415 
 .1 
 
 S3 
 X 
 
OR, 
 
 THE AMERICAN VOLUNTEERS. 
 
 91 tale of tljc Jtoican 
 
 IP 
 
 BY A. S. ST. CLAIR. 
 
 : ' Tie past ! The sultry tyrant of the south 
 Has spent his short-lived rage ; more grateful hours 
 Move silent on.' BARBAULD. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 PUBLISHED BY F. 'fiLEASON, . 
 AT THE FLAG OF OUR UNION OFFICE, 
 
 CORNER OF COURT AND TREMONT STREETS. 
 

 
 *-* * 
 
 I JOY MO I 
 
 wmmJE 31 la jJo 
 
 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1848, 
 
 BY F. GLEASON, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts. 
 
 s^^'Nx-xy-N/-x^^-'o'x^-^-v^^~orxxxxN^\^%^w 
 
 | 
 
 
 
 Tin 
 

 CHAPTER I, 
 
 WHO does not remember Friday, the 10th ' 
 of July, 1846. The heat of that day fell with 
 scathing effect upon the gay city of New-Or 
 leans. As the sun rose above the horizon, 
 its first rays seemed to cast a burning veil 
 over the city, which, as it ascended higher in 
 the blue ether, and gained the meridian, be-' 
 came absolutely intolerable, suspending all ! 
 business in the streets, and forcing the resi- I 
 dents of the crescent city to retreat under 
 cover, with few exceptions ; and those melt 
 ing beneath the sun's fierce beams, were 
 taken home to bear the penalty of their te 
 merity by almost immediate death. 
 
 But those who were sitting in their own 
 splendid mansions, surrounded by all the 
 luxuries of wealth, received not a breath of 
 air to cool the fevered brow ; but were sitting 
 listlessly endeavoring to kill time by some 
 trifling employment, or walking back and 
 forth from room to room, in the impatient 
 
 " 
 
 hope of inhaling a breath of what was not to 
 be gained. 
 
 Having lingered through many hours in 
 the delusive hope of a change in the atmos 
 phere, the impatient watchers observed a 
 small black cloud rising in the west, which 
 spread rapidly, occasionally emitting from its 
 dark bosom brilliant flashes of lightning, fol 
 lowed by hoarse peals of thunder, and in the 
 space of five minutes it had covered the 
 heavens like a pall ; and the rain began to 
 descend in torrents, while the vivid lightning, 
 and menacing roll of the thunder, accompa 
 nied by violent wind, presenting such a con 
 trast to the burning light, and almost death 
 like silence of a few moments before, struck 
 an emotion of awe into every bosom. The 
 storm continued unabated for half an hour, 
 then gradually decreasing in violence, the 
 clouds changing constantly, assumed every 
 variety of fantastic form as moved by the 
 
SENORA INKS. 
 
 wind, and in less than an hour from their ! struggle now going forward between onr 
 
 11 ___1TU* !_- \H7 U. .. J~ .-. *K ^ w, 1- f^.P 
 
 first appearance, not a cloud was visible in 
 the deep azure above. The cool breeze was 
 playing its gambols in the street, rushing 
 freely through every open window, thrown 
 eagerly back for the welcome visitant, and 
 imparting new life and strength wherever it 
 penetrated. 
 
 In another hour the rattling wheels of the 
 carmen were echoing through the streets, the 
 market women had returned to their stalls, 
 and were offering their choicest goods to 
 view ; while the principal streets were throng 
 ed with a gay multitude, eagerly rushing 
 forth, invited by the refreshing coolness and 
 purity of the air, to enjoy the evening hour. 
 Business men stepped forth with renewed 
 zeal. Here a gay party of ladies and gentle 
 men were walking and chatting in lively 
 tones ; there a party of gentlemen conversing 
 upon grave subjects, others hurrying off to 
 some convivial meeting, and still others saun 
 tering about alone, or in groups of two or 
 three. 
 
 Among the last mentioned were two young 
 gentlemen, of distinguished appearance, who 
 walked arm in arm, occasionally pausing to 
 remark on some passer-by, and again absorb 
 ed in what seemed to be an interesting con 
 versation. 
 
 Arthur Clifton was rather above, the middle 
 height, -possessing a commanding, yet per 
 fectly elegant form. His noble brow, shaded 
 by locks of glossy brown, and the lofty ex 
 pression of his deep blue eye, indicated the 
 possession of cultivated intellect, and sensi 
 bility combined, while his countenance wore 
 a composed and slightly grave expression. 
 
 country and Mexico. Whut do you think of 
 the project ?' 
 
 1 Think of it!' echoed Stanley, turning and 
 gazing in his friend's face, to assure himself 
 that he heard aright : ' you, Clifton ; you can 
 not be sincere in what you say. Rich, hand 
 some, accomplished, the idol of the ladies, 
 and envy of the men impossible ! It would 
 not seem strange had I proposed such a thing, 
 having neither of these qualities to recom 
 mend me to favor. I might perhaps gain a 
 reputation for bravery, get promoted, and all 
 that,' and his black eyes sparkled at the idea, 
 ' or leavfc my bones under the sods of Mexi 
 co, which would be all the same to my 
 friends,' emphasizing the last word with a 
 bitter smile. 
 
 1 My dear Edward, you wrong yourself and 
 me, to give way to such fancies,' said Clifton, 
 pressing his hand warmly. ' I have several 
 times heard you speak with bitterness of your 
 friends, and observed a shade of melancholy 
 cross your features. We have vowed ever 
 lasting friendship for each other, and can 
 you not trust the cause of those feelings to 
 one, who, if not competent to advise, will at 
 least sympathize with you ?' 
 
 For a moment a shade almost of haughti 
 ness crossed the brow of Stanley, but meet 
 ing the look of sincere affection beaming from 
 the expressive eyes of his friend, he replied, 
 'It is a painful story, though soon told, and 
 you shall have it, but not now to-night at 
 our hotel. And now tell me, Clifton, if you 
 really intend going into Mexico, as you said 
 but now ; leave home, friends, and the luxury 
 by which you are surrounded, to share the 
 
 Edward Stanley was the very reverse of 
 his friend. His form was slight and grace 
 ful. His eyes piercing and black as night, 
 were sparkling with gaiety and humor. 
 
 perils and hardships attendant upon the life 
 of a soldier.' 
 
 ' Yes, I do intend it ; but in speaking of 
 the danger, you forget the glory, which will 
 
 1 Stanley,' said his friend, after a pause of more than compensate for all that, you know,' 
 
 some moments, in which he seemed to be re 
 solving some important subject in his mind : 
 ' Stanley, I have nearly decided to join the 
 army of General Taylor, as a volunteer in the 
 
 said Clifton, with a smile. 
 
 ' Very true ; but I am assured a person of 
 your lofty mind and upright principle, would 
 not embark in such an enterprise, without 
 
SENORA 1NES. 
 
 9 
 
 knowing his cause was just ; and can you 
 find a good reason for the invasion of a peace 
 able territory by our army ?' 
 ' Our government,' replied Clifton, ' thinks 
 it has sufficient reason : indeed, thinks itself 
 the aggrieved party. But let that be as it 
 may, we have an army there, altogether too 
 few to accomplish what they are required to 
 do, and it is the duty of those who have re 
 mained at home to give them what support 
 lies in their power. At least I feel it to be 
 mine, to lend my feeble aid, not to the cause 
 of invasion, but to the assistance of the hand 
 ful of our countrymen who are in the midst 
 of an enemy's country.' 
 
 ' Then I go with you,' cried Stanley, after 
 a moment's pause. ' There is something in 
 the wild activity of a soldier's life, . that 
 strikes my fancy, and I will accompany you, 
 as I have nothing to bind me more to one 
 place than to another.' 
 
 1 I do not wish to advise,' answered Ar 
 thur, ' though I will not deny that your de 
 cision gives me pleasure. There is a volun 
 teer regiment forming here, in which I have 
 been offered a captaincy, and if, as you said, 
 you will join us, I will exert my influence to 
 procure you a lieutenant's^commission in the 
 same company.' 
 
 * Nothing would please me more. I am 
 sure I can trust in your superior judgment as 
 to the right of the affair,' replied Stanley, 
 with a gay smile. ' So now that is settled, 
 let us walk on and pay our respects to those 
 houris across the way,' at the same time di 
 recting Clifton's attention by a glance. ' If I 
 mistake not, that is Mademoiselle Dupage, to 
 whom you gave me an introduction the other 
 day.' Clifton turned his eyes in the direction 
 indicated, at the same time moving lorward 
 to join them. 
 
 While the friends are occupied in this 
 movement, we will give a slight description 
 of the ladies. 
 
 Mademoiselle Dupage was a pretty bru 
 nette, hair and eyes of jet, rosy !ips continu 
 
 ally wreathed in smiles, and eyes sparkling 
 with volumes of mischief. 
 
 Her companion was about the middle 
 height, possessing a form of perfect elegance 
 and grace. Her hair was a rich glossy 
 brown, eyes of the softest hazel, and her 
 forehead, broad and white as the purest ala 
 baster, gave evidence of intellect of an ele 
 vated order, while the expression of the 
 mouth indicated firmness of character, com 
 bined with the soft and gentle affections. 
 Though not strikingly handsome, she was 
 formed to attract attention at the first glance. 
 No one who gazed once upon her soul-lit 
 countenance, but turned to look sgain, charm 
 ed by the variety and brilliancy of expression 
 depfcted there. 
 
 As the gentlemen approached, Miss Du 
 page threw back her veil, and shook hands 
 cordially with Clifton, extending the tips of 
 her fingers to Stanley with a graceful incli 
 nation. 
 
 ' I am happy to see you out enjoying this 
 delightful evening,' exclaimed Clifton. ' For 
 some days past it has been almost impossible 
 to move out, but this day of days has seemed 
 to search the very blood in our veins, and 
 turn one's breath into a flame of fire.' 
 
 ' Yes,' replied Miss Dupage, ' and even 
 now I think the blood in some veins is ap 
 proaching a fever heat,' and her bright eyes 
 sparkled with mischief, as she glanced at 
 Stanley, who was gazing, with his soul in his 
 eye, in the face of her friend. 
 
 He started, arid colored, while the lady, at 
 this remark of her friend, and noticing the 
 look of undisguised admiration beaming from 
 the eye of Stanley, blushed, and made a dig 
 nified motion to release her arm, and walk 
 on alone. 
 
 ' O, a thousand pardons,' cried the lively 
 lady, resisting the motion, ' for not presenting 
 you before ; but I noticed the expressive lan 
 guage of Mr. Stanley's eyes, and could not 
 think of interrupting anything so delightful. 
 My dear friend, Miss Hereford.' 
 
 Both gentlemen bowed. 
 
10 
 
 SENORA INES. 
 
 4 Hereford !' cried Clifton, in surprise. ' Is 
 it possible I have the pleasure of seeing the 
 daughter of my respected friend, Joseph 
 Hereford, of street. 
 
 ' Thank you, I am indeed his daughter. 
 It is but a week since I returned home, hav 
 ing been absent nearly a year.' 
 
 Clifton expressed his pleasure at the meet 
 ing, while Stanley crossed over, and taking 
 his station at her side, gaily apologized for 
 liis unintentional rudeness, in allowing his 
 eyes to follow the direction of his heart. 
 
 Miss Hereford listened to him with be 
 coming politeness, and they were soon en 
 gaged in an animated conversation. Clifton 
 and Miss Dupage walked on together, she 
 chatting upon a variety of subjects, with all 
 the giddy vivacity of a French girl. 
 
 ' Well, Mr. Clifton,' she cried, after run 
 ning on till she was weary upon other sub 
 jects, ' you see it is all over with your friend, 
 poor fellow. I am sorry for him.' 
 
 Clifton smiled : 4 Why sorry for him 1 he 
 seems very happy just now.' 
 
 4 Yes, but my friend Alice is bien reserve 
 to all lover's vows. She has been absent 
 three years at school, only spending the vaca 
 tion at home, where she has been surrounded 
 by a bevy of beaux. She seems to take 
 pleasure in their society, but when they go so 
 far as to propose, invariably, with a sweet 
 smile, she says no.' 
 
 4 Well,' answered Clifton, ' t hope that 
 Stanley will not lose his senses entirely, or 
 that the little wily god will befriend him, and 
 plant his image direct in her heart.' 
 
