She cast a pitying glance at the brave men toiling so uncomplainingly at their oars, and her heart sank as she thought what might be their fate.
Patiently she munched a single biscuit, while she slipped all the rest out of sight, hoarding it to fight the grim, gaunt monster which she feared was fast overtaking them.
Mr. Rosevelt had not been so well the day before; he was even worse this morning, and she was very anxious about him, for he would eat nothing, waving all food away with an expression of disgust, and only sipping a little wine occasionally, while he had become so weak that he could not sit up at all.
“He won’t live two days longer,” she heard one sailor whisper to another, when, a little later, he had another attack which utterly prostrated him. “He is failing rapidly, and eats nothing to keep up his strength.”
“He shall live!” Star said to herself, with an impulse born of despair; for he seemed her chief dependence, and she had grown to regard him with very tender feelings.
All night she watched over him, every half hour moistening his lips with wine, and forcing bits of biscuit soaked in it between them.
Every time she heard him swallow, her heart leaped for joy, for it told her there was hope even yet.
She had several squares of sea-bread in her pocket, for she had saved something from every meal, and she was determined, as long as her own strength held out, that she would faithfully minister to him.
Sometimes she was very faint herself from want of food, but she would take a little water in her mouth and swallow it gradually, and thus find a relief for a time.
The fifth day there was no food to give out—and, oh, the hollow eyes, the blanched cheeks and despairing hearts of that ill-fated party!