He told me of his plans and spoke of his situation:  “You know the reason for my going,” he said, “even if I have never spoken of it.  I am not much of a Joseph, and am very little given to running away from a beautiful woman, but in this case I am fleeing from death itself.  And to think what a heaven it would be.  You are right, Caskoden; no man can withstand the light of that girl’s smile.  I am unable to tell how I feel toward her.  It sometimes seems that I can not live another hour without seeing her; yet, thank God, I have reason enough left to know that every sight of her only adds to an already incurable malady.  What will it be when she is the wife of the king of France?  Does it not look as if wild life in New Spain is my only chance?”

I assented as we joined hands, and our eyes were moist as I told him how I should miss him more than anyone else in all the earth—­excepting Jane, in mental reservation.

I told Jane what Brandon was about to do, knowing full well she would tell Mary; which she did at once.

Poor Mary!  The sighs began to come now, and such small vestiges of her ill-humor toward Brandon as still remained were frightened off in a hurry by the fear that she had seen the last of him.

She had not before fully known that she loved him.  She knew he was the most delightful companion she had ever met, and that there was an exhilaration about his presence which almost intoxicated her and made life an ecstasy, yet she did not know it was love.  It needed but the thought that she was about to lose him to make her know her malady, and meet it face to face.

Upon the evening when Mary learned all this, she went into her chamber very early and closed the door.  No one interrupted her until Jane went in to robe her for the night, and to retire.  She then found that Mary had robed herself and was lying in bed with her head covered, apparently asleep.  Jane quietly prepared to retire, and lay down in her own bed.  The girls usually shared one couch, but during Mary’s ill-temper she had forced Jane to sleep alone.

After a short silence Jane heard a sob from the other bed, then another, and another.

“Mary, are you weeping?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“What is the matter, dear?”

“Nothing,” with a sigh.

“Do you wish me to come to your bed?”

“Yes, I do.”  So Jane went over and lay beside Mary, who gently put her arms about her neck.

“When will he leave?” whispered Mary, shyly confessing all by her question.

“I do not know,” responded Jane, “but he will see you before he goes.”

“Do you believe he will?”

“I know it;” and with this consolation Mary softly wept herself to sleep.

After this, for a few days, Mary was quiet enough.  Her irritable mood had vanished, but Jane could see that she was on the lookout for some one all the time, although she made the most pathetic little efforts to conceal her watchfulness.