He met Olive Myers for the first time—a girl slightly his junior, with a fair, pure face, laughing blue eyes, hair of the color of the ripe chestnut when just bursting from the shell, and a mouth that appeared to woo kisses. She was of good parentage (though now an orphan) and well educated.
She was drifting California-ward with an uncle and his family, and as Mayo was a gentleman, gladly accepted his company and protection.
More secure from molestation during the lonely night-watches than at any other time, she was accustomed to keep him company, and this night, when no one was within hearing, the intensity of their hearts strung to passion found vent for the first time.
With his arm around her waist, with one hand clasped in his, with her head resting on and showering down its wealth of chestnut curls upon his shoulder, they remained whispering such impassioned words as only lovers use until near the hour for changing the guard. Then the girl suddenly asked if Parsons had returned.
"No, dearest," he answered. "Do you take an interest in him?"
"I have no interest in any one but you," she answered, turning her blushing face to him and proffering her lips for a kiss. "But I fear him."
"Fear him? On what account?"
"Not for myself, but you, darling."
"I can not understand why, Olive."
"Because, he is envious—jealous!"