Taffy, pulling on the rope, looked down upon Honoria’s upturned face and saw the glimmer of starlight in her eyes; but neither guessed her thoughts nor tried to.
It was only when they stood together on the cliff-side that she broke the silence. “Look,” she said, and pointed upward. “Does that remind you of anything?”
He searched his memory. “No,” he confessed: “that is, if you mean Cassiopeia up yonder.”
“Think!—the Ship of Stars.”
“The Ship of Stars?—Yes, I remember now. There was a young sailor— with a ship of stars tattooed on his chest. He was drowned on this very coast.”
“Was that a part of the story you were to tell me?”
“What story? I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you remember that day—the morning when we began lessons together? You explained the alphabet to me, and when we came to W— you said it was a ship—a ship of stars. There was a story about it, you said, and promised to tell me some day.”
He laughed. “What queer things you remember!”
“But what was the story?”