“How strange!” she exclaimed.

“Rather,” Mr. Rosevelt returned; then asked: “How did you come by your middle name?”

“My grandmother gave it to me.”

“Was her name Rosevelt?”

“No; her maiden name was Stella Winthrop.”

Mr. Rosevelt started, then turned suddenly to look out over the sea, and to hide the pallor of his face. He asked no more questions, and all through breakfast he appeared absent-minded 18and taciturn. He scarcely spoke to Star during the meal—indeed, hardly noticed her at all—and she wondered if she could have offended him in any way.

18

Before she was half through he left the table, and she saw no more of him until late in the afternoon.

About three o’clock she left the saloon, where she had been trying to while away the time by reading, and went on deck.

It was very cold, but the sky was cloudless, the sea calm and beautiful, and, save an occasional call and response from the sailors, the distant thud of the machinery, and the swash of the water as they plowed the sea, there was scarcely a sound on board the vessel.

Star found a sheltered spot, and wrapping her shawl close about her, sat down for a little while to watch the white-capped waves and the speeding ship.

She had scarcely settled herself, thinking with a feeling of gratitude how lovely it was after the dreadful storm, when there came the noise of a dreadful explosion from somewhere forward, followed by a fearful rocking of the vessel; then the most horrible shrieks and cries rent the air; a column of smoke, sparks, and cinders went pouring up from the region of the engine-room, and immediately passengers and sailors began running about in great confusion, and perfectly frantic from fright.

Star was unhurt, but she sprang to her feet and stood as if paralyzed with fear, a look of horror on her young face, a feeling like death at her heart.

“Something dreadful has happened,” she murmured, with white lips. “Have we escaped the 

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