“I am Stella Gladstone,” she said, simply.

The woman looked at her keenly for a moment, and her homely countenance softened into something like pity as she noticed her delicate beauty. Then she said, bluntly:

“Well, miss, if I was ever thankful to set eyes on anybody, I am on you, or I’m much mistaken. I’ve lain awake o’ nights thinking of you, ever since we heard that the vessel in which 41you sailed was lost at sea. If I got asleep at all, I’d wake with a start from horrid dreams, where I seemed to see you drowning and heard your dreadful cries. Two days ago another vessel came in, bringing in some of those who had been wrecked. We got the news in the paper the night before they landed, and madam—Mrs. Richards, my mistress—sent me down posthaste next morning to see if you was among them. Of course you wasn’t, so I went home and dreamed all night again. Last night news came that more had been rescued, and would land at this pier this morning, so I was posted off again to find you if possible. Well,” she continued, heaving a deep sigh of relief, “I’ve got you at last, and I hope I sha’n’t dream about you to-night. Of course you ain’t overstocked with baggage?” she concluded, with a grim smile.

41

“No, I have nothing; everything was lost,” Star replied, while her large, earnest eyes studied her companion’s face, and she wondered what relation she bore to her, and who “Mrs. Richards,” “madam,” and “my mistress” were.

“More’s the pity for you, then, or I’m much mistaken,” the woman said, with a peculiar compression of her thin lips.

Then she added, with more of animation than she had yet displayed:

“But, bless me! I suppose you’d like to know who I am, and won’t be much surprised when I tell you my name is Blunt; my name is like my nature, and I’m madam’s—Mrs. Richards’ housekeeper. A pretty time of it I have, too, or I’m much mistaken; though one can put up with considerable where their bread and butter and ‘fixin’s’ are concerned. But come, it’s time we were off. Have you had your breakfast?” she concluded, seeing that Star had grown rather pale, and thinking she might be faint and hungry.

“Yes’m,” she answered, while a wistful expression stole into her eyes, and she stepped back and looked over the railing into the dining-room below, hoping to see Mr. Rosevelt. She felt 42as if she could not go away without saying farewell to her kind fellow-traveler.

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