“Her poor little ones excited my compassion.  They were not blamable for their father’s crime, nor could they enjoy the advantages of his exalted station.  They were without a protector in the world.  Juliet’s mother was fast sinking under the calamity she had herself in a great measure wrought.  My heart melted when I contemplated the sad condition of the only female I had ever loved.  It was not long before the fires of affection again gleamed brightly in my breast.  Juliet had committed no crime, either in the eyes of man or God.  She did not intend to err.  She had acted in good faith.  She had never designed to transgress either the laws of earth or heaven, and although the disguised prince did not wholly possess her heart, yet she deemed it a duty to be governed by the advice of her parent.  These things I explained to her, and when her conscience was appeased by the facts which I demonstrated, her peace in some measure returned, but she was still subject to occasional melancholy reflections.  Perhaps she thought of me—­how my heart had suffered (for, young as I was, the occurrence brought premature gray hairs; and even now, although my head is white, I have seen but little more than forty years)—­and how happy we might have travelled life’s journey together.  I seized such a moment to renew my proposals.  She declined, but declined in tears.  I returned to the city with the intention to repeat the offer the next time we met.  Not many weeks elapsed before her aged mother was consigned to the tomb.  Poor Juliet’s condition was now immeasurably lamentable.  She had neither friend nor protector.  I again urged my suit, and was successful.  But she required of me a promise to retire from the world for ever.  I cheerfully agreed, for I was disgusted with the vanity and wickedness of my species.  We came hither.  You know the rest.”

When Roughgrove ceased speaking, the night was far advanced, and a perfect silence reigned.  Without uttering another word, he and Glenn rose from their seats, and repairing to the remaining unoccupied couch, ere long yielded to the influence of tranquil slumber.

CHAPTER XIV.

William’s illness—­Sneak’s strange house—­Joe’s courage—­The bee hunt—­Joe and Sneak captured by the Indians—­Their sad condition —­Preparations to burn them alive—­Their miraculous escape.

Just before the dawn of day, Roughgrove and Glenn were awakened by Mary.  She was weeping at the bed-side of William.

“What’s the matter, child?” asked Roughgrove, rising up and lighting the lamp.

“Poor brother!” said she, and her utterance failed her.

“He has a raging fever!” said Glenn, who had approached the bed and placed his hand upon the young man’s temples.

“True—­and I fear it will be fatal!” said Roughgrove, in alarm, as he held the unresisting wrist of the panting youth.

“Fear not,” said Glenn; “God directs all things.  This violent illness, too, may in the end be a blessing.  Let us do all in our power to restore him to health, and leave the rest to Him.  I was once an ardent student of medicine, and the knowledge I acquired may be of some avail.”