 4 Ah,' replied the lady, with a look of mock 
 gravity, 4 have you no fears for yourself? 
 They say it is utterly impossible for a gentle 
 man of any taste to spend one day in the so 
 ciety of the brilliant Miss Hereford, without 
 falling in love directly. And though you 
 have lived to the grave age of twenty eight, 
 without losing your heart,' she continued, a 
 roguish smile playing over her lips, 4 yet, I 
 will wager you this curl ' twisting one of 
 her dark ringlets in her fingers ' against 
 
 one of your own brown locks, that before you 
 have known Alice a week, you will make a 
 more desperate wish for yourself than you 
 have just done for your friend.' 
 
 4 1 accept the wager,' said Clifton, with a 
 smile as gay as her own. ' I assure you my 
 heart is secure against all attacks from bright 
 eyes and rosy cheeks.' 
 
 ' Well, nous verrons ; but here comes my 
 father, who left us a few moments since, and 
 Mr. Hereford with him.' 
 
 As the two gentlemen approached, Mon 
 sieur Dupage held out his hand to Clifton, 
 with the remark, 4 Devoted to the ladies this 
 evening, I see.' 
 
 4 Surely, I could not be better employed 
 than at present,' bowing gallantly to the lady 
 at his side. 
 
 4 O, certainly not,' was the answer ; 4 but, 
 ladies,' he continued, turning to them, ' I am 
 in readiness to go home. Will you accom 
 pany me now, or do you prefer remaining 
 still longer V 
 
 4 Whenever you please, sir,' was the reply, 
 and the two ladies, with the doctor, walked 
 homeward, Miss Hereford having spent a day 
 or two with them, and her father walked on 
 with our two friends. 
 
 Mr. Hereford was head of one of the prin 
 cipal mercantile firms in the city, possessing 
 unbounded wealth, and a benevolence and 
 taste, which enabled him to surround himself 
 with all that was beautiful and rare, and gain 
 for himself the heartfelt blessings of many a 
 poor child of want. Alice, his eldest child, 
 now about nineteen, had received every ad 
 vantage that an accomplished education could 
 add to a naturally splendid intellect. She 
 possessed brilliant conversational powers, and 
 an easy and graceful manner, which fascina 
 ted and charmed the listener. Her father 
 almost idolized her, and could not, at this 
 time, avoid speaking a parent's feelings in 
 regard to her. Stanley felt she was too fas 
 cinating for his own peace of mind. Clifton 
 expressed pleasure at meeting with his daugh 
 ter, and hoped the friendship of Mr. Here- 
 
SENORA INES, 
 
 11 
 
 ford, which he had the pleasure of enjoying, 
 would enable him to become better acquaint 
 ed with his family. 
 
 The old gentleman invited them both to 
 his house saying : 
 
 ' I have also a charming little niece, to 
 whom I would like to present you. She is 
 quite the reverse of my dear Alice in appear^ 
 ance and disposition, and is a perfect pet in 
 our family.' 
 
 ' Indeed, I think I have heard her men 
 tioned, as being absent at school with your 
 daughter.' 
 
 ' The very same ; -a young Mexican senor* 
 ita. She has been quite indisposed to-day, 
 or she would have been out enjoying this de 
 lightful hour. But you must excuse me, 
 gentlemen ; I have an engagement with a 
 friend, and must leave you.' 
 
 The friends bowed and passed on. Stan 
 ley remained silent, but his sparkling eye, 
 and the heaving of his breast, told plainly to 
 the experienced glance of his friend the state 
 of his feelings. 
 
 Arthur sighed at the thought that those 
 blissful hopes might so soon be changed to 
 disappointment, and even as he gazed, the 
 countenance of his friend underwent a 
 change, his eyes lost their animation, and 
 the deepest melancholy was painted on his 
 features, while sigh after sigh agitated his 
 breast. Noting these emotions, Clifton be 
 came lost in thought, and was roused from 
 this mood by the appearance of a lady, who 
 had just stepped out of a fashionable store 
 followed by a negro girl a few steps behinc 
 her. His eye followed her fairy form as sh 
 glided on before him, every motion full of in 
 finite grace. He regarded her with a loo] 
 of admiration, till, turning into a cross street 
 she disappeared. 
 
 As they reached the post-office, Clifton 
 who was anxiously expecting letters, steppe 
 in, and Stanley, saying he had some busines 
 with his lawyer, and would meet him in a 
 hour at their hotel, passed on. 
 
 When Clifton emerged from the office, hi 
 
 ttention was aroused by shouts, and the 
 attling of carriage wheels. Hastening for- 
 'ard, he saw a span of horses, attached to a 
 arriage, rushing down the street towards 
 im, with the velocity of the wind. One 
 fier another attempted to stop them, but 
 vithout success. As they approached Clif- 
 on, the carriage came in contact with a 
 ude wagon, standing near, and with a crash 
 >verturned ; and the harness giving way, the 
 orses, with increased terror, flew along, to 
 he infinite peril of all in the streets. 
 
 As they neared the corner where Clifton 
 tood, he cast an eye back of him, and there, 
 ID a cross walk in the centre of the street, 
 tood the lady who a few moments before had 
 attracted his attention. She had turned her 
 lead for a moment, to reply to a lady who 
 lad accosted her from a window near, and 
 utterly unconscious of the danger of her po- 
 ition, was smiling and waving her hand, 
 when the negro girl, who was still near her, 
 casting a look in the direction of the tumult 
 
 o 
 
 which had just struck her ear, screamed in 
 affright : 
 
 ' O, missy Ines, come, come,' and with a 
 terror that gave her speed, sprang to the side 
 walk. 
 
 The lady's eyes followed those of her ser 
 vant, and perceiving her perilous situation, 
 attempted to move ; but her limbs failed, and 
 the very moment the horses dashed around 
 the corner, unable longer to support her 
 trembling form, with a faint shriek she fell 
 on her knees, and with clasped hands and 
 eyes upraised, seemed imploring a higher 
 power than that of man to preserve her from 
 this peril. Her bonnet had fallen off, and 
 her raven tresses streaming in long curls 
 upon her shoulders, and around her pale 
 face, gave the latter a deathlike hue. 
 
 She was exceedingly beautiful, and at this 
 moment formed a picture a painter would 
 have coveted. But Clifton saw not this ; he 
 only felt that a fellow-creature was in dan 
 ger, and springing forward with lightning 
 speed, he caught the lady in his arms, from 
 
12 
 
 SENORA INES. 
 
 under the very hoofs of the trampling steeds ; 
 and the next instant was upon the walk, with 
 bis now insensible burden. At the same 
 moment a severe but ill-judged blow from an 
 enormous cane, held by some one near, 
 caused the enraged animals to shy, simulta 
 neous with Clifton's bound aside, placing him 
 in the same danger as before. 
 
 Clasping the lady firmly in hia left hand, 
 with his right he seized the bits, and exert 
 ing the whole strength of his powerful arm, 
 turned them violently aside; but as they 
 passed he received a blow from the ironed 
 hoof in the breast, which cast him lifeless to 
 the ground, still clinging to the fair girl. 
 
 The crowd gathered round, with difficulty 
 released the lady from the clasped hand of 
 Clifton. Having merely fainted from terror, 
 she soon revived, and gazed wildly round 
 with a bewildered air, till her eye falling on 
 the motionless form before her, the truth 
 flashed upon her, and with every feature con 
 vulsed with horror, she gasped, ' O gracious 
 Heaven, he is killed, and it was to save me.' 
 
 Several gentlemen who were bending over 
 Clifton, assured her there was still a motion 
 of the heart, and he might yet be restored. 
 Thanking them, she turned eagerly to one of 
 the bystanders, dropped a piece of silver in 
 his hand, and requested him to call a carriage. 
 The instant it drove up, several gentlemen 
 entered with the insensible body of the un 
 known, and the driver took a direction from 
 the lady, who followed in another hack, after 
 having sent for a physician. 
 
 On arriving at the door of her residence, 
 she sprang out, motioned the men to follow, 
 and passed through the hall into the drawing 
 room, where a lady sat by a window, occu 
 pied in watching the frolics of a group of 
 children, sporting on the green beneath. 
 
 Though forty years of age she appeared 
 much younger, tall, and finely-formed, with 
 an air of easy self-possession, indicative of 
 familiarity with the higher walks of society. 
 As the gentlemen deposited their burden on 
 the sofa, the lady rose hastily, exclaiming, 
 
 ' O, Ines, what, what has happened V and 
 then, obtaining a view of the features, turned 
 to Ines in surprise, with a look of inquiry. 
 
 A gentleman named Martin having given 
 an explanation, the lady sent a servant for 
 his master, and turned to assist the sufferer. 
 
 In a few moments the hall door was thrown 
 open, and Doctor Dupage and sevrant enter 
 ed, followed by Mr. Hereford, for it was to 
 his house and to the carejof his lady that 
 Clifton was brought. As the door opened, 
 Ines bounded forward, and seizing the doc 
 tor's hand, cried : 
 
 ' O, my dear sir, you can, you will surely 
 restore him to life.' 
 
 He pressed her hand in reply, and advanc 
 ed to the couch of the sufferer. 
 
 ' Holy mother !' he exclaimed. ' Is it 
 can it be possible this is Arthur Clifton 1 
 Not an hour ago I parted from him in per 
 fect health and smiling with happiness. 
 When how was this done ?' turning a look 
 of inquiry upon Mrs. Hereford, who, turning 
 to Mr. Martin, begged him to explain what 
 he had already related to her. 
 
 He complied, and turning to the doctor 
 and Mr. Hereford, who stood gazing with 
 sorrow and amazement upon the spectacle 
 before him, related the incident, which bound 
 up every other sense in that of listening. 
 Upon examination, a severe contusion on the 
 back of the head and the marks of the hoofs 
 in the breast were found. There was no 
 fracture of the skull, but the blow upon the 
 head had stunned him. He was placed in a 
 warm bath, and the doctor opening a vein, 
 after several trials, succeeded in starting the 
 blood. At first it trickled but in drops, but 
 soon flowed more freely, and in the course 
 of an hour, the doctor had the satisfaction of 
 seeing partial animation restored. He re 
 mained insensible to everything for hours; 
 was very restless, and at times muttered in 
 coherently. The doctor left him about mid 
 night, after giving directions in regard to his 
 charge, in the care of Mr. Hereford and Mr. 
 Martin, who volunteered to remain with him. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 ' My heavy heart, the prophetess of woe, 
 Foretells some ill at hand.' 
 
 IT was midnight, and the multitude that : surely he would not without informing me of 
 30 lately thronged the streets, were wrapped his intention. Never, since the commence- 
 
 in slumber. The noisy hum of voices had 
 ceased. The free laugh and jocund song of 
 gay promen ciders had passed away ; and the 
 
 merit of our acquaintance, have we been sep 
 arated one night. But no ! my foreboding 
 heart too truly divines that some fearful acci- 
 
 mantle of silence was thrown over the gay ;dent has befallen him. In one hour he was 
 city. The majestic queen of night was sail- j to have met me here ; but how many long 
 ing in proud beauty through the deep blue hours have glided away, and still he comes 
 ether, her pure silvery radiance undimmed by not.' 
 
 a single cloud. 
 
