Inez Part 12

"How many, think you, Manuel?"

"I can't tell, Inez; therefore we will not wait till the war is over.

The Padre is ready any time, and why not marry at once?"

"Sacra Dios! I'll do no such thing."

"And why not, Inez?"

"Because they might kill you, Manuel, and then what would become of me?"

"You would be as well off then as now; there would be no difference, only you would be married. You will mourn, any how, if I am killed."

"How do you know I would?" Her Spanish eyes twinkled as she spoke; but for fear of going too far, she laid her hand on his shoulder. Manuel turned sharply round.

"You deserve to be shot, Manuel, for joining in a miff. Why didn't you tell me you were going to be a soldier?"

He grasped her hand tighter, but made no reply.

"I say, why did not you tell me first?"

"And if I had told you, what then?"

"Why, I should not have let you do it, you savage. If you had only asked me, I might be willing to marry you next week. But as it is, I am not going to be left a widow, I can tell you."

"Inez, I don't believe you care whether I am killed of not. I do not understand you at all."

The girl's eyes filled, and her lip quivered with emotion. "Manuel do you think me a brute? There is n.o.body to love Inez but her father and you. I am not cold-hearted."

"You speak truth, Inez; and my uncle will not live very long, for he has seen many years. When he is gone, there will be n.o.body to take care of you but me; so the sooner we are married the better."

"Not so. You must come and see us as often as you can till the war is over; but I will marry no one now."

"Will you promise it shall be as soon as the war is over?"

Inez coquettishly tossed her beautiful head, and advancing to the fire, gaily exclaimed--"While we talked the tortillas burned. Come, eat some supper. I know they are as good as those you get at the Alamo."

Manuel seated himself on a buffalo-robe, and while partaking of the evening meal, Inez chatted away on indifferent subjects, asking, during the conversation, what news had been received from the Texan army.

"We got news to-day that they are marching down to Gonzales, but I am thinking they will find hot work."

"How many men may we number, Manuel, and think you the chances are for us?"

"By the blessed Virgin, if we were not ten to five Manuel Nevarro would not eat his tortilla in peace. The Captain says we will scatter them like pecans in a high wind."

"What bone is there to fight for at Gonzales?"

"Cannon, Inez, cannon. Don't you know we sent a thousand men to bring it here, and the white rascal sent five hundred to keep it there. By the Virgin, we will see who gets it!"

"Holy Mother protect us! Manuel, take care of yourself, man, and rush not into danger. It will profit you little that we have many men, if some strong arm tells your length on the sward."

"Never fear, Inez--never fear. We must not stop till every American turns his back on the Alamo, and his face to the East."

"But you will not harm those that live here in peace with all men?"

"The Padre told our General, yesterday, that we must fight till all submitted, or the last American child was driven to the far bank of the Sabine."

Inez laid her hand on his arm, and looking him full in the face, asked, in a low tone--"Manuel, would you help to drive Mary from her home among us? She who nursed me in sickness, and bound the white bread to your bleeding arm, and made the tea for my dying mother, when none other came to help? Manuel! Manuel! she is alone in the world, with only her cousin. Spare Mary in her little home; she hurts none, but makes many to die in peace."

Manuel's face softened somewhat, but he replied in the same determined tone--"The Padre says she is an accursed heretic, and he will not rest till she is far away. But I tell you now, Inez, she will not be harmed; for he said he would see that she was protected, and would himself take her to a place of safety. He said she had been kind to our people, and none should molest her or her cousin; but leave all to him."

"If the Padre promised, he will place them in safety; he never forgets to do what he says. I am satisfied, Manuel; and for the rest of the Americans, the sooner they are driven out the better."

"You say truly, Inez, the sooner the better: all, all shall go, even their Doctor, that carries himself with such a lordly air, and sits in saddle as though never man had horse before. But the moon is up; I must return, for I watch to-night, and must be back in time." He put on his hat as he spoke.

"Manuel, come as often as you can, and let me know what is going on.

You are the only one whose word I believe; there are so many strange tales nowadays, I put little faith in any. And before you go, put this crucifix about your neck: 'twill save you in time of danger, and think of Inez when you see it." She undid the fastening which held it round her own throat, and pressing it to her lips, laid it in his hand.

Astonished at a proof of tenderness so unexpected, Manuel caught her in his arms, but disengaging herself, she shook her finger threateningly at him, and pointed to the door. He lighted his cigarrita, and promising to come often, returned to the Alamo.

