Star thanked him with her brightest smile for his praise, and then left him with a light heart; and when she reached the place appointed as the rendezvous by Mr. Rosevelt and Mr. Sherbrooke, this latter gentleman also thought her the fairest object he had ever seen, and knew that, as he clasped her small hand, his eyes were betraying that old, old story of which his heart was so full. The sail down the river was even more charming than they had anticipated. The day was perfect, the air being just cool enough to be exhilarating, while our trio of friends were in a mood to enjoy everything in the way of pleasure that might present itself. They reached the island about noon, when Mr. Sherbrooke, ordering a carriage, they drove directly to Manhattan Beach Hotel, where they partook of a sumptuous dinner, and thus fortified, sallied forth to enjoy the beauties and attractions all about them. A couple of hours were spent in visiting the different objects of interest, and then Mr. Rosevelt said that he should be obliged to give up and take a rest. So Mr. Sherbrooke ordered a room for him at the hotel, and he went to “take a nap,” while the young man, with a feeling of exultation that now he should have Star all to himself, took a carriage for a long drive upon the beach. For miles and miles they drove over the smooth, hard road, both in their happiest mood, and giving themselves up to the enjoyment of the hour. Every moment spent in Star’s society only served to entangle our young English friend more securely in the meshes of love’s net; while she began to realize that the world would never be quite the same again to her when he should be gone and no prospect of their meeting again. “He is going away next week,” she kept saying again and again to herself, while a chill pain gnawed at her heart. “How can I bear to have him go, and feel that I may never see him again? Oh, England, my home! my home! would that I also could go back to you!” So intense was her longing for her home, so keenly did she regret this parting, which she felt was inevitable, that the tears sprang into her eyes, and a deep sigh came welling up from her burdened heart. “Miss Star, why that doleful sigh?” exclaimed Archibald Sherbrooke, in surprise. Star started, and looking up, found her companion’s eyes fixed upon her with grave questioning. She colored vividly, fearing he had read something of her thoughts. “Did I sigh?” she asked, evasively. “Yes; and I did not like the sound of it, either. Are you tired of driving? Shall we go back and try something else?” he asked, only anxious to give her pleasure. “Oh, no; this is delightful,” she answered, quietly. “I fear I have been guilty of rudeness if I have given you the impression that I am not enjoying every moment of this lovely day. Do you know, Mr. Sherbrooke,” she asked, with a smile that had a tinge of sadness in it, “that I am indebted to you for the only real holiday that I have had since I came to America?”