“I will not go back to my mother, Jethro!” she exclaimed impetuously. “She wanted me to marry Plexo. She would give me to some one else, and my father always said I should only marry some one I liked. You can never be so cruel as to give me up to her?” “I know that your father’s wishes were strong upon that point,” Jethro said; “for he spoke to me of you when he gave me his commands respecting Chebron. He said that he wished that I could watch over you as over him, and it was because of what he had said that I disregarded his orders as to our instant flight, and lingered here in hopes of freeing you. Still I see not anything else to be done. Your mother doubtless wrote while still overpowered by grief at your father’s loss, and thought that she was acting for your welfare in securing you an advantageous marriage in spite of the cloud under which your family was resting.” “I will not go to her!” Mysa repeated. “She thought of herself, as she always did, and not of me in any way. You know it was so, Chebron--you cannot deny it!” Chebron was silent. His whole affection had been given to his father, for his mother he had comparatively little. As a child he had seldom been allowed to come into the room where she was. She declared that his noise was too much for her, that his talk made her head ache, and that his fidgeting about was too much to be borne. Nor since that time had he been much more with her. It was his father who had seen to his welfare and that of Mysa, who would put aside his grave studies to walk and talk with them, who was always indulgent, always anxious to give them pleasure. He therefore thoroughly entered into Mysa’s feelings, but saw no possible alternative for her. “But where could you go, Mysa?” Jethro asked. “Where could you be placed? Wherever you were your mother in time would be sure to hear of it and would reclaim you.” “I shall go with Chebron, and you, and Amuba,” Mysa said positively. “Impossible!” Jethro replied. “We are going upon a tremendous journey, full of danger and fatigue. We are going among unknown and savage peoples; the chances are a hundred to one against our ever arriving at the end of our journey. If this is so to myself and to young men like Chebron and Amuba--for they are now past eighteen, and will speedily be men--what chance would there be of success with you with us?”