“Two or three days,” he returned; “but we are so nearly in the line of the steamers that we shall surely fall in with one before our provisions are gone.”
The old man sighed, and bent a wistful look upon the young girl sitting beside him.
Star had noted his anxious tone as he questioned the captain; she had also seen the look he cast upon her.
“He fears that we shall be tossed about on the ocean until we starve,” she thought, a horrible chill creeping over her; and she quietly slipped all the bread that had been given her into her pocket, and only ate the more perishable food and delicacies which the captain had laid in her lap.
That afternoon Mr. Rosevelt had a violent attack of vertigo, lying insensible for several hours; and now it was Star’s turn to pillow his head upon her lap and minister to his comfort.
She bathed his face and head almost constantly, and with her shawl shielded him from the sun, which during the day was very powerful, while from time to time she fed him with bits of biscuit moistened with port wine from a bottle which the captain had given her for him, striving in every way to keep up his strength.
He appeared to revive toward evening, and said he was better; but Star saw that he was very weak, and that it was only by great effort that he kept up at all.
Another night passed, another day came, and still there was no sail to gladden their strained and aching eyes.
The third day the captain said, with a stern brow and pale, compressed lips:
“Our provisions are nearly gone—they will last only one more day;” and he shortened every man’s ration, giving Star alone a generous portion.