“He thinks he can improve the little sinful elves,” said Roy. “It gives him something to preach to!” The world was nearing. The meteorite must be launched. With tears, Isabella bade Father Renaudin an everlasting farewell. “We shall not meet even in Heaven, for you will not get there for ages!” she sobbed. But the angel folded them away and they whirled out into space. “Father Renaudin must not return!” said the angel. “He has lived long past his allotted days. He is a dead man on the Earth!” They flew much swifter than Earth or star. They swung into the clouds of a storm on Earth and, in a moment, were upon the height where they had been thirty-three years and four months before. “Look!” cried Isabella. The two looked at the angel. In the storm, dark on the Hermit’s Hill, there stood no angel! A bent, feeble, blind old man was there! Gregg Dempster! “Two days to find Rondah!” he said to Regan. “Isabella, Roy, farewell! Be happy on Earth! Know the star was never for you! The star is for Rondah!” CHAPTER XIV. “HE HAS DONE THIS!” Where was Rondah? All these years she had remained in one place. Her grandmother died and Rondah fell heir to the home and the hidden stores of wealth which only she knew about. She had been so fortunate as to be left to enjoy these treasures in her own way. She cared for but few things in life. Her hope was in a star, lost to view somewhere on high. Flowers and sun were her treasures. Silver and gold were piled in her cabinets. Brocades and velvets and laces and jewels were hers, her possession of which no one knew. She had no friend save her hope. Around her, her girl acquaintances grew old and left her. Rondah saw that no change of age came upon her. As years rolled on she realized that some unnatural influence was keeping her face the face of a child. By the work of years she should be gray-haired and wrinkled. “If it is so that the star comes back, Regan will come for me! I know he will come! I know he will come!” As it came evening time in the last year, Rondah grew impatient with suspense and longing. Those who noticed her at all, said: “Rondah watches for the Hermit’s star. She does not know that it will not strike in the same place this time!” But they were gentle people. No one cared to tell Rondah this. One night, when storm-clouds had been darkening the sky, Rondah, waiting with a tumult of fear and hope which made her heart beat like a hammer, mused sadly by her fire. It was splendid about her, but it was lonely splendor.