 At this hour, in a large, splendidly fur 
 nished room in one of the principal hotels of 
 street, might be seen a young man, 
 
 Stanley (for it was he), upon leaving Clif 
 ton, had proceeded directly to his attorney, 
 and remained nearly an hour in consultation 
 with him ; then proceeding to their rooms, 
 
 pacing back and forth with an appearance of! was surprised at not finding his friend alrea- 
 the greatest agitation, occasionally pausing ' dy arrived. Taking up a book, he occupied 
 in his rapid course as if in deep thought ; j himself for an hour ; then sallied forth in 
 then hastening to the windows that overlook- ,' search of him. Travelling one street after 
 ed the street, and casting an anxious eye over another, and calling at a variety of lounging 
 the moonlight scene without; then returning rooms, without finding any trace of him, he 
 with as much haste, as if rapidity of motion i suddenly decided to call at his friend Du- 
 could annihilate thought, throwing himself ; page, in the hope of finding him there. Ring- 
 upon a sofa and murmuring to himself ' O,' ! ing at the door, a servant in answer to his in- 
 cried he, ' why is he absent ? Has he gone j quiry, said the doctor had been called away 
 to spend the night with some friend? But | suddenly to visit a dying man. 'Then has 
 
14 
 
 SENORA INES. 
 
 not Mr. Clifton been here this evening ? ' 
 The servant answered in the negative, and 
 slowly turning away in disappointment, walk 
 ed on with slow and desponding steps to 
 wards his hotel. But suddenly rousing from 
 his pensive mood, he cried, ' What 4 fool I 
 am, taking a wild goose chase around the 
 the city, in search of one who will probably 
 bestow upon me a hearty laugh for my pains. 
 Let him stay away if he pleases ; I will go 
 home and sleep soundly in spite of him.' Ac 
 cordingly, with this wise determination he as 
 cended to his rooms ; but they looked so 
 lonely without the cheering presence of his 
 friend, that all his old misgivings came over 
 him ; and pacing the floor with disordered 
 steps, he gave vent to his feelings in words. 
 Edward Stanley, though still young, had 
 seen much of the world's baseness, and had 
 experienced its unfeeling fickleness in his 
 own person. Having no near relative living, 
 and going abroad immediately after leaving 
 college, he had formed few acquaintances, 
 deserving the name of friends. About two 
 months since, only a short time after leaving 
 college, he had happily saved the life of Clif 
 ton, who entangled with the trappings of his 
 horse in crossing a stream, would inevitably 
 have perished, had not Stanley with great 
 difficulty rescued him. Clifton's ardent ex 
 pressions of gratitude, joined to the repeated 
 wish that their acquaintance so auspiciously 
 commenced, might be ripened into sincere 
 and lasting friendship by constant association, 
 met a warm response in the bosom of Stan 
 ley, whose soul yearned for some object on 
 which to pour out all the hoarded treasures 
 of affection, so long pent up and driven back 
 
 offer. He said he had some business in New 
 Orleans but it was not so pressing as to re 
 quire immediate attention, and he would 
 gladly spend a few days in the society of his 
 new friend. 
 
 It was nearly sunset, when as they ascend 
 ed a long hill, Clifton suddenly stopped and 
 pointed to a splendid villa, about half a mile 
 in advance, situated upon the shore of the 
 Mississippi, exclaiming, ' There is my house.' 
 ' And a delightful home it is,' said Stan 
 ley, his eye taking in the whole beauty of the 
 scene. It was a large, old fashioned house, 
 with a portico supported by enormous pillars 
 in front. It was almost buried in a grove of 
 trees, while the grounds were laid out in a 
 tasteful style, being terraced down almost to 
 the river's bank. As our gentlemen advanc 
 ed at a rapid pace, the gate flew open at their 
 entrance, and advancing up the long avenue, 
 overshadowed by towering oaks, Clifton gave 
 their horses in charge of a servant, and en 
 tering the house presented Stanley to his 
 mother, with a brief relation of the circum 
 stances attending their meeting. Mrs. Clif 
 ton's cheek paled at the recital of her son's 
 danger, and she expressed her lively grati 
 tude to Stanley in the most fervent man 
 ner. 
 
 Mrs. Clifton was a fine looking woman, 
 with easy, ladylike manners. An expression 
 of calm serenity and perfect good nature per 
 vaded every feature. She was a native of 
 Scotland. Her father, James Douglass, was 
 the last of an ancient family, possessing un 
 bounded wealth and pride of birth. He had 
 but two children; James his eldest, was but 
 twenty-two years of age when his father died, 
 
 to their source, by the ingratitude and cruel 
 ty of those he had once regarded as friends. 
 Clifton told him they were now in the vicini 
 ty of his residence, and gave him a pressing 
 invitation to accompany him to the planta 
 tion, and spend a few days at least, where his 
 mother would be most happy to entertain one 
 fb whom they owed so much. Stanley re 
 quired little urging to accept so pleasing an 
 
 leaving his young sister Helen, then about 
 sixteen, to his care. Soon after the death of 
 Mr. Douglass, his son determined to gratify 
 a long cherished wish of visiting the new 
 world ; and as Helen would not consent to 
 remain behind, he turned his property into 
 money, and taking with him all they wished 
 for the present, placed the remainder in se 
 curity, upon which he could draw at any 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 15 
 
 time, and came over to our land of adventure. 
 He spent several years in Philadelphia, where 
 his lovely sister won the affections of all who 
 approached her. At the age of eighteen, she 
 gave her hand and heart to Mr. Clifton, a 
 gentleman of good family and extensive prop 
 erty. Her brother now following his incli 
 nation for travelling, visited almost every 
 place of interest, and at the end of four years 
 married a lady of surpassing beauty and 
 worth. She was of one of the oldest fami 
 lies in the country, though portionless. Mr. 
 Douglass, being possessed of abundance him 
 self, cared not for increase of wealth, and 
 loved her for herself alone. He immediately 
 became possessor of a splendid residence, and 
 valuable plantation, about fifty "miles from 
 New Orleans, where Mr. Clifton soon follow 
 ed, and retired upon the estate to which we 
 have just introduced our readers, only five 
 miles distant. 
 
 Here henceforth the two families remain 
 ed, enjoying the delights of social intercourse 
 until the cholera, that fearful scourge, passed 
 through our country, when Mrs. Douglass 
 and her three eldest children were swept 
 away in one week. Her husband who wor 
 shipped her, followed broken hearted, leaving 
 his only remaining child the little Helen, to the 
 guardian care of Mr. Clifton, who at once 
 adopted her into his family and heart. She 
 was ever regarded with affection ; but when 
 Mrs. Clifton lost by the hand of death her 
 only daughter, Helen took the place left va 
 cant in her heart, and she grew up the pride 
 and ornament of their house 1 . Her engaging 
 sweetness of disposition, the peculiar naivete 
 of her manners, and her devoted affection for 
 her more than parents, and the adopted broth 
 er of her childhood, rendered her all that was 
 amiable and lovely. 
 
 Mr. Clifton's death, four years previous to 
 the opening of our tale, cast a gloom over 
 the hitherto happy family. Mrs. Clifton had 
 received several dislioguished offers; but de 
 voted to the love ofher youth, declined them 
 all, and lived happy in the society of her 
 
 only son and niece. The latter at the time 
 of Stanley's visit was absent at school. 
 
 As Mr. Stanley was a stranger in this part, 
 Clifton took him on long excursions through 
 the surrounding country ; and when at home, 
 they spent the time in entertaining conversa 
 tion, in carrying out Mrs. Clifton's designs, 
 about some new improvement of the grounds, 
 or in taking a gay sail upon the broad bo 
 som of the river ; and in this way the time 
 flew so rapidly that at the end of six weeks, 
 Stanley could scarce realize he had been 
 there as many days. But then he found that 
 he must break the spell that bound him, and 
 tear himself away. The very idea was pain 
 ful, for he had become very much attached to 
 Mrs. Clifton, who had indeed treated him as 
 a son ; and his friend he regarded as a dearly 
 loved brother. They had reconciled him to 
 a world that he almost hated, and directed 
 his mind to a higher source than man for 
 consolation. This was a direction in which 
 his thoughts had seldom turned ; and as he 
 listened to the gentle, persuasive eloquence of 
 Mrs. Clifton, and saw the effect of her faith 
 in her conduct and uniform serenity of mind, 
 a new world was opened to him. Therefore 
 when he found that he must part wuh them, 
 the thought cast a shade of melancholy over 
 his mind. Every inducement was held forth 
 to retain still longer, one in whose society 
 they both delighted ; but when he declared 
 that business called him imperatively to the 
 city, Clifton announced his intention of going 
 with him, though it was but few weeks since 
 he left there, which his friend heard with joy. 
 At the time our story commences they had 
 been in town but two weeks. 
 
 We must beg the reader's pardon for such 
 a lengthy digression ; but as poor Stanley's 
 anxiety in regard to his friend was so great, 
 we thought we would take part of the weary 
 time off his hands, by an explanation of 
 the commencement of so devoted a friend 
 ship. 
 
 But to return. Wearied at last with watch 
 ing, he threw himself upon his couch, but not 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 tq sleep. Suspense, that most torturing of all 
 earthly evils, was too racking to be endured 
 with fortitude; and gladly did he hail the 
 first approach of dawn. Soon after the first 
 rays of the sun were visible, he stepped into 
 the street, thinking the morning air would re 
 fresh him, and walked slowly on, musing 
 upon the strange absence of his friend. When 
 coming near the scene of last night's disas 
 ter, he heard several men talking together 
 about an accident that had happened there. 
 Eagerly grasping at anything that might give 
 him intelligence of Arthur, he made some in 
 quiries, and was immediately informed of 
 wha 1 ; had happened. But they could neither 
 tell him the gentleman's name nor where he 
 was removed. Edward turned away, forcibly 
 impressed with the idea that Clifton was the 
 victim of the scene just related; and hasten 
 ing to his hotel, was informed as he entered 
 the hail that a man was awaiting him within. 
 It was a servant of Mr. Hereford, sent to ap 
 prise him of the situation of his friend. He 
 said Clifton was now delirious, and constant 
 ly raved of him. Stanley would scarcely give 
 the man time to repeat his errand, but eager 
 ly requested him to lead him to the side of 
 his friend. - Jumping into a carriage they 
 were in a few moments set down at Mr. 
 Hereford's door. Entering the house, and 
 requesting the servant to conduct him to Mr. 
 Clifton, they passed through a room in which 
 several ladies were sitting. Impatient to 
 proceed, he scarcely noted wh'o were in the 
 room; but bowing slightly to the ladies, 
 passed on. As they entered the sick room, 
 Stanley saw Monsieur Dupage, who was 
 standing by a table near the door, hand a cup 
 to a fairy-like creature, who turning to the 
 outstretched form of his friend upon a couch 
 near, pressed the cup to his lips. But he put 
 it away with his hand, and raising himself 
 with a sudden effort upon his arm, cried as 
 he gazed wildly around, ' Edward, dear Ed 
 ward, why do you not come ; have you too, 
 deserted me? ' Stanley sprung forward, and 
 bending over his friend, exclaimed, 'O Ar 
 
 thur, I am here, your own Edward, your de 
 voted brother.' Clifton looked eagerly in hig 
 face for a moment, and extended his hand as 
 if to grasp him ; but falling back with a 
 groan, murmured, ' No, no, it was only an 
 apparition; and like the rest, when I attempt 
 to approach it, flies from me ; ' and with a 
 deep sigh he closed his eyes. 
 
 Stanley threw himself upon his knees, and 
 pressed the burning hand of his friend repeat 
 edly to his lips and bosom ; while the stifled 
 sighs breathed over it, betrayed his intense 
 emotion. Arthur seemed to notice that some 
 one was in distress; and starting upright in 
 bed, with one hand he grasped the bed clothes 
 convulsively, and with the other seemed try 
 ing to push something from him. 'O!' 
 cried he, with horror imprinted on every fea 
 ture, ' O ! she will be killed ! I cannot save 
 her ! See, the hoofs are now raised to crush 
 her to the earth ! O, Father of mercies, pro 
 tect her ! ' covering his face with his hands, 
 as if to shut out the horrid sight, he fell back 
 exhausted. 
 
 At a motion from the 'physician, Ines 
 trembling with agitation, and her eyes stream 
 ing with tears, now approached, and said a 
 few soothing woods to him, which calmed 
 his agony, and he swallowed the cordial 
 which she again presented to his lips. 
 
 The doctor now drew Stanley gently away 
 from the bedside, and explained to him all 
 that had occurred. Edward questioned him 
 earnestly in regard to his opinion of Clifton's 
 danger, and he answered frankly, that ' noth 
 ing but the most assiduous attention could 
 save him.' 
 
 ' O, then,' cried Stanley, ' I will not leave 
 
 him day or night; and you, 
 
 doctor, with 
 ringing, will 
 
 whose skill the whole city is 
 save him?' 
 
 ' I will do all in my power,' he answered, 
 ' and with the blessing of God on our efforts, 
 he may be saved.' 
 
 ' [ suppose it is impossible to move him ? ' 
 said Stanley, inquiringly. 
 
 ' O, quite impossible, it would hasten his 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 17 
 
 dissolution; and beside, when he is in his 
 raving fits, no one but the sweet Ines can 
 soothe him.' 
 
 Stanley regarded the lady with a kind of 
 painful admiration, for he could not forget 
 that for her, his friend had so nearly lost his 
 life. 
 
 Ines turned her eyes anxiously upon 
 them, and approaching softly, said, ' surely 
 sir, you have no intention of removing Mr. 
 Clifton from here? ' 
 
 The medical gentleman shook his head, 
 and Stanley said something of the trouble it 
 would occasion them. 
 
