Remember the Alamo. Barr Amelia E.

companionship, that rarest and sweetest of ties—a beloved child, who is also a wise friend and a sympathetic comrade. As he entered the garden she slipped her hand into his. He clasped it tightly. His smile answered her smile. There was no need for any words of salutation.

      The full moon had risen. The white house stood clearly out in its radiance. The lattices were wide open and the parlor lighted. They walked slowly towards it, between hedges of white camelias and scarlet japonicas. Vanilla, patchuli, verbena, wild wandering honeysuckle—a hundred other scents—perfumed the light, warm air. As they came near the house there was a sound of music, soft and tinkling, with a rhythmic accent as pulsating as a beating heart.

      “It is Don Luis, father.”

      “Ah! He plays well—and he looks well.”

      They had advanced to where Don Luis was distinctly visible. He was within the room, but leaning against the open door, playing upon a mandolin. Robert Worth smiled as he offered his hand to him. It was impossible not to smile at a youth so handsome, and so charming—a youth who had all the romance of the past in his name, his home, his picturesque costume; and all the enchantments of hope and great enthusiasms in his future.

      “Luis, I am glad to see you; and I felt your music as soon as I heard it.”

      He was glancing inquiringly around the room as he spoke; and Antonia answered the look:

      “Mother and Isabel are supping with Dona Valdez. There is to be a dance. I am waiting for you, father. You must put on your velvet vest.”

      “And you, Luis?”

      “I do not go. I asked the judge for the appointment. He refused me. Very well! I care not to drink chocolate and dance in his house. One hand washes the other, and one cousin should help another.”

      “Why did he refuse you?”

      “Who can tell?” but Luis shrugged his shoulders expressively, and added, “He gave the office to Blas-Sangre.”

      “Ah!”

      “Yes, it is so—naturally;—Blas-Sangre is rich, and when the devil of money condescends to appear, every little devil rises up to do him homage.”

      “Let it pass, Luis. Suppose you sing me that last verse again. It had a taking charm. The music was like a boat rocking on the water.”

      “So it ought to be. I learned the words in New Orleans. The music came from the heart of my mandolin. Listen, Senor!

              “‘Row young oarsman, row, young oarsman,

                  Into the crypt of the night we float:

                Fair, faint moonbeams wash and wander,

                  Wash and wander about the boat.

                Not a fetter is here to bind us,

                  Love and memory lose their spell;

                Friends that we have left behind us,

                  Prisoners of content,—farewell!’”

      “You are a wizard, Luis, and I have had a sail with you. Now, come with us, and show those dandy soldiers from the Alamo how to dance.”

      “Pardon! I have not yet ceased to cross myself at the affront of this morning. And the Senora Valdez is in the same mind as her husband. I should be received by her like a dog at mass. I am going to-morrow to the American colony on the Colorado.”

      “Be careful, Luis. These Austin colonists are giving great trouble—there have been whispers of very strong measures. I speak as a friend.”

      “My heart to yours! But let me tell you this about the Americans—their drum is in the hands of one who knows how to beat it.”

      “As a matter of hearsay, are you aware that three detachments of troops are on their way from Mexico?”

      “For Texas?”

      “For Texas.”

      “What are three detachments? Can a few thousand men put Texas under lock and key? I assure you not, Senor; but now I must say adieu!”

      He took the doctor’s hand, and, as he held it, turned his luminous face and splendid eyes upon Antonia. A sympathetic smile brightened her own face like a flame. Then he went silently away, and Antonia watched him disappear among the shrubbery.

      “Come, Antonia! I am ready. We must not keep the Senora waiting too long.”

      “I am ready also, father.” Her voice was almost sad, and yet it had a tone of annoyance in it—“Don Luis is so imprudent,” she said. “He is always in trouble. He is full of enthusiasms; he is as impossible as his favorite, Don Quixote.”

      “And I thank God, Antonia, that I can yet feel with him. Woe to the centuries without Quixotes! Nothing will remain to them but—Sancho Panzas.”

      CHAPTER II. ANTONIA AND ISABEL

              “He various changes of the world had known,

               And some vicissitudes of human fate,

               Still altering, never in a steady state

               Good after ill, and after pain delight,

               Alternate, like the scenes of day and night.”

                      “Ladies whose bright eyes

      Rain influence.”

              “But who the limits of that power shall trace,

               Which a brave people into life can bring,

               Or hide at will, for freedom combating

               By just revenge inflamed?”

      For many years there had never been any doubt in the mind of Robert Worth as to the ultimate destiny of Texas, though he was by no means an adventurer, and had come into the beautiful land by a sequence of natural and business-like events. He was born in New York. In that city he studied his profession, and in eighteen hundred and three began its practice in an office near Contoit’s Hotel, opposite the City Park. One day he was summoned there to attend a sick man. His patient proved to be Don Jaime Urrea, and the rich Mexican grandee conceived a warm friendship for the young physician.

      At that very time, France had just ceded to the United States the territory of Louisiana, and its western boundary was a subject about which Americans were then angrily disputing. They asserted that it was the Rio Grande; but Spain, who naturally did not want Americans so near her own territory, denied the claim, and made the Sabine River the dividing line. And as Spain had been the original possessor of Louisiana, she considered herself authority on the subject.

      The question was on every tongue, and it was but natural that it should be discussed by Urrea and his physician. In fact, they talked continually of the disputed boundary, and of Mexico. And Mexico was then a name to conjure by. She was as yet a part of Spain, and a sharer in all her ancient glories. She was a land of romance, and her very name tasted on the lips, of gold, and of silver, and of precious stones. Urrea easily persuaded the young man to return to Mexico with him.

      The following year there was a suspicious number of American visitors and traders in San Antonio, and one of the Urreas was sent with a considerable number of troops to garrison the city. For Spain was well aware that, however statesmen might settle the question, the young and adventurous of the American people considered Texas United States territory, and would be well inclined to take possession of it by force of arms, if an opportunity offered.

      Robert Worth accompanied General Urrea to San Antonio, and the visit was decisive as to his future life. The country enchanted him. He was smitten with love for it, as men are smitten with a beautiful face. And the white Moorish city had one special charm