. The effect of the draught was instantaneous and
reviving.

"This is a sad welcome for you, Luis," said Don Manuel. "Your home
destroyed, and your father dying. God be thanked for sending you now,
and no sooner! I can die happy since you are here to close my eyes."

He paused, exhausted by the exertion of speaking. A slight red foam
stood upon his lips, which the priest wiped away, and another draught
of the cordial enabled him to proceed.

"My son," said he, "my minutes are numbered. Mark my last words, and
attend to them as you value my blessing, and your own repose. I
foresee that this country is on the eve of a long and bloody struggle.
How it may end, and whether it is to be the last that shall rend
unhappy Spain, who can tell? But your course is plain before you. By
the memory of your sainted mother, and the love you bear to me, be
stanch to the cause I have ever defended. You are young, and strong,
and brave; your arm and your heart's best blood are due to the cause
of Spanish freedom. My son, swear that you will defend it!"

No selfish thought of his own happiness, which would be marred by the
oath he was required to take, nor any but the one absorbing idea of
smoothing his dying father's pillow by a prompt and willing compliance
with his wishes, crossed the mind of Luis as he took the crucifix from
the hand of the priest, and, kneeling by the bedside, swore on the
sacred emblem to obey Don Manuel's injunctions both in letter and
spirit, and to resist to his latest breath the traitors who would
enslave his country. His father listened to the fervent vow with a
well-pleased smile. By a last effort he raised himself in his bed, and
laid his hand upon the head of his kneeling son.

"May God and his saints prosper thee, Luis," said he, "as thou
observest this oath!"

He sank back, his features convulsed by the pain which the movement
occasioned him.

"Mother of God!" exclaimed the woman, who was still holding the
bandage to the wound. The bleeding, which had nearly ceased, had
recommenced with redoubled violence, and a crimson stream was flowing
over the bed. The death-rattle was in Don Manuel's throat, but his
eyes were still fixed upon his son, and he seemed to make an effort to
extend his arms towards him. With feelings of unutterable agony, Luis
bent forward and kissed his father's cheek. It was that of a corpse.

For the space of a minute did the bereaved son gaze at the rigid
features before him, as