There was not an atom of gratitude in her heart toward Star for having done this heroic deed—no softening, no sense of sorrow or repentance for her own unkindness in the past, or for the insult which she had only that day offered her; there was only a sense of triumph that she herself was safe, no matter how or at whose risk. When they came, bringing Star back—for she was still too weak to walk—to the spot where they had all gathered so gay and thoughtless that morning, there was a look of sadness and sympathy in every countenance save those of Mrs. Richards and her daughter, who stole away by themselves, jealous of the interest and concern manifested by the whole company for the object of their hatred. When Star found that Josephine had kept the facts of the encounter with the mad dog to herself, simply stating that Miss Gladstone had been attacked by it, she also appeared very reluctant to converse about it, and as the subject seemed to excite her, no one felt disposed to press her with questions. The gentleman who owned the dog sent to his home for his carriage to have her conveyed to the steamer, although she had smilingly affirmed that she should be “able to walk with the help of Uncle Jacob’s arm.” Upon reaching the boat they improvised a couch for her on deck, as she objected going into the saloon, and by resting quietly during the two hours’ sail, she seemed almost like herself, save her unusual pallor, when the vessel touched the pier at Newport. A carriage was here procured, and she was driven, with Mr. Rosevelt, Miss Meredith, and her brother, to her hotel. Grace insisted upon remaining through the night with her. “You are not fit to be left alone, and—I _want_ to stay,” she pleaded, as Star hesitated about accepting her offer. So the two young girls passed the night together, and Star, growing confidential, and feeling that some explanation regarding Josephine’s insulting remarks that morning was due her friend, told her much concerning her life, and how it had happened that she was at one time an inmate of Mrs. Richards’ family; also relating the events that had transpired since she and Mr. Rosevelt left them, and how she had rescued Josephine from the mad dog. Star was really ill from nervous prostration the next day, and obliged to keep her room; but Miss Meredith regaled curious ears with the whole story of Josephine Richards’ danger and Star’s courageous defense of her, and all Newport did indeed “ring” even as she had hoped. Enough could not be said in admiration of the brave girl, while scorn and contempt were freely expressed for the recipients of so much heroism for refusing to acknowledge their indebtedness, and awarding her the commendation she deserved. Mr. Rosevelt was even more unnerved, when he learned the truth, than he had been the previous day. He came to her room, wan and haggard, after talking with Miss Meredith, and sank, weak and trembling, into a chair at her side.