in them; more cavalry--
Lancers, Hussars, and heavy Dragoons--more music, mingling with the
shouts and cheers of the fickle populace, as they swarmed along the
foot-walk, every now and then vociferating--

"_Viva, Santa Anna el Illustrissimo! Viva, el Salvador de la Patria_!"

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE.

A MYSTERIOUS MISSIVE.

"O! Ysabel! To think of it! In the chain-gang--in the sewers! _Madre
de Dios_!"

Thus passionately exclaimed Luisa Valverde, half addressing herself to
the Condesa Almonte in her father's house again, to which they had just
returned from the ceremony of the procession. They were in the _sala_,
seated upon the chair, into which they flung themselves, as if overcome
with fatigue.

And weariness it was, but not of the body. Their souls were a-wearied
through being unable to give utterance to the thoughts and passions that
for hours had been convulsing them. Ever since passing the chain-gang
they had been forced to keep up faces, seem as they felt not, smile when
they could have wept. This the Condesa had counselled for reasons
already hinted at; and now back home, with no one to see or hear, they
were giving way to the wild tumult of emotion so long pent up.

For a time the Condesa made no rejoinder, herself as much affected as
her friend. Both sat in despairing attitudes, heads drooped, and hands
clasping them as though they ached; bosoms rising and falling in
laboured undulation, the hearts within them painfully pulsing. All so
unlike themselves, in such discordance with their great beauty, and the
rich robes they wore. Looking at two such women, one could ill believe
it possible for them to be otherwise than happy; yet, at that moment,
both were miserable as misery itself.

"Ah, yes!" sighed the Countess, at length, and like as if awakening from
some weird dream, its impress still upon her face. "To think of it; and
fearful it is to think of. I understand things better now. My Ruperto
is indeed in danger--more than I this morning believed. And your
Florencio too. I could read his death in the eyes of Don Carlos
Santander; and one told me the Tejanos are all to be shot!"

"O Ysabel, say not that! If they kill him, they may kill me! The man I
love! Santa Guadalupe--Blessed Virgin! Save, oh, save him from such a
fate!"

Against the wall was a picture of this, the patroness Saint of Mexico--
for there is one in every Mexican house--and, while speaking, the young
girl ha