 ' Trouble, replied Ines, with a look of re 
 proach, ' could you think it would be esteem 
 ed a trouble, when Mr. Clifton has claims 
 upon my gratitude, which can never be re 
 paid.' 
 
 ' Pardon me, dear lady, I meant no offence ; 
 but he is my best, my dearest friend, and 
 now, in his present state, I cannot leave 
 him.' 
 
 ' Certainly not, sir; I am confident my 
 uncle will be most happy to welcome to his 
 house an intimate friend of Mr. Clifton. 
 But if Mr. Stanley wishes the assurance 
 from his own lips ' 
 
 She was at the moment interrupted by 
 the opening of the doors, and Mr. Hereford 
 entered. He advanced directly to Mr. Stan 
 ley, and offering his hand, expressed pleasure 
 at seeing him, at the same time begging him 
 to consider his house his home as long as Mr. 
 Clifton remained an invalid. Stanley ex 
 pressed his thanks for this privilege, and Mr. 
 Hereford, noticing that their friend was tran 
 quil lor a short time, requested the pleasure 
 of presenting him to his lady. 
 
 Stanley seeming reluctant to leave his 
 friend, the doctor said it would be much bet 
 ter to leave him quiet for a time ; and 
 they accordingly left the room together. 
 Pausing a few moments before they 
 descended the stairs, Stanley inquired if the 
 lady whose life had been saved by his friend, 
 
 was the niece he had mentioned the day be 
 fore. 
 
 'She is indeed,' replied Mr. Hereford. 
 ' About twenty-four years since, her father, 
 Don Carlos De Montaldo, a Mexican of high 
 birth, spent some months in the city of New 
 York, my native place. Myself, and only 
 sister Alice, orphaned at an early age, were 
 received into the family of a widowed uncle, 
 who having no children, adopted us as his 
 own ; where we received every advantage 
 that wealth could bestow. Don Carlos be 
 came acquainted, and soon ardently attached 
 to Alice, and offered his hand and heart for 
 her acceptance.' 
 
 ' One short week after the proposal, our 
 beloved uncle was seized with a fit of apo 
 plexy, which in a few hours' terminated his 
 life. We sincerely mourned his loss, for he 
 had been to us a second father. On open 
 ing his will, it was found that we were left 
 sole heirs of his immense property; which 
 joined to our own patrimony, made an almost 
 princely fortune. 
 
 ' Montaldo remained another month in the 
 city, and then my loved Alice accompanied 
 him home as his bride. Having nothing to 
 detain me longer in New York, I travelled a 
 year or two ; and then wishing to be as near 
 as possible to my dear sister, I came to this 
 city, and soon after led to the altar one who 
 made me the happiest of men. 
 
 1 As long as my sister lived, we exchanged 
 occasional visits. I well remember the last 
 time I saw her. 1 had spent a week with 
 them, anj} noticed with uneasiness that her 
 heajth was failing. She was pale and thin, 
 and a slight though, constant cough was prey 
 ing upon her strength. Her husband looked 
 upon these evidences of disease with appre 
 hension, for he almost idolized her. She 
 had but two children, the young Alphon- 
 so, then about fourteen, and Ines, four years 
 younger. I did not know that she felt any 
 alarm in regard to her health, till our part 
 ing ; when gazing upon her children with 
 melancholy tenderness, she &aid, "These 
 
18 
 
 SENORA INES. 
 
 (fear ones, I fear, will soon be left without 
 mother's guiding care." Then endeavoring 
 to look more cheerful, she continued, " But 
 I do wrong, thus to cloud our parting hour 
 with such desponding reflections. Adieu, 
 dear brother, and should we never meet 
 again on earth, let us live so that we may 
 meet in a happier world, never more to part." 
 She threw herself into her husband's arms, 
 and I turned away, with emotions too deep 
 to utter a word. Three months after I left 
 Mexico, I received a letter announcing her 
 death. Though certainly anticipated, I was 
 deeply shocked by the news. 1 soon wrote 
 to my brother-in-law, with a request that I 
 might bring Ines here, where she could hare 
 every advantage of education, and should in 
 every respect be treated as my own daughter; 
 but he returned for answer that he could not 
 summon resolution to part with her now, but 
 perhaps sometime hence he might be able to 
 do so. 
 
 ' Two years after that I visited him. He 
 was very melancholy, and seemed to live only 
 in his children; but at my earnest entreaty, 
 consented that Ines might accompany me 
 home, his desire to act for her best interest 
 overcoming his reluctance to part with her; 
 but only on condition that she should visit 
 him often, and on finishing her education, 
 return to bless his home with her presence. 
 She has been with us six years, and now I 
 suppose her father will soon send for her ; 
 but she is dear to me as my own child, and 
 the parting will be painful in the extreme. 
 But forgive me, my dear sir, I have de 
 tained you here longer than I intended. 
 
 Stanley assured him he had listened with 
 pleasure to his interesting narration ; and 
 they now proceeded to the sitting room, 
 where Mrs. Hereford, her daughter, and Ma 
 rie Dupage were sitting. To the former he 
 was now presented, and having saluted the 
 young ladies, took a seat offered him. The 
 conversation was grave, mostly relating to 
 the sad accident of the night before; and it' 
 Stanley was fascinated by the variety and 
 
 brilliancy of Miss Hereford's conversa 
 tion at their first meeting, he was now 
 charmed by the lovely expression of regret 
 and sympathy, beaming from every feature. 
 The young ladies knew nothing of what had 
 occurred, till this morning, when they rode 
 out with Monsieur Dupage. 
 
 Even the pleasure of the ladies' society 
 could not keep Stanley long from his friend ; 
 and he was just rising to return there, when 
 the doctor entered. He told his daughter 
 he was now in readiness to go home, and 
 asked Miss Hereford ifshe would not return 
 with them. She smiling turned to her moth 
 er, who said they could not spare her any 
 longer at present. As they retired, Edward 
 followed them to the door, and pressing the 
 physician's hand, again entreated him to pay 
 every attention to his friend ; then ascending 
 the stairs he tapped gently at the door of 
 Clifton's room, and entered. He was lying 
 in a kind of stupor, the same as when he left 
 him. 
 
 Advancing to Ines, he said he would sit by 
 his friend, and relieve her from such constant 
 attendance. She thanked him, and repeat 
 ing the directions left by the physician, said 
 if Mr. Clifton again became raving, he would 
 find her in the adjoining room. She then re 
 tired and left him alone with his thoughts, 
 and his meditations were not of the most 
 agreeable nature. He was alone in the 
 wide world, had neither relative nor friend, 
 who he believed would sincerely sympathize 
 in his joys or 'Sorrows, save hirn who lay be 
 fore him. The meeting of the day before 
 with Alice Hereford had opened a new train 
 of feelings in his bosom. Ever strongly sus 
 ceptible of beauty of mind and person, it was 
 not singular that he should be dazzled by 
 such pre-eminence in both ; and finding her 
 also possessed of sweetness and sensibility, be 
 felt then, even upon so short an acquaintance, 
 that the happiness of his future life was in 
 tier hands. He sighed bitterly as he thought 
 how unavailing, how perfectly hopeless his 
 passion must ever be. Poor in the posses- 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 19 
 
 sion of what the world denominates wealth, 
 though rich in the treasures of mind and 
 heart, yet how could he ever hope that the 
 rich, the brilliant Miss Hereford,the admired 
 of all admirers, would deign to look upon 
 him with eyes of favor. 
 
 He did not hope, and he felt that the only 
 way to retain his peace of mind was to ban 
 ish her image from his thoughts. Impressed 
 with this idea, he buried his face in the bed 
 clothes, exclaiming" : 
 
 ' And should I lose thee, my friend, my 
 brother, may the hour that closes thy life, be 
 the last of mine.' 
 
 It might have been an hour after this, 
 when Clifton awoke with a start, but not as 
 his friend had hoped, with reason beaming 
 from his eyes. He again commenced raving. 
 He called upon his mother, his cousin, and 
 Edward, alternately ; then seemed to live 
 over the scene he had so lately passed 
 through, till his delirium became so violent, 
 that Edward stepped to the door by which 
 Ines had disappeared to call her. Her hand 
 was on the lock, and she immediately ap 
 proached, and after a long effort, succeeded 
 in soothing her patient to partial quietude. 
 Then Stanley stepped from the room, and 
 after a few moments' consultation with Mr. 
 Hereford, a messenger was sent to apprise 
 Mrs. Clifton of the dangerous illness of her 
 son. 
 
 It is needless to follow Clifton's disease 
 through all its course. Monsieur Dupage at 
 tended him with all the solicitude of a father ; 
 and Stanley watched by him day and night 
 with a brother's devotion, scarce leaving him 
 to take sufficient rest to support nature ; 
 while the lovely Ines was ever near, gliding 
 like a ministering angel around his couch, 
 anticipating every want, and soothing him 
 into tranquillity with her low, soft voice. In 
 deed the whole family seemed to vie with 
 each other in paying those attentions grati 
 tude prompted them to offer. On the third 
 day the messenger sent to Mrs. Clifton re 
 turned ; but came alone ! He delivered a 
 
 letter to Stanley, from Dr. Hunter, her fami 
 ly physician. He wrote that Mrs. Clifton 
 was very ill indeed having been seized with 
 the pleurisy, to which she was subject. He 
 dared not communicate to her the dreadful 
 tidings of her son's danger ; in the fear that 
 it would endanger her life and nothing but 
 her extreme illness could prevent him in per 
 son, flying to the bedside of one, whom he 
 regarded as a son. He said, ' he knew, of 
 course, Mr. Stanley would secure the best 
 medical skill in the city, to attend .upon his 
 friend ; and besought him to write to him 
 every day, and relieve his anxiety.' 
 
 On the morning of the fifth day, Clifton 
 gradually sunk into a slumber, so deep, so 
 deathlike, that the anxious watchers by his 
 couch many times bent over him, apprehen 
 sive that life had indeed departed ; but his 
 faint and scarcely perceptible respiration pro 
 claimed him still an inhabitant of earth. 
 About ten, at evening, M. Dupage was sit 
 ting with his fingers pressed upon the feeble 
 pulse of his friend. Stanley sat at his foot, 
 his hand pressed upon his brow ; and the 
 muscles of his face working with suppressed 
 emotion while Ines, the untiring Ines, stood 
 at this moment at his head, on the opposite 
 side, pale as monumental marble, with her 
 eyes fixed upon vacancy. 
 
 At this moment, Clifton drawing a deep 
 sigh, opened his eyes ! They were entirely 
 divested of their feverish glare, and the light 
 of reason darted from them, as he looked 
 about in surprise. 
 
 M. Dupage motioned Edward (who at the 
 first movement of his friend had sprung up) 
 to resume his seat ; and pressing his fingers 
 on the lips of Clifton, who was just unclosing 
 them, he said : * My dear friend, you have 
 been sick, and are now very weak, and if you 
 desire to recover, you must not say a word 
 at present.' Approaching with a draught, 
 he desired his patient to swallow it. He 
 obeyed, and almost immediately fell into a 
 sweet and tranquil slumber, from which they 
 hoped the happiest results. 
 

 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ON the following morning Clifton awoke 
 entirely free from fever, with his mind clear 
 and calm. M. Dupage called early, happy to 
 find that his hopes were realized, and Arthur 
 might be pronounced out of danger. He was 
 weak, so very weak that he was obliged to 
 recline in perfect helplessness upon his couch. 
 But the fearful delirium was removed, and 
 his friends felt confident of his recovery. A 
 letter containing the joyful tidings, was im 
 mediately despatched to Dr. Hunter. 
 
 M. Dupage now answered the eager inqui 
 ries of his friend, by detailing all that had 
 occurred since the moment of his fall. 
 
 1 But, my mother ! dear sir, why is she not 
 here? did you not send for her?' 
 
 This was explained to him, and also that a 
 letter had arrived that morning, saying that 
 she was now out of danger. Clifton's ex 
 treme anxiety about his mother being some 
 what relieved by this intelligence, he asked 
 permission to see his kind friends, that he 
 might thank them for the trouble he had oc 
 casioned them. But the doctor would not 
 allow that. 
 
 ' Wait another day,' he said, ' till you 
 gain sufficient strength to support the exer 
 
 tion. It is absolutely necessary you should 
 remain quiet ! Mr. Stanley will set by you, 
 and he must remember, that much conver 
 sation will only retard your recovery and 
 therefore avoid it.' 
 
