They pulled rapidly away from the sinking steamer, lest they should share the fate of those who had just been swamped, and the wisdom of this was manifest in lest than half an hour, for, with another mighty lurch and plunge, which sent forth volumes of smoke and flame, the noble craft went down and the dark waters swept over it, obliterating it forever from the view of man; while the captain, with a groan of pain, covered his eyes and wept. It was as if he had looked his last upon the face of some dear friend. The day waned quickly; night shut down upon them cold and cheerless, hiding from their sight the other boats, and bringing with it such a sense of loneliness and misery as not one in that frail craft ever experienced before. Star, the only woman in that boat, clung to Mr. Rosevelt as if upon him depended all her hope, and all that long night through he held in his one small, fair hand, while he pillowed her bright head upon his knees, and kept her covered with blankets and rugs. Twice or thrice she awoke and started up, saying: “I weary you, sir; let me sit by myself.” But he only drew her more closely to him, as he said, tenderly: “No, no, little one; it does me good to have you near me. Lie still and get all the sleep you can, for we do not know what the morrow may bring to us.” When the morrow did come it dawned grandly beautiful. The sun came up from the east like a chariot of fire, turning the sea into waves of gold, and bringing cheer and courage once more to the hearts of the lonely little band who were struggling for life on the mighty deep. Nothing could be seen of the other boats, although they had been eagerly looking for them ever since the break of day; but they had no reason to think they were not as safe as themselves, and were therefore not unduly anxious. Star awoke much refreshed by her long sleep, and, as her lovely eyes took in all the beauty of the morning, a feeling of thankfulness for it and their safety thrilled her heart, and almost unconsciously she began chanting a hymn of praise. As she sang the first line, which was exactly like the beginning of the Lord’s Prayer—“Our Father who art in heaven”—every oar was suspended; the captain reverently removed his cap, an act which was imitated by the crew, and all listened with respectful mien as the sweet voice rose upon the still morning air, thanking God for His care through the dangers of the night, and invoking His protection during the day. “Thank you, Miss Gladstone,” the captain said, as her last tone died away; “it is well for us to begin the day thus. You have a fine voice,” he added; “will you sing something else and then we’ll pull westward with a will for awhile?” Star thought for a moment; then, with a delicate flush rising in her cheek, an almost holy light glowing in her eyes, and a thrill in her tones which touched every heart, she sang: