It appeared that he had not been notified of her arrival—Mrs. Richards had not considered it necessary to speak of the welfare of one whom she intended to make her servant. They had been anxious on her account! _He_ might have experienced some uneasiness concerning her; his kind eyes and pleasant face seemed to indicate a good heart; but the other members of his family, she judged, would not have grieved so very much if she had really gone to the bottom of the ocean, as they feared she had. “I arrived the day before yesterday—Tuesday,” she said, somewhat coldly, in reply to his question. “Ah! I was in Chicago that day—reached home last night. You’ve had a pretty hard time, little girl, haven’t you?” “Yes, sir,” Star returned, wondering if he had any idea _how_ hard, while the tears rushed unbidden to her eyes at his kind tone. “I never expected to see land again,” she added, trying hard to suppress a sob, as she thought she would almost rather have died than come among such cold-hearted people as her mother’s cousin’s family appeared to be. “Well, well, you are safe now, thank Heaven, and you must try to be as happy as possible with us,” Mr. Richards said, still more kindly as he remarked her agitation. Star lifted her great eyes to his with a look of surprise. Could it be possible that he did not know the position she was destined to occupy in his household? It certainly appeared so, for he was looking down upon her with admiration and even something of affection. “Thank you, sir; you are very kind,” she said, with a sigh, as she turned sadly away and left him. CHAPTER VI. STELLA’S APPEAL. Star went down to the housekeeper’s room after her encounter with Mr. Richards, and ate her breakfast in a very thoughtful mood. Mrs. Blunt watched her curiously, and with a troubled expression on her honest face. “Child, if you don’t eat more you’ll die, or I’m much mistaken,” and she deftly slipped a dainty slice of buttered toast on her plate as she spoke. “Thank you, Mrs. Blunt, but I believe I am not very hungry this morning,” she returned, with a smile. “I should think not, indeed, nor at any other time. You haven’t eaten a ‘square meal’ since you came into this house,” the good woman said, with an injured air. Star was too deeply occupied to heed it, and finishing her coffee in silence, arose and proceeded slowly up stairs to the sewing-room, intending to finish her other dress that morning. There was a look of resolution on her young face; her eyes gleamed with a new purpose. “I will do it,” she murmured, as she stood thoughtfully outside the door a moment, one small hand resting upon the knob. “I may as well make a bold stroke for myself at once, or I shall sink into nothingness. I _must_ have an education; I cannot—I _will_ not grow up ignorant, and have poor papa’s kind care in the past all go for nothing.” She turned the handle of the door and passed into the room.