 As M. Dupage left the room, Clifton 
 warmly pressing the hand of his friend, said 
 ' I may at least have the privilege of ex 
 pressing my love and gratitude to you, O 
 Edward ! no brother could have watched 
 over me more devotedly ; and as a beloved 
 brother 1 shall ever regard you.' 
 
 Stanley returned the pressure. ' O my 
 friend,' he cried, ' the whole pleasure of my 
 life consist* in the enjoyment of your friend 
 ship and now that you are spared to me I 
 will be happy. 
 
 Though Clifton was not allowed to con 
 verse, yet his mind was active. He felt the 
 most sincere thankfulness to that Providence 
 who had preserved him through so much 
 danger ; and breathed a fervent prayer to 
 Heaven, that he might ever remember from 
 whence came all the blessings which were 
 showered upon him. The devoted affection 
 of Stanley dwelt upon his mind and he de 
 termined to discover if possible the cause of 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 21 
 
 that sadness, which often displaced the na 
 tural joyousness of his spirits, and if in his 
 power, relieve it. Then the image of Ines 
 ce Montaldo flitted before his vision ; he 
 thought of her as he saw her in the street, 
 when he sprang to her rescue and again the 
 glimpse of her agitated counetnance, when 
 he first opened his eyes from that deathlike 
 torpor in which his senses were buried, seem 
 ed fixed in his memory. 
 
 The next mornino 1 when the seal was taken 
 
 c . 
 
 from his lips, Clifton reminded Monsieur 
 Dupage of his promise the previous day. 
 
 ' Ah,' cried the doctor, laughingly, ' I see 
 you are eager to make the acquaintance of 
 your beautiful nurse and well you may be, 
 for she has watched over you with the care 
 of a sister. Indeed, she and our friend here,' 
 turning to Stanley, ' have hardly slept since 
 you entered the house.' 
 
 A smile and a tear contended for the mas 
 tery, as he listened to this speech. ' I shall 
 never forget such kindness,' he exclaimed, 
 ' but my dear Dupage, do not delay longer in 
 granting my wishes.' 
 
 His friend immediately left the room, and 
 Clifton desired Edward's assistance to raise 
 and support him in bed. 
 
 In a few moments, Mrs. Hereford and 
 Alice entered ; approaching they expressed 
 the warmest pleasure at the prospect of his 
 recovery and in reply to his animated ac 
 knowledgements, exclaimed, ' O, do not 
 mention obligations, we are the obliged. 
 You have nobly risked your life, to save one 
 very dear to us, and for which we must ever 
 feel the liveliest gratitude.' 
 
 Clifton's eyes now wandered over the 
 room, in search of the dear one alluded to, 
 iiiit with a look erf disappointment, he turned 
 them upon Mrs. Hereford. Divining the 
 meaning of the glance, she answered with a 
 playful smile, ' Donna Ines will be here im 
 mediately.' 
 
 At that moment the door opened, and she 
 entered, leaning upon the doctor's arm. As 
 they approached, she left him, and advancing, 
 
 eagerly exclaimed : ' Permit me to express 
 a small part of the gratitude I owe you, for 
 preserving my life, at such imminent risk of 
 your own. O, sir, the most fervent blessings 
 of my only parent will be bestowed upon 
 the preserver of his child. Had you not done 
 what, perhaps, none others in like circum 
 stances would have attempted, I must inev 
 itably have been crushed under those up 
 raised hoofs.' Then covering her eyes with 
 her hand, < O !' she cried, 'that dreadful 
 scene makes me shudder even now. I can 
 never speak half my gratitude.' 
 
 ' Dear lady,' answered Clifton, ' you owe 
 me no gratitude, the act was involuntary. 
 But I feel grateful to kind Providence which 
 enabled me to save the life of one so very dear 
 to her friends. But, my thanks are due to 
 you, madam, for your kind watchfulness over 
 me since I have been a troublesome invalid 
 in this house. 1 
 
 ' What little it has been in my power to 
 do,' cried Ines, blushing, and retreating to a 
 seat, ' has been very slight, in return for so 
 great a service.' 
 
 Clifton's eyes followed her, admiration 
 speaking from every feature; but observing 
 thatehe was embarrassed by his fixed gaze, 
 he turned away and reclined in fatigue upon 
 the pillows. 
 
 Mr. Hereford., who had before stolen in to 
 offer his thanks and congratulations, now en 
 tered, and joined the happy group. 
 ^The considerate physician, however, soon 
 reminded them that hi* patient needed re 
 pose : but he hoped in a few days he should 
 be able to transport him to the parlor, where 
 he could enjoy their society with more com 
 fort. The company obeying his directions, 
 our twofriends were left alone. 
 
 Let us pass over an interval of eight days, 
 and introduce our readers into JMr. Here 
 ford's parlor, where a pleasant party were as 
 sembled near a window which looked oat 
 upon a delightful garden, containing a varie 
 ty of rare and splendid plants, sat Mrs. Here 
 ford, employed uppn a piece of embroidery. 
 
22 
 
 SENORA INES, 
 
 Her daughter was sitting by a table covered 
 with books in the centre of which stood a 
 vase of the rarest flowers, diffusing their rich 
 perfume through the room. Stanley stood 
 over her, slowly turning the leaves of a col 
 lection of splendid engravings which he had 
 just obtained, and was now pointing put the 
 beauties of different scenes. 
 
 Reclining on a sofa by an open window, 
 our invalid was examining some new music ; 
 but his eyes often roamed to the face of Se- 
 nora Ines, who sat a short distance from him, 
 twining a wreath for a lovely girl who stood 
 by her side. Mademoiselle Dupage was ad 
 miring her work, and twining her fingers in 
 the ribbon of a guitar. 
 
 Suddenly Clifton handed Ines a piece of 
 music, begging that she would oblige him by 
 singing it. She took it, and glancing over it 
 with a smile, took her guitar and running her 
 fingers lightly over the strings, sang in a 
 voice of melting sweetness, that sweet song, 
 
 ' Though 'tis all but a dream, &c.' 
 
 As the last words died upon her lips, Clifton 
 expressed his eager delight. ' That is a fa 
 vorite of my dear cousin Helen,' said Jie. ' I 
 have often listened to that song, as the rich 
 tones of her voice floated in my ear, with the 
 melodious accompaniment of that exquisite 
 instrument and thought nothing could ex 
 ceed it.' 
 
 ' Ah,' cried the lively Marie, ' I presume 
 your raptures were not occasioned so much 
 by the music, as the fair perfor.mer. If re 
 port speaks truth, that dear cousin Helen 
 will soon become " une cherir epouse." 
 
 1 She is already dear to me as a sister,' he 
 answered smiling. ' Her last term at school 
 closes to-morrow ; and unless my mother has 
 informed her otherwise, she will look for me 
 to accompany her home. It would give me 
 great pleasure,' he continued, turning to Ines, 
 ' to present her to you. I am confident you 
 would be mutually pleased with each other. 
 Indeed to my mind there is a striking re 
 semblance between her* and yourself.' 
 
 The heart of Ines palpitated forcibly at thw> 
 remark but summoned sufficient resolution 
 to answer as politeness dictated. 
 
 Stanley, who had turned to listen, as the 
 first strain of music fell upon his ear, now 
 advanced and said : ' I've never had the plea 
 sure of seeing Miss Douglass, but have often 
 heard the gentlemen in the vicinity of her re 
 sidence speak with rapture of her unequalled 
 attractions. They described her as being 
 beautiful as the creation of a dream and 
 sportive as a poet's fancy. The poor fami 
 lies around worshipped her very name while 
 her adopted mother and brother almost idol 
 ized her; and if our friend Clifton should 
 endeavor to secure such loveliness as his 
 own, none of us could blame, however we 
 gentlemen might be disposed to envy him 
 such happiness.' 
 
 ' It is fortunate that you never met her,' 
 exclaimed Marie, glancing mischievously at 
 Miss Hereford, ' as you probably would have 
 had neithejr eyes nor ears for any of the pre 
 sent company. Do you not think so, my dear 
 Ines ?'. 
 
 ' Assuredly,' she answered, raising her dark 
 eyes with 'a smile. ' Mr. Stanley seems so 
 much struck by the description of the lady, 
 that should be meet her, Mr. Clifford might 
 find a powerful rival in his friend.' 
 
 The gentleman smiled, and returned a 
 sportive answer to this remark, while Miss 
 Hereford raised her eyes to Edward's face 
 but meeting his in the same direction, averted 
 them hastily, and busied herself in tearing in 
 pieces a beautiful rose which she held in her 
 fingers. At this moment, Mr, Hereford en 
 tered the room, and advancing to Clifton, pre 
 sented him a letter; then turning to Ines, h, 
 said : ' And I have one for you too, my swsei 
 niece, but I dread to know its contents, as I 
 fear it will decree our parting.' 
 
 She received the letter, and excusing her 
 self to the company, flew to her chamber to 
 peruse it. 
 
 Mr. Hereford seeing that Ar?har hesitated 
 about opening his letter, said, 'the company 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 23 
 
 would readily excuse him.' Bowing his 
 thanks, he broke the seal and read. It was 
 from his mother ! saying that she was much 
 better, but still quite feeble and conjuring 
 him if able to be carried home, to come to 
 her immediately ; as she could not feel as 
 sured of his safety, till convinced by his pre 
 sence. She said, Doctor Hunter had gone 
 to accompany Helen home, and she was quite 
 alone. As Clifton communicated his moth 
 er's wishes, and said he must leave them the 
 next day every voice was raised in opposi 
 tion, saying they were assured he would bring 
 on a relapse by such exertion. He thanked 
 them for their kind wishes, but remained firm 
 in his resolution of going. Turning to Stan 
 ley, who stood gazing upon him, silent and 
 melancholy, at the prospect of* their separa 
 tion, he extended his hand and said smi 
 ling : ' My dear friend, I have already been a 
 great trouble to you, but will you add still 
 more to the obligation, and take the charge 
 of seeing me safe home ?' 
 
 Edward advanced eagerly, ' O, indeed I 
 shall be but too happy to be allowed the priv 
 ilege.' 
 
 At this moment the door bell rung, and 
 Monsieur Dupage was shown in. ' Well, my 
 dear father,' cried Marie, running up to him, 
 ' you are going to lose your troublesome 
 patient here. His lady mother has sent an 
 express command to take him home. I sup 
 pose she fears the attractions of some of us 
 ladies may be sufficiently powerful to over 
 come the citadel of his heart !' Her father 
 patted her cheek affectionately, and turning 
 to Clifton, demanded if what she said wa 
 true. Being answered in the affirmative, he 
 was" going to express his decided disapproba 
 tion, but Arthur reading the intention in his 
 look, cried, ' my dear friend, do not atternp 
 to.dissuade me from going home. The time 
 passed on a sick bed ha? with me been be 
 guiled of its weariness, by the agreeable so 
 ciety of friends; but with my dear mother 
 i^ must have passed on leaden wings, uncheer 
 ed by the presence of either of her children 
 
 t is certainly but due to her, that I go im 
 mediately, even at the risk of very much fa- 
 igue.' 
 
 Finding it impossible to change his deter 
 mination, the benevolent Dupage said no 
 more. 
 
 The ever gay Marie repeated to him a 
 dozen messages to his mother and Helen 
 hen seeing that her father was waiting for 
 ler, she cried, ' well, 1 can stay no longer, so 
 good-by, "jusqu au revoir ;" ' and shaking 
 lands with him she flew from the room. 
 
 The next moment Ines returned ; her 
 
 rierids glanced inquiringly into her face, and 
 
 >y the changes of her countenance, and tear- 
 
 ul eyes, at once conjectured that they were 
 
 soon to lose her. 
 
 Handing the letter to her uncle, she took 
 iier seat by Alice, and told her that in less 
 than three weeks her brother would come to 
 take her to her father. He wrote that he 
 was very lonely ; and- nothing but her dear 
 aresence could restore him to cheerfulness. 
 He also requested her to write her cousin 
 to spend a year with them. This request she 
 now made to her uncle, lookingeagerly into 
 his face, to catch the first look of consent. 
 But he shook his head, with a smile, and a 
 sigh, as he answered, ' no, no, we cannot 
 part with both of you at one time. If it was 
 not that your father's low spirits plead so 
 strongly for your society, we could not think 
 of your leaving us at all. Bull suppose fee 
 Jias the first claim,' and he turned away to 
 hide his emotion. 
 
