Mary Irving sought her chamber, and sinking on her knees, fervently implored the blessing and guidance of Him who is very precious help in time of need.  She prayed for strength to meet with Christian fortitude the trials which awaited her, and in all the vicissitudes of her checkered life to pursue unfalteringly the path of duty.  She strove to collect her scattered thoughts, and with what composure she could assume, returned to the dining-room.  The fire was burning low on the hearth, and the single candle gave but a faint, unsteady light.  Florence was slowly pacing up and down the floor; she raised her head as Mary entered, then sunk it wearily on her bosom, and resumed her walk.

“Florry, come sit here by me—­I want to consult you.”

“Is it very important, Mary?  I feel to-night as though I could comprehend nothing; let me wear off this dull pain in my heart and head by walking, if possible.”

“My dear Florry, it is important; and therefore you will forgive me if I claim your attention.”

Florence seated herself, and as she did so, leaned her head on Mary’s shoulder, while the latter wound her arm fondly about her, and gently stroked back the raven hair from her aching brow.

“Since we broke up our school, I have been warned that we are in danger, and advised to leave San Antonio as speedily as possible; for strife is evidently at hand, and a battleground is no place for those so unprotected as you and I.”

“Dr. Bryant has promised to watch over us:  and surely you have implicit confidence in both his judgment and honor.  What do you fear, Mary?”

“Everything.  We may remain here too long—­till escape will be impossible; and then who may predict with any degree of certainty the chances of war?  That Dr. Bryant will do all that a friend or brother would, I doubt not; but he may be powerless to help when danger assails; and even if he should not, to travel from here in stormy times would not be so easy as you imagine.”

“Who has been filling your head with such ideas?  It could be none other than that dark-browed Inez.”

“If she has, could aught but disinterested friendship actuate her to such a course?”

“Really, Mary, I should not have given you credit for so much credulity.  Do you place any confidence in what that girl may tell you?”

“I do rely on what she confides to me.  Has she ever given you cause to doubt her sincerity?  Indeed, Florry, you do her injustice.  I would willingly—­God only knows how willingly—­doubt some portions of what I have heard from her lips, but I dare not.”

“Mary, can you not perceive that she is jealous of us, and hopes, by operating on your fears, to drive us from this place?  The Padre hinted as much to me not long since.”

“Florry, it is for you to say whether Inez speaks truth.  From her lips I had the words—­Your Cousin Florence is a Papist, wears a crucifix about her neck, and kneels in the confessional.  Oh, Florry! will you—­can you—­do you deny the charge?”