and gay voices came floating up to her ears.
A tall, darkly clad figure sprang out and held forth a hand to assist Josephine to alight; but a massive post was in the way, and she could not see his face. Mr. Richards followed the young people, and they all passed up the steps together.
It was a pretty picture that she looked down upon, for now she could see all that transpired. Mrs. Richards, handsome as any queen in her elegant black silk dress and duchesse laces, her diamonds gleaming like drops of dew in a moonlit night; Josephine, bright and sparkling in an elaborate street dress, with her jaunty hat and bright plumes, standing proudly beside the finely formed young man as he exchanged greetings with her mother; and Mr. Richards, stout and comely, a perfect pattern of the hospitable host, with his good-natured face, which was expressive of a most cordial welcome.
But Star had grown suddenly pale as snow, and caught her breath convulsively, as a clear, manly laugh rang out on the air at some jest of Josephine’s, and then the stranger turned, hat in hand, having made his bow to his hostess, to speak to Mr. Richards, and thus she could look directly into his face.
There was a look of horror in her eyes as they were fastened upon that handsome face, her lips were drawn and pinched, and the pain that was clutching at her heart betrayed itself in a low, sobbing moan.
There was no mistake—although she could scarcely credit her own senses—she knew that dark, chestnut-crowned head, that handsome, smiling face, that straight, stalwart form but too well, even though a cruel mist was creeping up before her eyes to hide him from her sight. She knew that clear, ringing voice, even though the roaring sound in her ears seemed striving to drown it. Josephine’s guest—her accepted lover she had tried to make it appear—the titled stranger, Lord Carrol, of Carrolton, was no other than her betrothed, Archibald Sherbrooke!
CHAPTER XVII.
“WHY HAS HE DONE THIS THING?”
What could this strange thing mean? What was Archibald Sherbrooke—the man who, two days before, had told her that he loved her and no other—doing there in that character of Lord Carrol? Why was he there, laughing, chatting, and exchanging greetings in that familiar way with Mrs. Richards and her family?
Star’s heart nearly ceased its beating; she grew faint, giddy, and absolutely soul-sick. Her face paled until it was as white as those cold, waxen berries at her throat; her very life-blood seemed to be congealing.
What could it mean?