 'When do you go, Senora?' asked Stan 
 ley. ^ 
 
 ' In less than three weeks !' 
 
 ' So soon /' exclaimed Clifton, starting, and 
 raising his eyes to her face. ' So soon, and 
 you may perhaps never return.' 
 
 ' Probably not indeed !' she answered 
 blushing, and turning away. 
 
 The conversation after this was anything 
 but cheerful, and they separated early Stan? 
 ley going to their hotel to arrange every 
 thing for their journey on the rootrow. 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 We will now follow Ines de Montaldo, for 
 a few moments to her room. As she entered, 
 her maid lighted a pair of lamps which stood 
 upon the table, and remained standing, await 
 ing the pleasure of her mistress. Ines paced 
 the room a few moments in seeming agita 
 tion ; then recollecting herself, told the girl 
 who was watching her attentively, that she 
 would dispense with her services any farthef, 
 and she might go to her rest. 
 
 As she retired, Ines resumed her agitated 
 walk, till pausing in front of a mirror, she 
 glanced at the pale face reflected in it, and 
 ejaculated : ' How inconsiderate have I 
 been, thus to allow the image of this Clifton 
 to be ever present in my thoughts. Might I 
 not have known that he was in all proba 
 bility attached to this lovely Helen, when he 
 was constantly speaking in sucji high terms 
 of her ? And yet, I never imagined that what 
 I felt for him, was anything but gratitude, 
 till my friend Marie rallied him upon his pen 
 chant for his cousin ! Then, I first learned 
 my own heart, when a pang shot through it 
 at the idea. 
 
 ' O ! weaK, thoughtless girl ! But I am 
 punished ! He goes to-morrow, and will 
 never bestow a thought upon her, who will 
 soon be so far away.' She threw herself in 
 to a chair, while the pearly tear-drops cours 
 ed slowly over her cheeks. Then, in spite 
 of her determination to be miserable, the look 
 he had several times cast upon her, made her 
 heart beat faster, as she felt there was som 
 thing beside indifference expressed in it. 
 
 ' But jvhy should I wish to inspire emo 
 tions in him, which can never end in hap 
 piness ? O my father ! why intent upon that 
 hateful match? When so affectionate and 
 kind in everything else why doom your 
 child to perfect misery, by forcing upon her 
 a man she abhors? But O, there is some 
 thing wrong in my heart ! He says his peace 
 of mind here and hereafter, depend upon my 
 fulfilling a promise which he has solemnly 
 sworn should not be broken! ' O merciful 
 God !' she continued, falling on her knees, 
 
 ' forgive my hesitation, and give me strength 
 to do my duty, whatever that may be.' She 
 rose more composed, and hurrying through 
 her toilette, endeavored to seek forgetfulness 
 in sleep. 
 
 The next morning, the family assembled 
 with their guest, when Stanley entered, say 
 ing a carriage was at the door to take them 
 to the boat. Clifton again repeated his thanks 
 to his friends, for the attention he had re 
 ceived and Ines advanced to repeat her 
 soul's.gratitude to her preserver. 
 
 Her lip quivered, and her face was paler 
 than its wont, as she said : ' Mr. Clifton, it 
 is probable we may never meet again, but my 
 warmest prayers will ever be offered up for 
 one who so truly merits them.' 
 
 Arthur pressed her hand a moment in both 
 his own then dropping it as suddenly, ex 
 claimed : ' Think not, dear lady, this is our 
 last meeting. I have nearly obtained a pro 
 mise from Mr. Hereford, to bring this fair 
 company, bowing to the ladies, to La Grange 
 Villa, to spend a few days. But, even should 
 I be disappointed in this, hope, I shall most 
 assuredly return to the city before you leave. 
 
 As he ceased speaking, he turned away, 
 bowed to the rest and leaning for support 
 upon the arm of Stanley, proceeded slowly to 
 the carriage. As they reached it, Mr. Du- 
 page who was coming to take leave of his 
 friend, slopped by his side. 
 
 ' Ah ! I am very happy to see you, doctor ; 
 we were going to drive to your house, but this 
 is better.' And as he spoke, Clifton pressed 
 a hundred dollar note in his hand. 
 
 The physician looked at it a moment, then 
 returned it with a smile. ' You forget that 
 I never take recompense for attendance upon 
 the sick.' 
 
 ' But, my dear sir, I do not consider my 
 self an object of charity, and therefore must 
 insist upon your taking it ! If you cannot 
 use it there are surely enough about you, 
 on whom to bestow charity ' 
 
 ' Possessing a fortune far exceeding my 
 wants,' cried his friend, .' 1 assure you an 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 . 
 25 
 
 addition to it would only be a trouble to me.' 
 And turning away with a deep sigh, in a mo 
 ment was out of sight. 
 
 ' Ah !' thought Stanley, ' these men are 
 consulting about the easiest means of throw 
 ing away their overbundance ; while I have 
 not sufficient for even the necessaries of life.' 
 
 As these thoughts passed through his mind, 
 a torturing sigh burst from his bosom. 
 
 Clifton looked around to discover the 
 meaning of that sigh but his friend with a 
 powerful effort recovered his cheerfulness 
 and they rode rtiward to the boat that was to 
 waft them homeward. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 In struggling with misfortunes, 
 
 Lies the proof of virtue. SHAKSPEARE. 
 
 IT was the third day after the incidents 
 mentioned in the last chapter, that our friends 
 were seated in the portico of La Grange Villa. 
 Mrs. Clifton was reclining on a sofa, which 
 had been rolled out to this delightful spot. 
 Bare creeping vines wound round the pillars 
 and over the roof, falling on every side in 
 rich festoons, sparkling with flowers, which 
 shed a grateful perfume upon the air. The 
 sun was just sinking below the horizon, en 
 veloped in a veil of burnished gold, while a 
 train of white fleecy clouds, floating modestly 
 at a distance, seemed waiting his majesty's 
 pleasure, to attend upon his nightly slumbers. 
 The broad bosom of the river was dotted here 
 afid there with sails, while a noble steamer 
 was ploughing its way majestically through 
 the waves. 
 
 Our friends had been for some time expa 
 tiating upon the splendors of the evening, 
 when Clifton, turning his eyes up the road, 
 exclaimed in delight, ' Here they come ! 
 dear, dear Ellen !' and starting up would 
 have flown to meet her but falling back in 
 his seat, he cried with a smile, 'I believe I 
 am not a very nirnble pedestrian just now.' 
 
 Half a dozen servants, lounging about the 
 grounds, heard his voice, and screaming, ,' O, 
 Missy Helen has come !' started off, each 
 doing his best to first reach and open the 
 gate for their dear young mistress. 
 
 As the carriage rolled up the avenue, and 
 paused just in front of our party, a gentleman 
 opening the door stepped out, and the next 
 instance, almost without assistance, a young 
 lady alighted upon the ground. Darting up 
 the steps she threw her arms affectionately 
 around Mrs. Clifton, and inquired eagerly 
 about her health. ' My dear, dear mother !' 
 she cried, ' I have come home now, never 
 more to leave you ;' then kissing her p;tle 
 cheek, she turned with a smile full of happi 
 ness to Arthur, who, opening his arms, clasp 
 ed her to his heart,. and imprinted a brother's 
 kiss on her glowing cheek. Rising from his 
 arms, she first perceived Stanley, who had 
 drawn back under the overhanging vines. 
 Blushing and confused she extended her hand 
 as Arthur presented his friend ; but recover 
 ing in a moment, she answered his compli 
 ments with ease and grace. Doctor Hunter, 
 after exchanging a few words of greeting 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 with the gentlemen, took his leave, saying he 
 would not interrupt so happy a party. Miss 
 Douglass now sat down 'between her aunt and 
 cousin, and listened with sparkling eyes to 
 their expressions of affection, and joy at her 
 return. 
 
 As Stanley gazed upon the happy trio, he 
 thought of the sad contrast to his own lonely 
 state ; a stranger, and almost penniless. He 
 envied them such felicity ; but it was not such 
 envy as would have blasted their pleasure, 
 because he could not enjoy the same. O, no, 
 the greatest enjoyment he could now expect 
 would be in witnessing the happiness of his 
 friends. As he gazed on Miss Douglass, -he 
 thought the half had not been told him of her 
 exceeding loveliness. She was about the 
 medium height ; her form was slender and 
 delicately proportioned ; her hair of that pe 
 culiarly rich shade, the golden auburn, fell in 
 natural ringlets upon a neck of snow. Her 
 skin was of dazzling fairness, and so very 
 transparent, that the small blue veins were 
 clearly discernible. Her eyes, of heaven's 
 own blue, flashed at one time with intellect 
 and wit ; at another, timidly, languidly look 
 ed out from beneath their long silken lashes ; 
 and when she smiled, innumerable graces 
 played around her small, exquisitely formed 
 mouth. When her features were at rest, she 
 seemed perfectly beautiful ; but when vivac 
 ity sparkled from her eyes, and anima^on 
 lent a warmer hue to her cheek, she. was per 
 fectly bewitching. 
 
 As .Stanley gazed upon this lovely being, 
 he wondered how it was possible that Clifton 
 could look upon her only as a sister ; but 
 that this was so, he was convinced, by his 
 manner towards her. As our invalids were 
 fearful of the evening air, they now proposed 
 returning within the house. The conversa 
 tion here became more connected and gen 
 eral, in which Stanley joined ; and he now 
 found that Helen's mind was as lovely as her 
 person. But the fate of his heart was already 
 decided, and even her varied charms could 
 not win him from his allegiance to her who 
 
 occupied his thoughts. In consideration of 
 Helen's fatiguing journey the party separated 
 early. 
 
 Clifton and his friend retired together. 
 Their rooms were on the second floor, and 
 looked out upon a delightful shrubbery, where 
 the delicious orange and lemon were inter 
 spersed with various flowery shrubs. Draw 
 ing seats near the open windows, they gazed 
 out upon the blue night vault, studded with 
 myriads of stars, and listened to the low mur 
 muring of the wind, sighing through the 
 trees ; until a soft and pleasing melancholy 
 stole over their senses. 
 
 Suddenly Clifton turned to his friend. ' My 
 dear Edward, what time more fitting than the 
 present, to listen to the relation you promised 
 me some time since V 
 
 Stanley sat a few moments silent and sad ; 
 then rousing himself with an effort, he an 
 swered, ' It is indeed due to your noble friend 
 ship, to let you know who you have taken 
 into your home, and treated as a brother. 
 Nothing but pride, false pride perhaps you 
 will deem it, has hitherto prevented my dis 
 closing some events in my past life, which it 
 is not very agreeable to recall. 
 
 ' I was the only child of affectionate parents, 
 who, though possessed of but small fortune, 
 were sure of a welcome into the gayest cir 
 cles of the fashionable world ; yet retiring 
 within themselves they found more sincere 
 pleasure than they could ever enjoy when 
 mingling with the giddy throng. I was but 
 two years old when my father died ; too 
 young to realize the loss ; and in two years 
 my mother married again. My fath.gr, at his 
 death, was just established in business, with a 
 capital of twenty thousand dollars. This was 
 placed in the funds to accumulate for my 
 benefit, as my moiher had a handsome annu 
 ity in her own right. My mother's husband, 
 Mr. Melmoth, was one of the finest men the 
 world ever produced. In the course of four 
 years they were blessed with a son and daugh 
 ter. We were constantly together, and our 
 affection increased with our years. Our pa- 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 27 
 
 rents were very fond of us ; and I never per 
 ceived that Mr. Melmoth treated me any less 
 tenderly than he did his own children. 
 
 ' I was sixteen years of age when my dear 
 mother was carried off suddenly by a violent 
 fever. I was in college at the time ; and 
 though I then felt her death severely, yet 
 when I spent some time at home during a 
 vacation, and missed her loved presence 
 knowing that she could never return to us 
 my heart was almost broken. 
 
 ' The house was robed in gloom ! My fa 
 ther confined himself at home, and refused 
 all society ; we united our efforts to cheer 
 him; and at last were happy to see him 
 aroused to exertion. He smiled upon our 
 efforts, and, at least, in our presence, sum 
 moned cheerfulness to his countenance. 
 
