A streak of dusky red shot across the man’s forehead, while his veins filled out hard and full.
“Star,” he stammered, “what do you mean?—what do you know?”
“You know what I mean. I read it in your eyes, I heard it in the tones of your voice this morning. But, oh! my friend,” and her voice was full of tears, “remember that you are ‘bought with a price’—you are not your own. Promise me.”
He raised her hands and kissed them reverently, and two hot tears rolled over his cheeks and dropped upon them in the act.
“I promise,” he whispered, hoarsely. “My child, I should indeed have been ruined, body and soul, but for you. God bless you!”
Star and Mr. Rosevelt followed him to the door as he went out, both trying to cheer him with kind wishes for the future.
“Good-night and good-by,” the young girl said, in tones that sounded to him like an angel’s voice, as she stood in the door-way and watched him go down the steps. “Be sure to come and see us again when we return; the latch-string is always out, as they say at the West, for our friends.”
A mighty sob burst from the overcharged heart of George Richards as he reached the street, and the tears—tears of mingled remorse, gratitude, and relief—rolled thick and fast over his face.
“Thank God,” he murmured, fervently, “for the light of that ‘star’ in the midst of what was worse than Stygian darkness. But for its friendly beams and cheering influence, I should have been lost indeed.”
He had proceeded some distance, when he stopped short and seemed about to retrace his steps.