“Be quick!” they cried, as a rush of flame in the center of the steamer warned them that a new and terrible danger threatened; and Mr. Rosevelt led her toward the rope ladder swinging from the vessel’s side.
Star was very pale, but her great blue eyes had a strange, determined gleam in them.
“Are you afraid to go down the ladder?” Mr. Rosevelt asked, as he paused before it.
“Not if you will go first and hold it for me,” she answered.
“But I cannot; they will not take us both,” he said.
She drew back from the edge of the vessel, and looking up into that aged face, said, tremulously:
“Sir, you have dear friends who are waiting for you, and who would mourn your death. I have no one who loves me; I was going among strangers, and I should not be missed. You go; I am not afraid to die.”
He looked at her in mingled awe and admiration, while those brave words, “I am not afraid to die,” smote him keenly.
“Child,” he said, huskily, “it must not be. You are young and beautiful; there is a long life of happiness, I trust, before you. My days are nearly spent, and I could not accept such a sacrifice. Come, they are clamoring impatiently at the delay. Give me one kiss, such as you would give to your own father were he living, and then I will help you down; or, if you are afraid, the sailors shall tie a rope about you and let you down.”
He bent his head, his face filled with a yearning tenderness, to hers.