 ' My young brother, Francis, was a noble 
 boy. He devoted most of his time to study, 
 and was very young prepared for college. 
 My sister Rose was a sweet playful little fairy, 
 who twined herself around my heart, with the 
 most endearing tenderness. She possessed a 
 fragile constitution, and our friends often 
 said, " she would not long be spared to us." 
 I returned to college, and remained till with 
 in a few weeks of the period when I should 
 attain my majority. The two last years 
 Francis had been with me. 
 
 ' About a year previous to this, my father 
 had married a young lady of great beauty, but 
 without fortune. On my first introduction to 
 her, something in her face and manner made 
 a disagreeable impression upon my mind. 
 She flattered and fawned around her husband, 
 but I could not dismiss the idea that she 
 would bring misery into the house which had 
 always been the seat of happiness. 
 
 ' She seemed to dislike me too, as if sus 
 pecting my feelings towards her. There was 
 a man who visited often at our house, whom 
 she had introduced as her brother ; and as 
 such, he received a cordial welcome from my 
 unsuspecting father. I remained at home 
 but a few weeks, and then announced my 
 resolution of going to Europe. Mr. Melmoth 
 
 did not oppose it, but told me not to draw 
 upon what had been placed in security for 
 me, until I returned. He then presented me 
 with a large sum in ready money, and author 
 ized me to draw upon his banker for what 
 ever I wished during my travels. My first 
 impulse was to refuse this gift ; but he said, 
 " You have always been to me an affectionate 
 son ; and dd not now refuse me the pleasure 
 of acting like a father ; beside, the remains 
 of the fortune your dear mother brought me, 
 cannot be better appropriated." 
 
 ' I could not refuse and wound his feelings, 
 and therefore accepted it. I took a tender 
 leave of my dear sister, and noble brother, 
 and left my country for a far distant land. 
 
 ' I will pass over four years, during which 
 I remained abroad. I had heard often from 
 all the dear ones at home, till the last year of 
 my absence. I wrote repeatedly after that, 
 but received no answers. In despair, I wrote 
 to my father's attorney, whom I had reason 
 to believe, was warmly attached to the fami 
 ly ; but too impatient to await a reply, I set 
 out in a week after. On arriving at New Or 
 leans, I flew to my father's mansion ; but 
 judge of my horror, when his wife met me in 
 the hall, and in reply to my inquiries for him, 
 presented her pretended brother as her hus 
 band. She then assuming a look of sorrow, 
 told me that my father, brother, sister, were 
 all dead ; that my sister died some months 
 since, and my father and brother within a few 
 weeks. 
 
 ' " And you, madam, have married again in 
 such indecent haste ! " My surprise and 
 contempt of her conduct forced this remark 
 from me, even in the first burst of my grief. 
 
 ' Provoked by my words and looks, she 
 taunted me with the disgrace which had fallen 
 upon my family. She said my father had be 
 come a perfect inebriate, and had cut off hi.s 
 children without a dollar, making a will en 
 tirely in her favor ; that my brother had left 
 cr Hege, and when his father refused him any- 
 tl.i ig more to support his extravagances, had 
 taken lu o-arrbling; and being reduced to 
 , b 
 
28 
 
 SENORA INES. 
 
 distress, had claimed and received my fortune, | my patrimony was secured, was near it, I de- 
 
 by assuming my name, and had by gambling 
 lost it all. That my sister, before she died, 
 but here she paused, as the expression of my 
 eyes probably told her she was venturing too 
 far. 
 
 I had listened to her horrid account, with 
 emotions that paralyzed every faculty ; but 
 when she mentioned my sister, as one whp 
 had assisted in bringing disgrace upon me 
 an angel, whose name from every other 
 tongue was purity itself my indignation 
 burst all bounds, and had she said another 
 word, though a woman, I believe I should 
 have struck- her to the earth. As soon as I 
 gained sufficient command of my voice, I de 
 nied her allegations with vehemence and con 
 tempt ; but she told me with perfect coolness 
 that there was legal proof of her words ; and 
 she glanced at him she called her husband, 
 who immediately disappeared. 
 
 ' In a few moments he returned and handed 
 me the will, which I found as she said, en 
 tirely in her favor, and regularly signed and 
 attested by several witnesses. I took the 
 names of the attorney and witnesses, telling 
 her she might yet find herself unmasked to 
 the world in her true character. 
 
 ' She defied me to injure her, and said the 
 reputation of my father and family was too 
 well known in the city, and that I would only 
 gain hisses and scorn for my trouble. 
 
 4 Disdaining toexcnange another word with 
 one so contemptible, I rushed from the house. 
 Proceeding instantly to Mr. Melrnoth's attor 
 ney, imagine my disappointment when 
 
 termined once more to visit it. On reaching 
 the bank, I found what I had heard was but 
 too true! My fortune had been drawn by- 
 some one in my name ; and by the description, 
 it was my brother. The receipt also was given 
 in his hand, with ?/M/'name attached. My 
 mind was harassed and torn, by contending 
 emotions, until I was almost distracted ; but 
 when I reached the plantation, and the old 
 house servants crowded around me with ex 
 clamation of delighted surprise, each one 
 showing his affection for me, in his own sim 
 ple way, I felt that I was not yet entirely 
 alone in the world. I could gain no informa 
 tion from them about the late events ; they 
 had only received the notice that their mas 
 ter and all his children, myself included, were 
 dead ; and that his wife was heir to all he 
 possessed. 
 
 "'OS" cried the aged housekeeper, " it 
 was a sad day for us, when your lady mother 
 died ; and then to think that sweet Miss Rose 
 must go too; and now all gone but you!" 
 and she commenced weeping violently, in 
 which the rest united. I could bear no more, 
 and springing up, ran from the house. At 
 the same moment a servant brought a horse 
 from the stable. It was one my brother had 
 presented me as a birthday gift. The noble 
 animal knew my voice, and answered to his 
 name. 1 sprang upon his back, and waving 
 my hand to the faithful servants, was out of 
 sight in a moment. 
 
 ' Here I was cast out into the world, my 
 
 formed that he had departed for Europe, two | so!e possession the noble steed I rode and a 
 weeks before, for his health. I spent a week 
 in the city with the hopes of tracing this vil- 
 lany to its source, which I was confident 
 would lead me back to my father's wife. But 
 
 it was all of no avail ; and the stories she had 
 circulated met me at every turn, till in an 
 agony of shame, grief, and disappointment, I 
 fled from the city ! 
 
 ' Mr. Melmoth had a plantation about sixty 
 
 a tew hundred dollars. I had been educated 
 to no profession, and knew not how I was to 
 live. Almost wild, I was spurring onward to 
 flee from myself, when I met you, and to my 
 joy I found there was one being on earth who 
 would look upon me with kindness ; and from 
 your noble friendship I have derived all the 
 happiness, that in the state of my mind, I 
 could- enjoy.' As he ended, Stanley pressed 
 
 miles from the city, and as the bank in which lne h;ind of his friend warmly, while the ex- 
 
SENORA INES. 29 
 
 pression of his eyes was eloquent of his feel-j and I hope I may trust in your friendship to 
 ings. J oblige me.' 
 
 Clifton had listened to this recital with ' ' O, Arthur ! can you ask such a question ? 
 great interest. He truly sympathized with [s there anything in my power that I would 
 his friend, and now sat a few moments lost in not do for you T 
 
 thought ; at last starting up, ' My dear Ed- | ' Well,' answered his friend, smilingly, ' I 
 ward,' he cried, ' I am convinced from what am glad to have no more trouble in gaining 
 you have told me, that a deep laid" plan of vil- my wishes. I have a plantation, ten miles 
 lany has occasioned all this trouble ; and as \ distant, the agent of which, I have some rea- 
 soon as I am able to return to the city, the i son to suspect, has not acted honorably ; and 
 case shall be placed in the hands of one who j if you will accept this agency, which he has 
 will ferret out every fact, and I doubt not, re- j forfeited, you can scarcely imagine how much 
 turn good account of it.' uneasiness it will remove from my mind. 
 
 ' I have already consulted a lawyer about The salary will be a thousand dollars a year ; 
 it,' replied his friend, ' but he says it is use- not very large, certainly, but ' 
 less to attempt it, without a larger amount of i Q, Arthur !' interrupted Stanley, 
 money than I' here he paused, and a vivid j Wait till you have heard all, before you 
 color overspread his face. form an opinion. Of course, you will have 
 
 Arthur interpreting his confusion, cried al- no trouble about that till we return from Mex- 
 most reproachfully, ' Have not you preserved, ico ; and in the meantime we will have but 
 saved my life ? and could you not expect so I one* purse ; nay, do not shake your head, 
 small a service from my gratitude 1 Do not when you recover your fortune you shall re- 
 say another word ! It shall be as I say ! I pay me.' 
 
 will take the entire management of the affair. ' O, my brother ! after all it is but another 
 And now let us to sleep.' , name for a gift of charity. But I will act 
 
 The next day, after dinner, Clifton told his worthy of so noble a friend. I will accept 
 friend he would like to see him alone a few with gratitude what I can never hope to re- 
 nioments. When they were seated, he said, pay. 1 He turned away to conceal his emo- 
 ' I wish to ask a favor of you, a great favor, , tion, while Clifton stole gently from the 
 
 ! room. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 Mirth, music, friendship, love's propitious smile, 
 
 Chase every care, and calm a little while, 
 
 But why so short is love's delightful hour? CAMPBELL. 
 
 Two WEEKS have passed away, and we 
 will return to Mr. Hereford's splendid man 
 sion. A gentleman and lady were sitting 
 alone in the parlor. There was a striking 
 resemblance between them ; the same dark 
 hair and eyes ; the same high forehead and 
 pale complexion. The gentleman sat twin 
 ing the flowing ringlets over his fingers, and 
 looking in the lady's face. 
 
 ' Ines, dear,' he said, smiling, ' you have 
 not changed much since your last visit home. 
 1 think our father will call you his darling 
 little fairy as much as ever.' 
 
 ' I hope so, I am sure ; and I hope you will 
 both love me very much, for I assure you it is 
 quite a sacrifice to leave this delightful place, 
 for your barbarous country.' 
 
 ' Take care, my dear, what you say, -or our 
 father will regret ever allowing you to leave 
 us. You know he wishes you to take back 
 your heart safe, and allow him to bestow it 
 where he likes.' 
 
 Ines turned deadly pale, and clasping her 
 brother's hand, she cried : 
 
 ' O, Alphonso, will he force his only daugh 
 ter to marry a man she detests one with 
 whom she must ever be miserable? Surely, 
 if he loves me as he professes to do, he can 
 not doom ms to such wretchedness.' 
 
 Her brother pressed the hand he held in 
 his, and looking earnestly in her face 
 
 ' Tell me,' he said, ' have you already giv 
 en away your heart, that you are so averse to 
 Zenovia?' 
 
 ' My heart is safe, 1 assure you,' she cried, 
 hastily, though her blushes and faltering 
 voice contradicted the assertion, but ashamed 
 of her momentary confusion, she continued, 
 in a more composed voice : 
 
 ' My father must have some motive for this 
 urgency that he has not revealed to me ; for, 
 I have often heard him express dislike to this 
 man's conduct. Do you not remember when 
 you fell into the lake, that our father, who 
 was not able himself to walk a step alone, 
 used every entreaty to prevail upon Zenovia 
 to plunge in to your rescue? Yet he c">u'd 
 not summon courage to risk getting wet, 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 31 
 
 to save the Jife of a friend, and merely hast 
 ened to the house to alarm the servants, while 
 Henri plunged in, and when sinking the third 
 time, drew you safe to land, and was himself 
 taken out insensible. Do you not see in that 
 one act more native nobility of soul than 
 Zenovia ever possessed?' 
 
 ' Henri is a noble boy, it is very true, and 
 I have often thought he might be of noble 
 birth, and by villany have been translated to 
 his present position.' 
 
 After a pause of a moment, Ines cohtin- 
 ued : 
 
 ' And compare that man with the gentle 
 man, who at such imminent risk of his own 
 life, saved me, a perfect stranger, from such a 
 dreadful death, when he would only have 
 thought by flight to save himself from the 
 peril of such an encounter.' 
 
 ' It is then as I feared,' cried Alphonso, 
 gazing sorrowfully at her downcast and 
 changing countenance,* and turning away 
 with a sigh, he retreated to a window. The 
 next instant he returned, telling Ines that a 
 lady and two gentlemen had just alighted 
 from a carriage, and were approaching the 
 house. 
 
