His voice broke, his lips quivered painfully, and it seemed for a moment as if he must break down utterly.
Star softly slipped one of her small hands into his, and the sympathetic little act comforted him greatly. His closed over it in a strong, yet tender clasp.
“You pity the old man’s weakness, don’t you, dear?” he said, with a sad smile; “but it is not easy to open the secret chambers of one’s heart when they have been closed for forty years.
“When I first saw you,” he continued, after a moment, “there was something in your face that touched me—a light in your eye, a sheen on your hair, that somehow smote a familiar chord in my heart. I watched you, although you were not aware of it, and felt sorry for you during that dreadful storm at sea; for your white face and great, startled eyes appealed to me as nothing had done for many a year. But I would not yield to it. I had shut my heart to every one; I had vowed that I would never love any one again, and I mistrusted every one who sought to win me to a better mood. But when that lurch of the boat threw you directly into my arms, and you clung to me in such a helpless way, I could not resist you, and some good angel prompted me to gather you close to me and make you rest upon me. When you told me your name, the shock nearly unmanned me—‘Star Rosevelt Gladstone,’ you said—and I knew as well as if I had been told, that you were in some way connected with my lost Star, and I watched over you all the night through, feeling almost as if some sweet spirit had been sent from her to me, to give me a little ray of comfort at the end of my long, loveless life.
“When, the next morning, you told me that your grandmother had named you, and that her name was Stella Winthrop, I had not a doubt; I felt convinced that you must be the child of one of her sons. You thought it merely a strange coincidence, but I knew better, and all my boasted coldness and hardness melted away, and I began to love you then and there. When that dreadful explosion occurred, and you urged me to save myself, as ‘doubtless I had dear friends’ and ‘you had no one to love you’—when you refused to leave me, and took up your station by my side to die with me, as we both believed, I felt as if something of the spirit of my lost love was shining through you. Then your tenderness toward, and your care of me—your heroic self-denial and efforts to save my life while we were helplessly afloat on the mighty ocean—your sweet voice singing those hymns of faith and cheer, completed the conquest of my hardened nature. I can never make you understand how disappointed I was, on arriving in New York, to find you gone. I meant to tell you something of myself, and learn your own destination, so that I might see you once in awhile.
“But I never forgot you; and when I visited my nephew in the West, and met only coldness and neglect, simply because of my misfortunes, I could not help contrasting it with your kind attention to an entire stranger.
“I left those heartless people and came to my niece, and met with the same reception, when before they had always fawned at my feet, flattered and humored me as if I had been something more than common clay.
“I felt forsaken; no one loved me, no one wanted me; I was a burden and incumbrance. But just then you appeared to me, and your heavenly kindness made my poor old heart glow again. Still, I was so embittered by finding my only brother’s children so heartless and selfish, that I was not quite sure of you. It made me mistrust everybody, and I feared you might grow to be like them. But for that I should not have remained a day beneath Ellen Richards’ roof; I should have gone my own way again as soon as I became rested and recruited. Do you remember how you came to me the next morning after my arrival, and cheered me with your merry chat and your thoughtful little gift? I said, ‘Surely this child must be artless—she must be true;’ but I resolved to stay awhile and test and study you, and you have been a blessing to me from the first. My dear, I began to love you for my lost Star’s sake; now I love you for your own. There, you have all my story now, and you must go to rest, for to-morrow will be your birthday, and we must celebrate a little in honor of it,” Mr. Rosevelt concluded, patting her softly on the shoulder.
Star lifted a flushed and tearful face to his.
“Uncle Jacob!” she cried, tenderly; “it seems as if you are really that to me now; and I am so glad that you have told me how you have loved my grandmother, and I shall try more than ever after this to make your life as bright as possible. I do not see how any one could ever have treated you unkindly or disrespectfully.”