Mr. Compton said this very spiritedly, his fine face flushing with indignation, his lips curling with contempt, while he walked to the door of his office and held it open, with such an air of stern determination that Mrs. Richards did not dare to disregard this very emphatic invitation to take her departure, and she walked wrathfully, but utterly crushed by her bitter disappointment, from the room. CHAPTER XLIII. “GOD BLESS OUR STAR.” Yes, beautiful Star Gladstone was the heiress to Halowell Park, and all other property belonging to the late Sir Charles Thornton. Upon reaching home after her trip to California, which had been one of great enjoyment as well as profit, she resolved to settle down to a cozy, quiet life for the remainder of the winter, and make Uncle Jacob as comfortable as she possibly could. She was sitting in her own pretty room one morning, something as Mrs. Richards had sat in hers only a few weeks previous when she had discovered herself to be the heir to Halowell Park, but looking happy and smiling, instead of angry and discontented. She had brought a pile of music up there to sort and arrange, it having been upset by the house-maid while dusting, and as she was looking it over, she came upon an old newspaper that had got mixed in with it. She took it up as one often does, and ran her eye carelessly over its columns. It happened to be the very paper which contained the notice of Sir Charles Thornton’s death, and the advertisement for the next of kin. Star started as her eye caught that name. Then she went over both paragraphs carefully. “I do not believe but that he was the one of whom papa wrote in that package,” she murmured, thoughtfully. “It must be the same, for _he_ was the owner of Halowell Park of Devonshire. He was papa’s own nephew; there are no heirs, and—I wonder if I might not in some way be interested in this advertisement.” With heightened color she arose, and going to a drawer in her dressing-case, drew forth that worn portfolio which we have seen before on several occasions. Opening it, she took out those papers which she had read on the evening of her eighteenth birthday, and which had caused her so much agitation.