being brought on to the city of Mexico, and the cruel treatment they had
been submitted to on the march; of their daring attempt to escape from
the Guards, its successful issue for a time, till their sufferings among
the mountains compelled them to a second surrender--in short, everything
that had happened to that brave band of which her lover was one of the
leaders.

She had been in Mexico throughout all this; for shortly after the
departure of the volunteers for Orleans, her father had received the
pardon we have spoken of. And there she had been watching the Mier
Expedition through every step of its progress, eagerly collecting every
scrap of information relating to it published in the Mexican papers;
with anxious heart, straining her ears over the lists of killed and
wounded. And when at length the account came of the shootings at El
Salado, apprehensively as ever scanned she that death-roll of nigh
twenty names--the _decimated_; not breathing freely until she had
reached the last, and saw that no more among these was his she feared to
find.

So far her researches were, in a sense, satisfactory. Still, she was
not satisfied. Neither to read or hear word of him--that seemed
strange; was so in her way of thinking. Such a hero as he, how could
his name be hidden? Gallant deeds were done by the Tejanos, their
Mexican enemies admitted it. Surely in these Don Florencio had taken
part, and borne himself bravely? Yes, she was sure of that. But why
had he not been mentioned? And where was he now?

The last question was that which most frequently occupied her mind,
constantly recurring. She could think of but one answer to it; this
saddening enough. He might never have reached the Rio Grande, but
perished on the way. Perhaps his life had come to an inglorious though
not ignominious end--by disease, accident, or other fatality--and his
body might now be lying in some lonely spot of the prairies, where his
marching comrades had hastily buried it.

More than once had Luisa Valverde given way to such a train of
reflection during the months after her return to Mexico. They had
brought pallor to her cheeks and melancholy into her heart. So much,
that not all the honours to which her father had been restored--not all
the compliments paid to herself, nor the Court gaieties in which she was
expected to take part--could win her from a gloom that seemed likely to
become settled on her soul.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.