“Certainly, as soon as I get to San Diego.”
“Write before, and let us know what you are doing.”
“All right, I will do so,” said he, and looked at Mercedes, who with down-cast eyes, felt his gaze but dared not look up.
“Don't fail to write the long letter you promised, after you have your talk with papa, and he has explained to mamma your position,” Elvira said.
“That is my all-absorbing thought. There is no danger of my failing to see Don Mariano the first minute I can do so. I will write immediately. To whom shall I direct my letter?”
“To me, of course,” Elvira replied, “and you will write to Mercita also, after matters have been explained to mamma.”
The distant rumbling as if of coming earthquake, and a far off shriek were now heard. In another minute the round-eyed monster was there, and snorting maliciously, rushed off with Clarence, leaving Mercedes leaning on George's arm, scarcely able to stand, and hardly realizing that Clarence had left them.
She was still very pale, and her hands yet trembled, when the thundering of the east-bound train was heard in the distance. Two shrieks pierced the air simultaneously, as the two trains passed each other. Her heart gave accelerated throbs when she heard those shrieks, because she knew that one of them came from the train which bore Clarence away, and it seemed to her as if expressive of his pain at being torn from her. Yes, that magician, the locomotive, understood it all, and shrieked to say he did so, because he knew she, too, wished to shriek like that.
What would you, my reader? She was so young—only seventeen—and in love. The poor child was naturally indulging in all sorts of foolish fancies while looking at the woods through which he had disappeared.
But there was now the east-bound train, and George taking her towards it.