He turned and looked at her, an involuntary smile parting his lips, which evidently were unaccustomed to such relaxation.
“You are rightly named—you look like a star,” he said, abruptly, while his keen eyes were fixed intently on her bright face.
She flushed, but answered archly:
“Stars belong to the night; they are of no account in this glorious sunshine;” and she lifted her face up to the sun, as if in gratitude that its friendly beams were shining on her once more.
“It is a glorious morning,” said the old man, taking a long breath of the pure, keen air.
“Sorrow may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning,” Star murmured, in a low tone, but with a thrill in her voice which told how she felt the words.
Again a sneering smile distorted the lips of her companion.
She saw it, and flushed a vivid crimson, and the tears sprang quickly to her eyes.
“Mamma used to repeat those words so often when she lay sick and dying,” she said, sadly. “I know that she looked forward to the ‘morning’ when she should be released from her suffering; but they never sounded so pleasantly to me as they do now on this beautiful morning after our night of terror.”
“Anything which was a source of comfort to your mother you doubtless treasure very tenderly,” kindly replied the gentleman, who was a gentleman, and felt sorry that his unbelief or skepticism should have brought a shadow upon that fair young face.