“You must have met Mr. Rosevelt also,” he added, as it came to him that Star and his wife’s uncle had shared that dreadful experience at sea. “Yes; and I think him a fine old gentleman. I must see him also to-morrow,” his lordship returned; and then he went on to explain more fully how he had made the acquaintance of these two unfortunates, and described their sufferings and hardships so graphically that his listener, who did not know onehalf, was deeply moved. “Miss Gladstone was considered quite a heroine on board our steamer after her rescue,” the young man said, “when the passengers learned with how much fortitude she had conducted herself during the disaster and the dreadful events following. The captain told me, with tears running down his cheeks, how she had denied herself both food and drink in order that the life of Mr. Rosevelt, who, she declared, had less vitality than herself on account of his age, might be sustained. She did not even take the rest which she needed, but watched and worked over him unceasingly—in fact, she _saved his life_.” “She is a noble girl—she is a splendid girl!” Mr. Richards returned, tears in his own eyes, and his heart full of remorse over the life Star had led since she came into his house. “She will make you the best little wife in the world. God bless you both!” Lord Carrol saw that he was sincere, and began to suspect where all the trouble lay regarding Star. He was inclined to think, and rightly, that jealousy or ill-will on the part of the petted Josephine and her proud mother was the cause of her unpleasant position in the family; but he inwardly resolved that it should be entirely different in the future, or she should not remain there. But he had been absent a long time from the gay company in the drawing-room, and, feeling assured that he could not see his darling that night, he returned to it, trying to wait with patience for what the morrow would bring him. CHAPTER XIX. MALICIOUS FALSEHOODS. As soon as Mr. Richards and his distinguished guest left the music-room, a white hand parted the curtains from the window, and a blanched, distorted face appeared in the aperture. It belonged to Mrs. Richards, who had, as before mentioned, been a listener to all that had transpired. Seeing that no one was in sight, she stepped softly inside, for the window was a long one, reaching to the floor, and sank back into a chair, the picture of a woman whom a fierce passion had exhausted. She had chanced to be out upon the veranda when Lord Carrol had entered the music-room and requested a “few moments’ conversation” with her husband, and feeling, with a thrill of delight, that the most important moment of Josephine’s life had come, she drew near to listen, as she supposed, to his lordship’s proposal for her hand.