“Such a lovely little girl!” said the lady. “Her hair was dark, but her eyes were like yours, Star, blue and soft. We played together always as children, and we grew up together, two loving, happy girls. Then my sister married: and by and by, dear, she had a little baby. A sweet little girl baby, and she named it Isabel, after me.”
“I was a little girl baby, too,” said Star, “but I wasn't named anything; I came so: just Star.”
“Little Isabel had another name,” said the lady. “Her other name was Maynard, because that was her father's name. Her father was Hugh Maynard. Have you ever seen or heard that name, my child?”
Star shook her head. “No!” she said; “my poor papa's name was H. M. It was marked on his shirt and han'k'chief, Daddy says. And my poor mamma's name was Helena, just like Helena in 'Midsummer Night's Dream.'” The motherly hand trembled, and the lady's voice faltered as she said, “Star, my dear sister's name was Helena, too. Is not that strange, my little one?”
The child looked curiously at her. “Where is your dear sister?” she asked. “Why do you cry when you say her name? is she naughty?”
“Listen, Star,” said the lady, wiping the tears from her eyes, and striving to speak composedly.
“My sister made a voyage to Europe, with her husband and her little baby. They spent the summer travelling in beautiful countries; and in the autumn, in September, Star, ten years ago this very year,—think of it, my dear!—they sailed for home. They came in a sailing-vessel, because the sea-voyage was thought good for your—for my sister. And—and—the vessel was never heard from. There was a terrible storm and many vessels were lost in it.”
“Just like my poor mamma's ship,” said the child. “Perhaps it was the same storm. Do you think—why do you look at me so?” she cried, breaking off suddenly.
But the lady put both arms round her and drew her close, close, while her tears fell fast on the golden hair. “My darling!” she cried, “my dear, dear little one! It was the same storm; the same storm and the same ship. Your poor mamma was my own sweet sister Helena, and you are my niece, my little Isabel, my own, own little namesake. Will you love me, darling? will you love your Aunt Isabel, and let her care for you and cherish you as your sweet mother would have done?”
Star stood very still, neither returning nor repelling the lady's caresses. She was pale, and her breath came short and quick, but otherwise she showed no sign of agitation. Presently she put up her hand and stroked the lady's cheek gently. “Why do you cry?” she asked, quietly. “My poor mamma is in heaven. Don't you like her to be in heaven? Daddy says it is much nicer than here, and he knows.”