-made grave: "But a
few more hours, and I shall sleep here by your side; farewell till
then."

She turned away, and silently they retraced their steps to the town,
reaching without inquiry or molestation their own home.

CHAPTER XXXI.

"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 Senora 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
impenetra