"----I might not this believe
Without the sensible and true avouch
Of mine own eyes."
SHAKSPEARE.
Twilight had fallen slowly, for the evening was heavy and wet, and
dark masses of cloud driven by the northern blasts sailed gloomily
overhead. Nature wore a dreary aspect, and one involuntarily turned
inward for amusement. A bright light gleamed from the window of
Florence Hamilton's humble home, and her little dining-room seemed by
contrast extremely cheerful; yet the hearts of its inmates were
more in accordance with the gloom which reigned without. Aunt Lizzy,
growing somewhat infirm of late, had retired earlier than usual.
Florence had been sewing all the afternoon, but now lay with closed
eyes on the couch, her hands clasped over her head. Mary sat near the
table holding an open volume, but her thoughts had evidently wandered
far away; for her gaze was fixed abstractedly on the fire which blazed
and crackled at her feet. The girl's countenance was an interesting
study, as she sat rapt in her saddened thoughts. A careworn expression
rested upon her face, as though some weighty responsibility too soon
had fallen on one so frail. The cheeks were very pale, and now and
then across the lips there came a quiver, as though she struggled
inwardly, and fain would give no outward show of grief. In truth, an
almost spiritual expression had come over her features; the impress of
some deep and hidden sorrow, nobly borne, though chasing the rosy hue
from her cheeks. Sadder grew the look, and some acute pain wrinkled
her brow as she threw aside the book, and covered her face with her
hands; while a heavy, yet smothered sigh, struggled forth, as if
striving to relieve the aching heart.
The door opened noiselessly, and a dark shrouded form glided with soft
steps to the chair, and laid a heavy hand on her shoulder. Mary raised
her head, and starting up, gazed inquiringly at the muffled face,
while the intruder pointed to the motionless form of Florence, and
laid a finger on her lip. Then beckoning Mary to follow, she receded,
with stealthy tread, to the door, which was softly closed, and walked
hurriedly on till she reached a large rose-tree, which shaded the
window. Mary shivered as the piercing wind swept over her, and strove
in vain to suppress a fit of coughing. There was a moment's silence.
"You did not know me?"
Mary started. "I did not, till you spoke; but, Inez, what brings you
out on such a night?"
Inez took off the mantilla which had so effectually concealed her
features, and threw it round the frail, drooping form before her.
"No, no, Inez, you will take cold;" and Mary tendered it back.
It was tossed off contemptuously, and mingled with a bitter laugh came
the reply--"I am not cold, Mariñita, nor ever shall be but once again.
I am burning with an inward fire that will not be quenched"
"You are ill, Inez, and want some medicine; tell me where and how you
suffer?"
"No, no. I want nothing from you or yours: I come to help, not to
ask. Mary, why is it you have made me love you so, when I hate yonder
dark-eyed girl? But I am losing time. I come to warn you of danger,
and even now I am watched; but no matter, listen to what I have to
say. The Padre hates you, even as--as I hate him, and has sworn your
ruin. I tell you now you must fly from San Antonio, and fly quickly,
for danger is at hand. My countrymen are many here, and he is stronger
than all. You and I have thwarted him, and the walls of a far off
convent are our destination--you, and your cousin, and myself. I am
at heart no Catholic; I have seen the devil, if there be one, in my
confessor. I have heard him lie, and seen him take the widow's and the
orphan's portion. Mary, if there was a God, would he suffer such as
my Padre to minister in his holy place, and touch the consecrated
vessels? No, no; there is none, or he would be cut off from the face
of the earth."
"Inez! Inez! stop and hear me."
"No, no! time waits for none, and I have little more to say, Mary, you
are deceived; your cousin is not what you think. She is a Catholic;
for mine own eyes have seen her in the confessional, and mine own ears
have listened to her aves and paters."
Mary uttered a deep groan, and clasped Inez's arm, murmuring--"You
are--you must be delirious or mad: Florry deceive me! impossible!"
"Ah! poor deluded Mary: do you trust any on earth? Yet I would trust
you, with your white face and soft blue eyes; and there is one other
I would trust--but no more. You will not believe that Florence has
turned from the faith of her fathers? Go to her as she sleeps yonder,
and feel with your own hand the crucifix around her neck. Ha! you hold
tight to my arm: I tell you your Cousin Florence is as black-hearted
as the Padre, for he told me she had promised her dying father to
follow his advice in all things, yet she tells you not of this: and
again, has she not won the love of a good, a noble man, and does she
not scorn his love; else why is his cheek pale, and his proud step
slow? Mariñita, I have read you long ago. You love your Doctor, but he
loves that Florence, whose heart is black and cold as this night You
are moaning in your agony; but all must suffer. I have suffered
more than you; I shall always suffer. My stream of bitterness is
inexhaustible; daily I am forced to quaff the black, burning waters.
Ha! I know my lot--I swallow and murmur not. Mary, I am sorry to make
you drink so much that is bitter to-night; but you must, for your own
good; better a friend should hold the cup and let you taste, than have
it rudely forced upon you."
"Why have you told me this, Inez? I never did you harm, or gave you
pain."
"Poor pale face! I want to save you from worse than death--yea, from
a living death. Go from this place; for if you are here a month hence,
you will be lost. Your people here will be defeated, and then the
Mexicans will hand you all over to the Padre, who says he means to put
you where you will be protected. Mark me: you will be sent where no
cry for succor will ever be heard. You will be imprisoned for life,
where none can come back to tell the tale. Mary, go to your friends in
the States; or if you cannot get there, go where your people are
many, and take your Doctor with you, for blood will yet run down these
streets, and I would not that his swelled the stream. He has promised
to watch over you; tell him to take you from here--from this cursed
place. I have crept from home this dark night to tell you of your
danger; I am watched, for the Padre suspects me, but you were always
good; you nursed me and my dying mother, and were kind to Mañuel, and
I would risk more than I have to help you. I have done all I can; I
charge you, wait not till the last moment."
Inez stretched out her hand for her mantilla, which she folded closely
about her face, and then clasped Mary's hand in hers.
"Inez! oh, Inez!"
"Well, Mariñita, I may not linger here. I will see you again if I can;
but if we meet no more, forget not Inez de Garcia, or the love she
bears you; and as the greatest blessing now for you, I hope you may
soon find peace in the quiet grave. I shall never find rest till I
sleep that last, unbroken sleep!"
"Inez, my heart is wrung by what I have heard to-night; but I beg of
you, as a last favor, do not, oh, do not turn away from God! Inez,
there is a God; and death is not an everlasting sleep. Hereafter is an
awful tribunal; and if not again on earth, you and I shall assuredly
meet before God. Oh I believe that he will yet bless you; that he
will enable you to bear all earthly trials; and, if faithful, he will
receive you at last into the kingdom of eternal rest. Try to forget
the past, and in this book you will find the path of duty so clearly
marked out, that you cannot mistake it. 'Tis all I have about me, yet
I pray God it may be the greatest treasure you possess."
She drew a small Bible from her pocket as she spoke, and pressed it
within Inez's fingers, adding--"I cannot sufficiently thank you for
your kindness in warning me of my danger; I shall leave this place as
soon as possible, and shall constantly pray that you may be spared and
blessed."
She held out her hands. Inez clasped them tightly for a moment, and
then glided down the walk as noiselessly as she came.