Meredith, you could never be satisfied with such a wife as that,” she concluded, in a voice which shook with emotion. “No, Miss Gladstone,” he answered, sorrowfully. “I love you too fondly, too devotedly, to be content with anything save an affection as strong and true as my own. But,” with a note of earnest appeal in his tone, “could I not win you by and by? Could I not teach you to love me by proving to you that I am worthy of your love?” Star shook her head sadly. “I _know_ that you are worthy at this moment,” she said. “I have the deepest respect for you, and value you as a friend; but nothing—no one can ever win the love which I must always bear for Archibald Sherbrooke. He has broken my heart and ruined my life; for I can never be the wife of any worthy man, since I will not live a lie. I can never have a home of my own; I can never have those sweet domestic ties and duties which other women have; I can only try to do my duty by the dear old man who is so fond of me while he lives, and, after that, live out my lonely life with what patience and courage I can,” she concluded, with such a pathos that the young man for the moment forgot his own sorrow and disappointment in pity for her. “Where is he—where is this coward who has so imposed upon you, ruined your life, and proved faithless to his troth? Tell me, that I may go and brand him the knave and villain that he is!” Ralph Meredith cried, in hot indignation. “I do not know where he is,” Star answered. “I have never seen him since that night when I told him that I had discovered his treachery. That was nearly a year ago. I never expect to meet him again—I never _wish_ to meet him again. I desire to ignore him—at least, to all outward appearances; and if he possesses such an attribute as a conscience, his punishment must come sometime. But,” she went on, in a voice of pain, “I hope no one else will ever learn to love me, for I cannot endure the thought that I shall spoil other lives as mine has been spoilt. Oh, Mr. Meredith, I am sorry if I have unconsciously done you a wrong. Pray, forget me if you can, and——” “That I can never do,” he interrupted, gently, for he saw that she was deeply moved; “but I will try and be content if you will allow me still to be your friend.” “Thank you,” she returned, while she wiped the tears which were falling fast; “it will be a great comfort to me if you will permit me to regard you as such. I feared I should incur your contempt by the confession I have made to-night; but I could better endure that than that your future should be ruined by hoping against hope.” “Contempt!” he repeated, earnestly; “such a feeling I could never entertain for you; you have, instead, my deepest sympathy and respect. But if I ever meet and know the wretch who has played you false, let him beware; for I will surely make him repent most bitterly his treachery and baseness toward you,” he concluded, fiercely. A faint smile of scorn curled Star’s lips.