“It is well that I do love her,” she said, tearfully, to Vivien, when the grand wedding was over, the guests all gone, and they were left by themselves, “if I must lose you, as I expect to, before very long; but if I had searched the world over I could not have found a fairer, sweeter wife for my son. Heaven bless our Star! She bids fair to prove a guiding light in Archie’s home.” CHAPTER XLIV. FAITH’S TRIUMPH. “Star!” “Yes, Uncle Jacob.” “The night has almost come.” “The _dawn_, you mean, dear; do not call it night, for truly I believe it is the break of day for you.” “You are right; I should not call it night. But always remember, dear, and let the thought comfort you when you come to miss me, that _your_ hand has guided me through the darkness, pointing me ever toward the light of a better world.” The speaker paused, for he was very weak. Jacob Rosevelt lay upon a luxurious couch in an elegant apartment of Lady Star Carrol’s beautiful home, and looking his last upon earth. Everything that wealth, and love, and care could do had been done for the dear old man whom she loved so fondly; but now, after three years of such peace and content as once he had never thought to enjoy, he was dying. Star, who, in a spotless white wrapper, sits beside him, has grown a trifle matronly in her appearance, a little rounded and fuller in figure, and there is something more of dignity in her bearing; but she has the same star-like beauty—she is not one whit less lovely or less deserving of her name than when we last saw her on her bridal morn. A year of almost unalloyed happiness passed after that event, and then there was born a fine heir to the Carrol estate—a boy, of whom his father was very proud, and who at once became the pet and pride of the whole household. Uncle Jacob, with this little one folded within his arms, or sitting crowing upon his knee, with Star fondly attentive to his every want, and Lord Carrol to lean upon in his old age, felt as if he had attained as nearly to perfect happiness as any one could do in this world. But during the third year after their marriage he had gradually but surely failed, until, to the great grief of all, they were obliged to acknowledge that he had not long to live. This was the first great sorrow of Star’s wedded life; but she strove to bear it cheerfully, at least in Mr. Rosevelt’s presence, resolving that no mourning or repining should cloud the little time that remained to him to live—that there should be nothing but peace, and a looking forward to the great change as simply the sweeping aside of a misty vail and an entrance into something more blessed and beautiful than earth could give. Now the crisis had come, and the old man, his wan face turned toward the fading light of a glorious day, felt that his strength and senses were slipping away from him, and told the constant watcher by his side that the “night had come.”