“Good-night!” he said, abruptly, and rising, led her to the door.
When he reached it, he bent suddenly down and touched her forehead with his lips; and Star, with a low-spoken “good-night,” went away with a sorely aching heart, indeed, but greatly comforted by his sympathy, while a spirit of submission had succeeded to the bitterness and rebellion of the previous hour.
Jacob Rosevelt locked the door after her, and went back to the table where he had been sitting when she came to him.
Opening the drawer, he took out a package of papers and letters, which he carefully looked over.
When he had read them all, he selected a portion, tore them into atoms, and throwing them into the grate where there was a slow fire, watched them until they had burned to ashes, with a white, stern face. Then he sat down again, and wrote far into the night.
The next morning when Mrs. Blunt went up to see how Star was feeling, and if she had any appetite for her breakfast, she found her room empty.
“Goodness gracious! the child has got up and gone to school, and without a mouthful to stay her stomach, or I’m much mistaken,” she said, in a voice of dismay.
Then, as her eye fell upon the open drawers of the bureau and the empty closet, a sudden fear oppressed her.
A little note lying upon the bed now attracted her attention, and she eagerly pounced upon it.
It was directed to her, and with trembling fingers she opened it, and read: