“Holy Mother protect us!  Manuel, take care of yourself, man, and rush not into danger.  It will profit you little that we have many men, if some strong arm tells your length on the sward.”

“Never fear, Inez—­never fear.  We must not stop till every American turns his back on the Alamo, and his face to the East.”

“But you will not harm those that live here in peace with all men?”

“The Padre told our General, yesterday, that we must fight till all submitted, or the last American child was driven to the far bank of the Sabine.”

Inez laid her hand on his arm, and looking him full in the face, asked, in a low tone—­“Manuel, would you help to drive Mary from her home among us?  She who nursed me in sickness, and bound the white bread to your bleeding arm, and made the tea for my dying mother, when none other came to help?  Manuel!  Manuel! she is alone in the world, with only her cousin.  Spare Mary in her little home; she hurts none, but makes many to die in peace.”

Manuel’s face softened somewhat, but he replied in the same determined tone—­“The Padre says she is an accursed heretic, and he will not rest till she is far away.  But I tell you now, Inez, she will not be harmed; for he said he would see that she was protected, and would himself take her to a place of safety.  He said she had been kind to our people, and none should molest her or her cousin; but leave all to him.”

“If the Padre promised, he will place them in safety; he never forgets to do what he says.  I am satisfied, Manuel; and for the rest of the Americans, the sooner they are driven out the better.”

“You say truly, Inez, the sooner the better:  all, all shall go, even their Doctor, that carries himself with such a lordly air, and sits in saddle as though never man had horse before.  But the moon is up; I must return, for I watch to-night, and must be back in time.”  He put on his hat as he spoke.

“Manuel, come as often as you can, and let me know what is going on.  You are the only one whose word I believe; there are so many strange tales nowadays, I put little faith in any.  And before you go, put this crucifix about your neck:  ’twill save you in time of danger, and think of Inez when you see it.”  She undid the fastening which held it round her own throat, and pressing it to her lips, laid it in his hand.

Astonished at a proof of tenderness so unexpected, Manuel caught her in his arms, but disengaging herself, she shook her finger threateningly at him, and pointed to the door.  He lighted his cigarrita, and promising to come often, returned to the Alamo.

Left alone, the Spanish maiden sought her own apartment, muttering as she ascended the steps—­“The Padre protect you, Mary!  Yes, even as the hawk the new chicken.  Take thee to a place of safety! even as the eagle bears the young lamb to his eyrie.  Yes, Manuel, I have bound the handkerchief about your eyes, You think I love you, and trust both Padre and crucifix!  Trust on, I too have been deceived.”