of each of these
two sincere females to ascertain all that might be of consequence to their
respective friends, and yet the native delicacy, with which each refrained from
pressing the other to make revelations that would have been improper, as well as
the sensitive, almost intuitive feeling with which each avoided saying aught
that might prove injurious to her own nation. As respects each other, there was
perfect confidence; as regarded their respective people, entire fidelity. June
was quite as anxious, as Mabel could be on any other point, to know where the
Serjeant had gone, and when he was expected to return, but she abstained from
putting the question, with a delicacy that would have done honor to the highest
civilization; nor did she once frame any other inquiry in a way to lead
indirectly to a betrayal of the much desired information, on that particular
point; though, when Mabel of her own accord touched on any matter that might, by
possibility throw light on the subject, she listened with an intentness that
almost suspended respiration.
    In this manner the hours passed away, unheeded, for both were too much
interested to think of rest. Nature asserted her rights, however, towards
morning, and Mabel was persuaded to lie down on one of the straw beds provided
for the soldiers, where she soon fell into a deep sleep. June lay near her, and
a quiet reigned on the whole island, as profound as if the dominion of the
forest had never been invaded by man.
    When Mabel awoke, the light of the sun was streaming in through the
loop-holes, and she found that the day was considerably advanced. June still lay
near her, sleeping as tranquilly as if she reposed on - we will not say down,
for the superior civilization of our own times repudiates the simile, but on a
French mattress, and as profoundly, as if she had never experienced concern. The
movements of Mabel, notwithstanding, soon awakened one so accustomed to
vigilance, and then the two took a survey of what was passing around them, by
means of the friendly apertures.
 

                                 Chapter XXIII

»What had th' Eternal Maker need of thee
The world in his continuall course to keepe,
That dost all things deface, ne lettest see
The beautie of his worke? Indeede in sleepe
The slouthfull body that doth love to steepe
His lustless limbs, and drowne his baser mind,
Doth praise thee oft, and oft from Stygian deepe
Calles thee his goddesse, in his errour blind,
And great dame Nature's handmaide chearing every kind.«
                                               The Faerie Queene, III.iv.56