princess is treason—­for which there is but one remedy.  I thought I had a plan to keep ourselves safe if I could only stifle for the once Jane’s troublesome and vigorous tendency to preach the truth to all people, upon all subjects and at all times and places.  She promised to tell the story I would drill into her, but I knew the truth would seep out in a thousand ways.  She could no more hold it than a sieve can hold water.  We were playing for great stakes, which, if I do say it, none but the bravest hearts, bold and daring as the truest knights of chivalry, would think of trying for.  Nothing less than the running away with the first princess of the first blood royal of the world.  Think of it!  It appalls me even now.  Discovery meant death to one of us surely—­Brandon; possibly to two others—­Jane and me; certainly, if Jane’s truthfulness should become unmanageable, as it was so apt to do.

After we had settled everything we could think of, the girls took their leave; Mary slyly kissing Brandon at the door.  I tried to induce Jane to follow her lady’s example, but she was as cool and distant as the new moon.

I saw Jane again that night and told her in plain terms what I thought of her treatment of me.  I told her it was selfish and unkind to take advantage of my love for her and treat me so cruelly.  I told her that if she had one drop of generous blood she would tell me of her love, if she had any, or let me know it in some way; and if she cared nothing for me she was equally bound to be honest and tell me plainly, so that I should not waste my time and energy in a hopeless cause.  I thought it rather clever in me to force her into a position where her refusal to tell me that she did not care for me would drive her to a half avowal.  Of course, I had little fear of the former, or perhaps I should not have been so anxious to precipitate the issue.

She did not answer me directly, but said:  “From the way you looked at Mary to-day, I was led to think you cared little for any other girl’s opinion.”

“Ah!  Mistress Jane!” cried I joyfully; “I have you at last; you are jealous.”

“I give you to understand, sir, that your vanity has led you into a great mistake.”

“As to your caring for me, or your jealousy?  Which?” I asked seriously.  Adroit, wasn’t that?

“As to the jealousy, Edwin.  There, now; I think that is saying a good deal.  Too much,” she said pleadingly; but I got something more before she left, even if it was against her will; something that made it almost impossible for me to hold my feet to the ground.

Jane pouted, gave me a sharp little slap and then ran away, but at the door she turned and threw back a rare smile that was priceless to me; for it told me she was not angry; and furthermore shed an illuminating ray upon a fact which I was blind not to have seen long before; that is, that Jane was one of those girls who must be captured vi et armis.