The first of the week following the events just related, Mrs. Richards and her daughter were suddenly “recalled to Brooklyn.”
Newport had become, as Miss Meredith had prophesied, “too hot for them.”
They were gone almost before any one knew that they contemplated going; and, it must be confessed, that it was a great relief to both Star and Mr. Rosevelt when they learned of their flitting, and knew they would be obliged to meet them no more.
Star had recovered her usual health and strength, but she had suffered such a shock that she could not meet or see a dog without a feeling of fear and an almost overpowering weakness, and she never entirely outgrew this feeling during her life.
She had seemed unusually thoughtful, too, since the event. Most people, noticing it, thought it but natural, considering the fearful danger she had been in, but Star had a very different reason for it.
The moment she had returned to consciousness and found herself in Ralph Meredith’s arms, seen his agonized looks, heard his tones of fear, realized the passionate, though trembling clasp in which she was held, the terrible throbbings of his heart as she lay against it, and noted the quiver of his pale lips as he hung over her and begged her to assure him that she was unharmed, she knew that he was no longer what she had hitherto regarded him—merely a kind and congenial friend.
Those signs she had interpreted in a way to make her feel very grave and deeply troubled.
She felt that he regarded her with feelings which she knew it would be impossible for her ever to return, and she feared he was cherishing hopes which, if not “nipped in the bud,” might ruin his whole life.
His every look and act since that day had told her as plainly as words could have done that he loved her, and she was constantly trying to think of some way to make him discover how hopeless his passion was without bringing matters to a crisis.
But this was not to be.