He smiled skeptically as she planned so hopefully what her poor hundred pounds would do, while a tear started to his eye at her thought for him. She saw that he did not think she could do all that she told him, and flushed. “You do not believe that I shall be able to take care of us both,” she said, eagerly, “but I know that I can, for I have not yet told you all. Listen.” She bent nearer to him, and putting her lips close to his ear, told him something which even you and I must not know just yet, my patient reader. He was nearly as much surprised as he had been to learn of Archibald Sherbrooke’s treachery. “My dear,” he said, while his face lighted with pride and joy, “you shall have your way, and I will do just as you wish, and I——” He checked himself suddenly, dropped his head in thought for a moment, then resumed: “I am not happy here any more than yourself, and have been thinking for some time that I must go away; but I could not bear the thought of parting from you. Now we will go together, as you wish, unless——” “Unless what, Uncle Jacob?” Star asked, anxiously. “Unless you will let me see this young scamp of a lord, and take him to task for his faithlessness to you.” “Never!” Star replied, proudly. “What good would it do to——” “There _may_ be some mistake; he might be able to explain everything satisfactorily,” interrupted Mr. Rosevelt. Star’s beautiful lips curled. “What would his explanations amount to? He is here as a suitor for Josephine’s hand—they all confess it; and did you ever listen to a more monstrous story than Mrs. Richards repeated here to-night? To think that he could say anything so basely false of me is almost enough to drive me wild,” Star cried, excitedly. “No, Uncle Jacob; although he has been guilty of the most cruel treachery, I will not contend with him. If he is such a craven that he would try to win a young girl’s heart for the amusement of breaking it, and then seek to blight her fair fame by charging her with what he has imputed to me to-night, he is too far beneath me to be worthy of anything save my supreme contempt, and I never wish to meet him again. I only want to get away from them _all_, and never see their faces more.” Her voice broke with such a wail of despair in it that the old man could not find it in his heart to refuse her anything. “Very well; we will go away to-morrow,” he said, sorrowfully. “Oh, thank you, Uncle Jacob!” the unhappy girl said, eagerly; “and will you go without letting them know? They would never consent, and I do not wish them even to know where I go.” “Yes; we will go without saying anything to any one. We can leave a note telling them why we go, and it shall be the object of the little time that remains to me to care for you and try to make your young life a little brighter than it has been,” he returned, thoughtfully. “How early can you be ready?” he asked, after a moment.