Left alone, the Spanish maiden sought her own apartment, muttering as she ascended the steps--"The Padre protect you, Mary! Yes, even as the hawk the new chicken. Take thee to a place of safety! even as the eagle bears the young lamb to his eyrie. Yes, Manuel, I have bound the handkerchief about your eyes, You think I love you, and trust both Padre and crucifix! Trust on, I too have been deceived."

CHAPTER XIV.

More like somnambulism than waking reality was now the life of Florence Hamilton. No duty was unperformed, so exertion spared to conduce to the comfort of the now diminished family circle. No words of repining or regret were uttered--no tear dimmed the large dark eyes. She moved and lived as it were mechanically, without the agency of feeling or sympathy; yet though she obtruded her grief on none, it was equally true that no gleam of returning cheerfulness ever lightened the gloom which enveloped her. A something there was in the hopeless, joyless expression of her beautiful face, which made the heart ache; yet none offered sympathy, or strove to console her, for she seemed unapproachable, with the cold, haughty glance of other days. Painfully perceptible was the difference between Christian fort.i.tude and perfect hopelessness--gentle, humble resignation and despair. There was no peace in her soul, for her future was shrouded in gloom: she had no joys in antic.i.p.ation. The sun of hope had set forever to her vision, and she lived and bore her grief like one who had counted the cost, and knew that for a little while longer she must struggle on; and that oblivion of the past was dispensed only by the angel of death. She acquiesced in Mary's plan of opening a small school, and unfalteringly performed her allotted task as a.s.sistant teacher. Unexpected success had crowned their efforts, and fifteen pupils daily a.s.sembled in the room set apart for the purpose. Mary had feared opposition on the part of the Padre, and was agreeably surprised at the number of Catholic children committed to her care.

One morning early in October, having finished her household duties, she repaired to the schoolroom for the day. Florence was already at her post, though suffering from violent nervous headache. Mary seated herself with her back to the door, and called one of her cla.s.ses.

Arithmetic it proved; and if the spirits of the departed were ever allowed to return in vindication of their works, the ghost of Pythagoras would certainly have disturbed the equanimity of the "muchachos," who so obstinately refused the a.s.sistance and co-operation of his rules and tables. In vain she strove to impress on one that 2 from 8 left 6. Like the little girl that Wordsworth met, he persisted "it was seven." Despairing at last, she remanded the cla.s.s to their seats. Anxious to facilitate the progress of her pupils, Mary spared no pains to make perspicuous what to them appeared obscure. The little savages could not, or would net understand that the earth was like a ball, and not only turned upon its own axis, but made the entire circ.u.mference of the sun. A pair of globes could not be procured, and she taxed her ingenuity for a subst.i.tute. Selecting two apples, one enormous, the other medium size, she carefully introduced a reed through the center of the smaller apple, thus causing it to revolve on its axis. Calling up the tyros in geography, she took the smallest, or "Earth," as she designated it, and while causing it to perform the diurnal motion, she carried it slowly round the larger, or "Sun," as she termed it; thus ill.u.s.trating the combined movements of our globe. Even the dullest could not fail to comprehend; and well satisfied with the result of her experiment, she carefully put her planets by in one corner of the schoolroom, and proceeded with her questions. The imperfect recitation finished, Mary glanced across the room, hoping her cousin's patience was not so tried, and some brilliant coruscations in that direction fixed her attention. Florence had dropped her aching head on the desk in front, shading her eyes with her hand; before her, in dark array, stood some half dozen small boys just beginning to spell. Each held a book containing ill.u.s.trations of various well-known articles and animals, having the name beneath.

"U-r-n--teapot." Elliot Carlton, whose seat was near, gave a suppressed giggle. Florence looked around inquiringly, then dropt her head again on her hand, bidding the boy "spell on."

"S-t-a-g--goat." Elliot crammed his handkerchief into his mouth, and Mary smiled.

"W-i-g--curly head." Florence was effectually roused this time by a shout of laughter from Elliot, in which he was joined by Mary, and Dr.

Bryant, who had just entered and was standing in such a position that no one had perceived him.

"Really, Miss Hamilton, I must congratulate you on the extraordinary progress your pupils make; I was not aware that you cultivated their powers of comparison in connection with the rudiments of orthoepy,"

"To what do you allude, Doctor; I am scarcely conscious of what pa.s.ses around me this morning," said Florence, wearily pressing her hand across her aching brow.

"I am not surprised that you are somewhat stunned, though, after all,"

he continued, pointing to the picture of a ringleted pate, "the little fellow was not far wrong, for this wig is incontestibly a curly head,"

With a faint smile which pa.s.sed as quickly as it came, she dismissed the cla.s.s with an additional lesson.