"So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, that moves
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry slave, at night
Scourged to his dungeon; but sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams."
BRYANT.
A bright day in April drew near its close, and the golden rays of the
spring sun poured joyously through the open casement into the chamber
of death. Yes, the "King of Terrors" drew nigh, and the cold damp,
which his black pinions swept on, settled upon the brow of Inez. A
few days after the massacre at Goliad, a raging fever crimsoned her
cheeks, and lent unwonted brilliance to the large black eyes. Delirium
ensued, and wildly the unfortunate girl raved of the past--of her
former love, her hopelessness, her utter desolation. The dreamless
sleep of exhaustion followed this temporary madness: long she lay in
the stupor so near akin to death, and now, consciousness restored, she
awaited in silence her hour! In vain the kind-hearted Señora entreated
her to see a priest--steadfastly she refused. At length Madame Berara
assumed the responsibility of calling in her own confessor, and
silently quitting the room, went in quest of him. Inez suspected
the cause of her usual absence, and too feeble to concentrate her
thoughts, turned her face to the wall, and wearily closed her eyes.
Yet one hand felt along the cover and beneath the pillow. For what was
she searching on the bed of death? The thin fingers rested on a
small and well-worn Bible, and a tiny package, wrapped in paper and
carefully tied. The sacred volume was feebly pushed beneath her head,
and mechanically she undid the knot, and drew forth a glossy lock
of black hair. Wearily she pressed it to her lips several times, and
again folding it away, her hands sank powerless upon her bosom.
Inez, Inez! are there none near to clasp thy cold hand and tenderly
lift thy weary head? Alas, thou desolate one, Thou art left alone
in the bitter hour of thy trial! When all things seem shrouded in
impenetrable gloom, and thy darkened soul turns from the tortured past
to the dim, uncertain future, no loved one is nigh to dash away the
gathering mists, and point to that celestial home "of which it hath
not entered into the heart of man to conceive."
Oh, Inez! thy short life has been dark and tempestuous; it is hard
that a calm and peaceful end is denied to thee, thou suffering
one, longing for rest, oblivion of the past, utter unconsciousness!
Struggle on, proud maiden! but a few moments, and thy tones will
vibrate no longer, thy firm step cease forever, and thy memory pass
away like the shadows of night!
Señora Berara re-entered the silent chamber, accompanied by a priest,
clad in the vestments of his order. They approached the bed, and the
aged dame, bending over Inez, whispered audibly:
"I could not find my own Padre, but I bring one who will confess and
absolve thee? Make haste to prepare for heaven."
"I want neither confession nor absolution! Begone! and let me die in
peace," she answered, without unclosing the lids, which lay so heavily
upon the sunken eyes.
"Leave us together! I will call thee when thou art wanted," whispered
he of the Order of Jesus. The matron immediately withdrew, repeating
an Ave Maria; and they were left alone.
"Inez!"
A shudder crept through the wasted form, and, with a start, she looked
upon the face of the intruder. Even in death, hatred was strong; the
dim eye flashed, and the cold, damp lips wreathed into a smile of
utter scorn:
"Well, Padre! you have tracked me at last. It is a pity, though, you
had not set out one day later; you would have altogether missed your
prey! But I am content, for I am far beyond your reach!" She gasped
for breath, yet ghastly was the mocking smile which lit up the face.
"Not so, Inez! you escaped me once; I have you now! You have defied me
in health; but in death I conquer. You cannot die in peace without my
blessing. Remember, remember, one sin unconfessed will sink you into
everlasting perdition! Think you I will absolve you! Never! Never!"
"What brings you here? Think you the approach of death will terrify
me?--that I shall claim your intercession and absolution? Have you
come hoping to make a bargain, and receive my order for a hundred
sheep, or as many cattle, on condition that you pray me out of
purgatory? I tell you now, if there be such a place, you will surely
follow me ere long. We shall not be separated long, my godly Padre!"
Large drops rolled from her brow, and, gasping, she continued more
indistinctly:
"There is one to stand between us now, even blackbrowed Death! and
now, as I speak, I see his shadow flung over me. I am dying, and if
I am lost, you are to blame! you, and you only! You a man of God! You
forgive my sins, and give me a passport to heaven! Padre, I know you,
in all your hypocrisy, and I know that, if there be a God, you have
outraged His every law! You have led me astray! You have brought me
to this! Padre, I am sinful, full well I know it; for this is an hour
when the barrier which hides the secret soul is thrown down, and every
deed and thought stands up boldly for itself. I have not served God!
But oh! I would not change places with you, leader, teacher, guide,
consecrated priest, as you are--for you have mocked him! Yes, mocked
him! set aside his written word, and instead of Bible truths you told
me of Saints, and Relics, and Miracles! You bade me worship the cross,
and never once mentioned Him who consecrated it with his agony and
blood! In my childhood I believed your legends and miracles, and
trusted to such as you to save me. A dreadful curse will rest upon
your head, for you came in sheep's clothing, and devoured many
precious souls! Padre, I--I--" In vain she strove to articulate,
further utterance was denied her. The ghastly hue of death settled
upon her face. She lifted her eyes to heaven as in prayer; vacantly
they wandered to the face of the Padre, now well-nigh as pale as her
own; then slowly closed forever. A slight quiver passed over the lips,
a faint moan, and Inez was at rest. For long her wearied spirit had
cried "Peace! peace!" and now she laid herself down and slept the
long, unbroken sleep of death.
"Oh! you have yearned for rest,
May you find it in the regions of the blest."
As she had died without the pale of the church, they refused the
lifeless form a narrow bed in consecrated ground. Even the ordinary
service for the dead was entirely omitted; and, without a prayer, they
committed her to the silent tomb. The kind old dame, remembering her
grief at the secret burial of her noble friend, obtained permission to
lay her by his side, and, with the fierce howlings of the tempest for
her funereal dirge, they consigned Inez--the proud, beautiful, gifted,
yet unfortunate Inez--to rest. Peace, Inez, to thy memory, and may the
sod lie lightly on thy early grave!