“Yes, Star, or Stella Gladstone, is her name.”
Mr. Rosevelt sat down again, his face full of interest and animation now, and forgetting his weariness for the time in his desire to learn something of the beautiful girl to whom he was so deeply indebted.
“Where is she?” he asked. “What do you know—what can you tell me about her?”
“She is here in this house,” Mr. Richards answered. “She is the child of one of my wife’s relatives who resided in England, and Ellen, upon learning that she was an orphan and homeless, consented to have her come here,” he concluded, trying to make the best of a very poor story.
“I never expected to hear anything of her again, but I am very glad to know that she is here,” Mr. Rosevelt said, with evident emotion. “She saved my life during that awful time, almost at the sacrifice of her own. It would, perhaps, have been better had she not exerted herself in my behalf so much. It is not a pleasant feeling to know that one is regarded as an incumbrance and a burden,” he continued, with some bitterness; “but I shall never forget her heroism while I live. She nearly starved herself to death to keep life in me.”
“I am astonished at what you tell me,” returned Mr. Richards, feeling a deeper interest in Star than ever before.
“She disappeared very suddenly from the steamer which picked us up and brought us into port. I went down to my state-room for something, and then to the captain to thank him for his kindness and bid him farewell, and when I went to look for her she had gone; some one had come and taken her away.”
“Yes; we heard of the arrival of a steamer with some of the wrecked on board, and Ellen immediately sent Mrs. Blunt down to see if Star was among them,” explained Mr. Richards.
“She must be a pleasant addition to your family, George; she was a very attractive girl.”
“Ahem!” that gentleman replied, avoiding the keen eye fixed upon him. “Yes; she is a smart and talented girl; she will make a fine woman, without doubt. Would you like to see her to-night?”