She obeyed, wondering what had happened to make him look and speak so gravely. “Are you _really happy_ to-night, my child?” he asked, tenderly. A startled look came into the girl’s eyes at this question, and her heart leaped with sudden pain as her thoughts went bounding over the sea to one to whom she had given the first grand passion of her soul. “Uncle Jacob,” she answered, gravely, though he could see the quiver about her lips, which she tried in vain to repress, “I am happier than I ever expected to be again. It is useless to regret or mourn over the past. I have tried to be sensible over it, but sometimes, I am afraid, I have not succeeded very well,” she said, with a smile that was a trifle bitter. “If,” she added, more brightly, a moment after, “that _one episode_ could have been left out of my life, I believe there would be nothing to mar it now.” “I would that it could have been so,” Mr. Rosevelt sighed. “But I want you to listen to me for a little while. I know it is late, and you ought to go to rest, but I particularly wish to tell you a short story of my life to-night. It is a page which has been turned from sight for many years, and no one has ever read it save myself. You are about entering upon a new era in _your_ life. I have learned to love you very tenderly, my child, and I want to bind you yet closer to me.” “Why, Uncle Jacob, you do not think I have any idea of going away from you, I hope,” Star said, in surprise. “No, for I have grown to feel that you belong to me. I want you to think so, too, and I am going to tell you why. Fate—or Providence, I suppose, _you_ would say—has thrown us together in a strange way, considering all things. Do you remember telling me, on board that ill-fated steamer, that your name was Star Rosevelt Gladstone, and how surprised you were when you learned that my last name was the same as your middle one?” “Yes, sir; and I still think it a strange coincidence,” Star answered. “Perhaps you will be more surprised when I tell you that you were named _for_ me.” Star looked up astonished at him. “How can that be possible?” she asked. “In this way,” Mr. Rosevelt returned, a shade of pain crossing his face. “When your grandmother, Stella Winthrop—that was her name before her marriage, was it not?” “Yes; and that is all I know about her, Uncle Jacob,” Star answered, with a troubled look. “Papa never said much about his friends. Indeed, he did not appear to have any relatives, and never would allow me to question him about them. Once I said something to him about my name, and he remarked: ‘Your grandmother once told me that if ever I had a little girl of my own, she would like me to call her Stella Rosevelt, and that is how you came by it.’ “‘Where is my grandmother, papa?’ I asked. “‘She is dead,’ he said, and immediately left the room, looking so pale and miserable that I never dared ask him anything more about her.”