The band played its softest, sweetest strains; the leaves rustled whisperingly above their heads, suggestive of lovers’ vows; they were almost alone in the beautiful, moonlighted avenue, and everything was conducive to love-making, if his lordship had only been so inclined. Soon they came out by a fountain where the lights were shining brilliantly, and he led her to a rustic seat, placed her in it, and sat down beside her. “I shall be very sorry to go,” Josephine said, with a pensive sigh, as she looked around on the lovely scene; “it has been very pleasant here this summer.” “It has, indeed, and I shall carry the memory of it with me for a long while,” her companion replied. “You have some very beautiful places of resort in your country, Miss Richards. You and your mother have made my sojourn at Long Branch more than pleasant. Since learning that you have English blood in your veins, I have grown to regard you almost as my own people; and sometimes,” he added, smiling, “I have felt as if I might be intruding myself too much upon you; but I trust I shall be able to return some of your kindness when you come to England.” Josephine’s heart sank like lead in her bosom. These were surely very commonplace words to speak to her on the eve of her departure, if he entertained anything of affection for her. “It would be a great delight to me to visit England,” she returned; “and you have told me so much about your beautiful home—your mother and sister—that I have a great desire to see both it and them.” “You must come to Cheshire Park—my mother’s and sister’s home. Next year I shall hope to show it to you,” he said, earnestly. Did he mean that he hoped she would go there with him, or was it merely a wish that she would visit England, that he might be able to return some of the courtesies which she and her mother had shown him? She could not tell, but hope seemed deserting her; her heart beat heavily, she grew pale and sad, and a slight shiver shook her. He noticed it. “You are taking cold, I fear; we ought not to sit here in this evening air.” “No, I am not taking cold; I will tie my handkerchief around my throat, however,” she answered. It was so pleasant sitting there beside him, so pleasant to listen to his rich, deep voice and look into his clear brown eyes, that she could not bear to think of going back to the hotel just yet. She tied her handkerchief about her white throat, and as she did so, the light struck full upon a ring which he had not seen her wear before. It was a lovely cameo, very delicately cut. It was Star’s little treasure, the gift of Archibald Sherbrooke. “Pardon me,” Lord Carrol said, with a slight start as he observed it, “but you have a ring on your hand that I have never seen you wear before. It is very lovely. May I examine it more closely?” Josephine unhesitatingly laid her hand on his palm, her whole body thrilling as his fingers closed over it, and he bent his proud head to examine the ring.