Don Mariano had observed Clarence's deathly pallor, and how faithfully it was reflected on Mercedes' face; he saw the unhappy young man standing aloof from the crowd on the extreme edge of the wharf. He went to him, and laying his hand gently on his shoulder, said:
“That position is dangerous—you might lose your balance,” and he pulled him gently away. “You are very pale. I fear, my dear boy, that you are more troubled than you have admitted to any one. What is it? Tell me.”
Clarence shook his head, but suppressing his emotion, said:
“I cannot express my misery. She is sent away that I may not even have the pleasure of seeing her. No one can love her as I do, impossible!”
“Why have you not spoken to me of this before?” asked Don Mariano, kindly.
“Because I did not dare. I thought of doing so a thousand times, but did not dare. I did not fear unkindness or rejection from you, but from Doña Josefa and the young ladies I did, and I have never had an opportunity to speak alone to Miss Mercedes.”
“That was an additional reason for speaking to me. Cheer up. ‘Faint heart never won fair lady.’”
“Tell me that again. Say you do not reject me, and I'll jump aboard and follow her.”
“I do not reject you, and I repeat what I said, follow her if you wish, and try your luck. I want to see you both happy, and both of you are very unhappy.”
Clarence looked toward the boat. The gang-plank had been removed.