the same time that they
were. But we were too weary to think much about it. It was not until
early morning, when rising and opening the tent door, I looked out again
to see the lovely scene we had admired so much the evening before. But
did my eyes deceive me! Was I awake? Where was that object which had
excited our admiration so much? I uttered a cry. Schillie ran to me; all
awoke, and started from their beds. Every eye was strained, but what
tongue could be the first to say that La Luna was gone; far away we
could see her distant sails against the clear blue sky; we were alone,
alone.

CHAPTER XIII.

All was explained now that had seemed to us extraordinary in our kind
captain's conduct the evening before, and as we hurried down to the
beach half in hopes not to find every one gone, we found at the usual
dining place, a packet of papers put in a conspicuous situation,
evidently meant to attract our notice. In this was a note from the
captain, apologizing for departing in such a secret manner, but
declaring that unless he had stolen away he could not have left us. That
it was of such importance he should go and return ere the rainy season
commenced, he could not even afford a day, and that he knew, however
cheerful I might talk about the matter, my heart would misgive me, when
the time came for him to leave, I might not probably grant him
permission to go, when it was of the most vital importance he should. He
was right in his last conjecture, the dread that came over me, as I read
his letter, and looked at our helpless party, made me feel how truly he
had judged me, tho' I so little knew it myself. The other papers
consisted of directions, lists of what he had left, and where they were
put. Also an account, written from Benjie's lips, as to what trees and
fruits might be poisonous, what we had better avoid, and particular
orders about the night air, the musquitos; in fact he seems to have left
nothing for us to think of, and the papers wound up with many sweet
messages to the children, and the dear young ladies, a characteristic
speech to Schillie, a hope that the good old lady would not be nervous,
or keep the children too long at their lessons, which was a bad thing in
hot climates, and a very urgent appeal to all to be careful of her,
whose heart was wrapped up in their happiness, to whom the breath of
life came ebbing and flowing, according to the welfare and goodness of
her precious charge.

There was