It was very late when the stately ship rolled slowly up to her pier, too late for the customs officers to visit her that night, and the impatient passengers were forced to wait until morning to appear before them and undergo that much dreaded ordeal of taking oath upon their possessions, dutiable or otherwise. But early the next morning the hurry and bustle began, and there was the usual rush to claim baggage and get away as soon as possible from the place where they had spent so many monotonous days. Star had no baggage to claim, and, not knowing what else to do, she sat still in the saloon and waited, watching the departing people with mingled feelings of curiosity and sadness. Mr. Rosevelt had told her not to be anxious about her own fate, for he should see that she was kindly cared for, and if her friends did not come for her, he would provide for her until they could advertise her arrival in the papers. It was unfortunate, he said, that she lost their address, since it would be liable to cause something of a delay in reaching her destination. So, while he went to arrange some little matter with the captain, she sat and watched the hurrying crowd. Archibald Sherbrooke came to seek her there, and found her alone. “I’m off!” he said, with animation. “I’ve got through with the customs, and have come to wish you good-by. Mr. Rosevelt says he is going to take care of you. I hope everything will come out right for you, Miss Star, and that you’ll find a pleasant home with your friends. I’m very sorry that you’ve lost their address, for I’d call and see you before I go back to England if I knew where to find you. I trust, however, that we shall meet again, sometime; and—will you please always consider me your friend?” He placed a card in her hand as he spoke, and she saw that his address was written upon it. “Thank you,” she said, with a rising flush. “I shall never forget you, for you have been very kind to me. But wait—I nearly forgot to give you your pin,” she concluded, suddenly remembering that she still had it, and she took the beautiful cameo head from her shawl and held it out to him. “Please keep it as a souvenir,” he said, gently, adding: “And I wish you had something to give me in exchange.” “I’ve lost everything, you know. I could give you naught but a ‘tress of my yellow hair,’” Star said, with a light laugh, and lifting the heavy braid which lay over her shoulder with a look of mock dismay. “Oh, _would_ you?” he asked, eagerly, and taking her literally at her word. “It would be but a poor return for this lovely cameo,” she answered, flushing beneath his eager glance. “No, indeed, it would not,” he returned, earnestly. “May I have just a lock of its shining gold, please, Miss Star?” and his fingers touched the massive braid almost tenderly. “I have nothing with which to cut it off, and—I’m afraid it would be very foolish,” she said, with drooping eyes, but a quickly beating heart.