“I can die for her; but I cannot betray her. I can live dishonored for her sake; but I cannot consign her memory to reproach,” said the devoted daughter to her own bleeding and despairing heart. “Margaret, can you explain the meaning of these letters, these meetings in the woods, on the river, in your own chamber?” “Alas! I cannot. I can only endure,” she moaned, in a voice replete with misery, as her head sunk lower upon her breast, and her form cowered nearer the ground, as if crushed by the insupportable weight of humiliation. It was not in erring human wisdom to look upon her thus, to listen to her words, and not believe her a fallen angel! And yet she was innocent. More than innocent. Devoted, heroic, holy. But, notwithstanding this, and her secret consciousness of this, how could she--in her tender youth, with her maiden delicacy and sensitiveness to reproach--how could she stand in this baleful position, and not appear overwhelmed by guilt and shame? There was a dread pause of some minutes, broken at length by Ralph, who said: “Margaret, will you return me that betrothal ring?” She answered: “You placed it on my finger, Ralph! Will you also take it off? I was passive then; I will be passive now.” Ralph raised the pale hand in his own and tried to draw off the ring. But since, three years before, the token had been placed upon the little hand of the child, that hand had grown, and it was found impossible to draw the ring over the first joint. Ralph Houston, unwilling to give her physical pain, resisted in his efforts, saying quietly, as he bowed and left her: “The betrothal ring refuses to leave your finger, Margaret. Well, good-morning!” A smile, holy with the light of faith, hope, and love, dawned within her soul and irradiated her brow. In a voice, solemn, thrilling with prophetic joy, she said: “The ring remains with me! I hail it as the bow of promise! In this black tempest, the one shining star!” CHAPTER XV. NIGHT AND ITS ONE STAR. Two years had elapsed since the disappearance of Margaret Helmstedt. Major Helmstedt had caused secret investigations to be set on foot, that had resulted in demonstrating, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Margaret Helmstedt and William Dawson had embarked as passengers on board the bark _Amphytrite_, bound from Norfolk to Liverpool. From the day upon which this fact was ascertained, Margaret’s name was tacitly dropped by all her acquaintances. It was about twelve months after the disappearance of Margaret that old Mr. Wellworth died, and his orphan daughter Grace found a refuge in the home of Nellie Houston. Ralph Houston was then at home, considering himself quite released by circumstances from his rash vow of forsaking his father’s house. Grace, the weak-hearted little creature, permitted herself to mistake all Ralph’s brotherly kindness for a warmer affection, and to fall incontinently in love with him.