An hour later, while Star was busily practicing, she stole slyly into her room and pounced greedily upon the coveted little treasure, which was stuck into a dainty pincushion made of bits of silk and covered with an embroidered lace tidy, all the work of the little maiden’s skillful fingers. “I was _bound_ to have it,” the unprincipled girl said, triumphantly, as she examined it closely. “It is lovely; the most delicately carved cameo that I ever saw, and, for a little thing, must have cost no mean sum. Ah! it is marked on the back of the setting,” she continued, turning it over. “A. S. and two tiny strawberry leaves underneath. I wonder who ‘A. S.’ is, or—was? What a lovely ring it would make.” She lifted the skirt to her basque and deliberately pinned it upon the lining, an evil look in her brilliant eyes. “I’ll capture it for awhile, just to torment her for her presumption in trying to outshine me before papa the other day. The little minx! she is altogether too high-headed and airy to suit me.” This important matter disposed of, she began to look about Star’s room with some curiosity. To begin with, it was exquisitely neat and clean, and the utmost had been made of the small and meagerly furnished apartment. A sheet had been ripped in halves, gathered across the one window, and then looped on either side with broad bands and bows of light blue cambric. A corner bracket, brought to light from among some rubbish in the store-room, had been covered with blue cambric, and over this hung a daintily ruffled curtain of dotted muslin, while upon the shelf were arranged Star’s few books and a small vase filled with flowers. This last-mentioned object had been a gift from Mrs. Blunt at Christmas—her only remembrance on that day. The small table was covered with a spotless towel having a blue border—more of Mrs. Blunt’s thoughtfulness—and there was a bright strip of carpeting before the bed, which was covered with a cheap but immaculate spread. Upon the bureau another towel was laid, and on this Star’s few toilet articles were arranged with the utmost care. Josephine opened and curiously peeped into the drawers. In one there was a very limited supply of clean, neatly folded clothing; in another two or three handkerchiefs, as many collars, a ribbon or two, a small wooden box which was locked, and a worn portfolio—another trophy from the store-room—which was also locked and no key visible. “I wonder what is in this?” Josephine said, taking up the box and shaking it, to ascertain, if possible, its contents. They appeared to be somewhat heavy, and to be wrapped about with cotton or a napkin, and she was forced to put it down, her curiosity ungratified. It was the same with the portfolio, and, with a frown of disappointment, she returned this also to its place.