leaving it deadly pale, a mask of ivory with eyes of flame. When she
spoke, it was in a low, suppressed voice, wholly unlike her own.

"You may kill me," said the child, "and take my body away, if you
like. I will not go while I am alive."

She turned her eyes from one to the other, as if watching for the
slightest motion to approach her.

Mrs. Morton, in great distress, spoke next. "My darling, it grieves
me to the heart to take you from your dear, kind Daddy. But think,
my Star; you are a child now, but you will soon be a woman. You cannot
grow up to womanhood in a place like this. You must be with your own
people, and have companions of your own age. My children will be like
your own sisters and brothers. My dear, if you could only know how
they will love you, how we shall all cherish and care for you!"

"When I am dead?" asked Star. "It will make no difference to me, your
love, for I shall be dead. I will not go alive."

"Oh, Captain January!" cried Mrs. Morton, turning to the old man with
clasped hands. "Speak to her! she will listen to you. Tell her--tell
her what you said to me. Tell her that it is right for her to go;
that you wish her to go!"

The old man's breathing was heavy and laboured, and for a moment it
seemed as if he strove in vain for utterance: but when he spoke, his
voice was still soothing and cheerful, though his whole great frame
was trembling like a withered leaf. "Star Bright," he said (and
between almost every word he paused to draw the short, heavy breath),