 The next instant the door-bell rang, and a 
 well-remembered voice inquired of the ser 
 vant if the family were at home. Ines hesi 
 tated a moment whether to leave the room or 
 remain, when the door opened and Clifton 
 entered, followed by Stanley and Miss Doug 
 lass. 
 
 Arthur advanced, and taking Ines's hand, 
 said : 
 
 ' I have been, fortunate, indeed, to arrive 
 before you left. 1 very much feared we 
 should be too late. Allow me to present my 
 dear sister, Helen. She is already prepared 
 to love one to whom I am under so much ob 
 ligation.' 
 
 The young ladies embraced each other cor 
 dially ; and Ines welcoming Stanley, turned 
 to introduce her brother to her friends. 
 
 The rest of the family now came in, and 
 the introductions over, the evening passed 
 
 swiftly away. Each one xerted himself to 
 please, and there was not one present but at 
 least appeared happy. Alphonso de Montal- 
 do had seen many beauties, but NEVER ha'd 
 charms so dazzling, so enchanting, met his 
 view, as when he looked upon the lovely 
 Helen. He many times drew a blush to her 
 cheek, by the fixedness of his gaze. At the 
 tea-table he committed twenty blunders, 
 which created a general laugh at his expense, 
 as they saw by the direction of his eyes what 
 had occasioned them. He smiled gayly in an 
 swer to their jokes, promised to do better for 
 the future, and then became as forgetful as 
 before. We will not pretend to say what 
 were the dreams of our friends that night, 
 but we think some of them might have been 
 more pleasant than usual. 
 
 Three days were all that Ines could be al 
 lowed to remain with her friends, as on the 
 fourth a steamer was to leave for Vera Cruz, 
 which they were to take. Clifton and his 
 friends spent their mornings at their hotel, 
 but the afternoons were passed at Mr. Here 
 ford's. The evening of the third day Alice 
 invited her friends to accompany them 'to 
 their green-house, and give her their opinion 
 upon some new plants she had ju&t procured, 
 and which she believed were very rare. Af 
 ter spending half an hour, admiring the beau 
 ty and perfume of this splendid collection of 
 exotics, Clifton asked Ines in a low voice if 
 she would walk a little longer, and show him 
 the little arbor that she had said was her fa 
 vorite retreat. Then drawing her arm with 
 in his own,' he conducted her to one of the 
 seats placed within this miniature summer- 
 house. 
 
 Taking a seat by her, he mused a moment, 
 then exclaimed, abruptly : 
 
 ' You leave us to-morrow, Donna, to go 
 where new scenes and associations await you, 
 and will you sometimes think of those you 
 leave behind ?' 
 
 ' I love my friends too well, Mr. Clifton, 
 ever to forget them, though hundreds of m iles 
 may separate us.' 
 
SENORA INKS. 
 
 < May I not have the privilege of hoping/ 
 said Clifton, 'that I shall not be deemed un 
 worthy of a place in your remembrance?' 
 
 < Mr. Clifton must have a strange opinion 
 of me,' cried Ines, ' if he supposes I could 
 fqrget one who has so much claim upon my 
 
 gratitude.' 
 
 'Gratitude!' ejaculated Arthur; 'is that, 
 then, dl that 1 may hope for ? 1 fear I shall 
 never be able to content myself with so cold 
 
 a feeling.' 
 
 ' Respect, esteem, then,' said the lady, in a 
 voice that trembled slightly with agitation. 
 
 Clifton took her small, white hand, and 
 pressing it to his lips, suddenly dropped upon 
 one knee, and softly whispered : 
 
 ' Ines, dear Ines, dare I tell you of the ar 
 dent love that has-been growing in my heart, 
 since I first saw you ? Will you not deem me 
 presumptuous to hope that my sincere affec 
 tion may be returned ?' 
 
 She was silent. She averted her face, 
 while tears she could not repress started from 
 her eyes. 
 
 ' My sweet Ines,' cried Clifton, gazing in 
 to her averted eyes, and imprisoning still 
 closer the hand she attempted to release, ' do 
 you think me unworthy your love ?. Have I 
 raised my hopes too high to one who re 
 gards me with indifference ?' 
 
 Ines struggling with her emotion, at last 
 gained voice to say : 
 
 ' O no, nothino- of that. Do not think I 
 
 * O 
 
 could be so ' 
 
 She paused, then continued, nastily : 
 
 ' Mr. Clifton, it is impossible that I can 
 ever be yours. Before I ever saw you, my 
 father had promised my hand to one of my 
 own country.' 
 
 Clifton sprang to his feet at this announce 
 ment. 
 
 ' Then you love another ?' he cried. ' Be 
 fore we ever met, you had given your heart 
 into the possession of another.' 
 
 Ines started up. 
 
 1 Love him !' she exclaimed. ' O, Clifton, 
 
 I hate I abhor him ! You you only can 
 ever ' 
 
 She sunk into a seat, and covering her face j 
 with her hands, burst into tears. 
 
 Artrfur took a seat by her side, and dravv- 
 ina her gently towards him, he whispered : 
 
 ' Dearest, does this emotion say that I may 
 hope the fervent love of my heart is return 
 ed? Can it be that such happiness is mine?' 
 And his eyes beamed with the blissful con 
 sciousness that the answer would be accord 
 ing to his wishes. 
 
 Ines, hid her face on his shoulder, and 
 sighed in a voice scarcely articulate: 
 
 ' Dearest Arthur, I canjiever love any but 
 you.' 
 
 Clifton pressed her trembling form to his 
 breast, and raising her head, their lips met in 
 one long, fervent kiss. 
 
 A few moments of bliss unutterable passed 
 over our happy lovers, then Ines, releasing 
 herself from his arms, looked in his face with 
 tearful eyes, exclaiming : 
 
 ' What will my father say, when he knows 
 of this? He will call me disobedient, un 
 grateful.' 
 
 ' My dear girl,' replied Arthur, ' your fath 
 er cannot be so cruel as to insist upon giving 
 your hand where you cannot bestow your 
 heart; but, should he do so, remember, dear 
 est, that a parent has no right to force the in 
 clination of his child in that way, and from 
 what I have heard of Don Carlos, I should 
 think he would have no inclination to do so.' 
 ' I have tried to think so,' answered the 
 trembling girl ; ' indeed, l]e is the kindest, 
 most affectionate of fathers, but he has made 
 a solemn vow, which he says, to save his own 
 life, or even mine, he dare not break, and 
 how can I disappoint him ?' 
 
 ' Then you will obey his unreasonable com 
 mand, without an attempt to change his reso 
 lution, and without casting a thought upon 
 the misery to which you doom him who 
 adores you, and whom you have professed to 
 regard ?' 
 
 Ines raised her eyes with a look of tender 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 33 
 
 reproach, and clasping her hands tightly over 
 her heart, to still its breath, she cried : 
 
 O, Clifton, this is cruel !' 
 
 She attempted to rise and leave him, but 
 her strength was not equal to the effort, and 
 she fell back, pale* and insensible. Clifton 
 bent over her in agony ; he called upon her 
 by every endearing name to revive and bless 
 him with the sound of her voice; but she! 
 heard him not. And flying to a fountain that 
 sent up its sparkling waters a few feet from 
 them, and laving a handkerchief in the pure 
 element, he hastened back, and by its aid, in 
 a few moments restored her to consciousness. 
 
 ' Forcrive me, dearest, loveliest of women !' 
 he cried, throwing himself at her feet ; ' for 
 give me for these* hasty expressions they 
 were forced from me by the anguish of the 
 moment.' 
 
 She pressed his hand and whispered : 
 
 ' I have nothing to forgive. But, O, what 
 ever may be my fate, do not again doubt my 
 love for that can never change.' 
 
 Arthur kissed the pearly drops from her 
 cheek, and thanked her for the sweet assur- 
 
 ' i 
 
 ance of her love, and then they talked with 
 sadness of their parting on the morrow. He 
 prayed her to tell her father of his passionate 
 love for her, and entreat that he would not, 
 by refusing consent to their union, make 
 them both unhappy, and doom his whole fu 
 ture life to wretchedness, for he must indeed 
 be miserable, if forever parted from her. 
 
 Our lovers, heedless of the time, sat near 
 ly an hour, engaged in sweet converse, and 
 had talked themselves into the belief that 
 they must be happy, when the city clock toll 
 ing the hour of nine, startled them from their 
 drtNim of bliss. Ines rose instantly, andgiv- 
 in r Arthur her hand, to lead her to the house, 
 
 O * 
 
 said, smiling : 
 
 4 Our friends will think \ve are lost, and be 
 out in search of us.' 
 
 As they approached the house, they saw 
 Alphoaso coming to meet them. 
 
 'Ah, truants!' he cried, as he reached j 
 them; ' the house has been in a ferment for 
 
 an hour, and I could not pacify the ladies, 
 until I set out in search of the lost ones.' 
 
 Clifton replied, laughingly : 
 
 ' We are able to take care of ourselves. 1 
 
 Then opening the door for Ines, he con 
 tinued, in a low whisper, as he pressed her 
 hand : 
 
 ' I will, if possible, gain over your brother 
 to our cause, and then I am sure all will be 
 as we wish.' 
 
 The two gentlemen turned. back into the 
 garden, and Ines tripped lightly up to her 
 room. She knew ther,e would be many diffi 
 culties to encounter, before she could hope to 
 be united to the lord of her heart, if, indeed, 
 that could ever be. But she was happy in 
 spite of them, for she felt she was sincerely, 
 ardently loved, and she was assured that 
 neither time nor absence would change that 
 affection. It was sometime before she thought 
 of going below ; at last, bathing her eyes 
 and face in water, to rertiove any traces of 
 tears, she descended to the parlor. 
 
 Helen asked her where she had been, and 
 said, laughing : 
 
 4 We were afraid you and Arthur had taken 
 it into your heads to run away, and so sent 
 your brother to look you up, and were just 
 now trying to prevail upon Mr. Stanley to go 
 in senrch of him. But where are the gentle 
 men ? [ think they show the ladies present 
 great politeness.' 
 
 Ines returned some trifling reply, and at 
 the moment the gentlemen entered. ' She 
 stole a glance at them, and meeting a look 
 of cheerful hope from the eye of Clifton, 
 drew her ringlets over her face to conceal 
 her blushes. 
 
 Helen's eyes had followed those of her 
 cousin, and shaking her finger at him, while 
 her merry eye was full of meaning, she cried: 
 
 4 Ah, take care ! I shall report youto your 
 mother.' 
 
 4 Ah,' answered Clifton, ' I hope my sweet 
 sister will not have the heart to carry a vtry 
 bad report about rne' 
 
34 
 
 SENORA INKS. 
 
 She answered him only by a mischievous 
 glance, and turning away, commenced speak 
 ing to Ines of her regret at parting with one 
 to whom she had become so much attached, 
 during their short acquaintance. 
 
 It was late before our friends departed. 
 Stanley and Miss Douglass took leave of 
 Ines and her brother that evening, as they 
 were to leave^ early the next day; but Clif 
 ton, as he pressed her hand at parting, told 
 Ines he should see her again. 
 
 The next morning a noble steamer lay at 
 the dock, while all was bustle on board, pre 
 paratory to their departure. Carriages were 
 constantly arriving, discharging their burden 
 of passengers, and rolling away to give room 
 to others. Just as the first bell rung from 
 the boat, a splendid carriage drove up, and 
 our Mexican friends, with Clifton, alighted 
 from it, waving their last adieus to Mr. Here 
 ford, who remained sitting in the vehicle, 
 they proceeded on board and entered a pri 
 vate cabin, where Montaldo left them. 
 
 Ines had taken leave of her friends with 
 the deepest sorrow, but now she was to un 
 dergo the agony of parting perhaps forever 
 from one whom she loved better than her 
 own life one whom a cruel father might 
 never again allow her to see. 
 
 As these thoughts passed through her 
 mind, she threw herself into her lover's arms 
 and sobbed out : 
 
 ' O, if you was only going with us ! to be 
 near, to advise and console me in all the trou 
 bles I shall have to encounter from the perse 
 cution of that hated man.' 
 
 Arthur pressed her again and again to his 
 heart, while he trembled so that he could 
 with difficulty support her slight form. 
 
 ' O, dearest !' he cried, his voice faltering 
 
 with emotion, ' why must we part? Would 
 to Heaven we had met under happier auspi 
 ces,' pausing a moment. ' But I do wrong 
 thus to depress our spirits at the moment of 
 parting. You know, my love, your brother 
 has promised to use his influence to put off 
 all idea of your marriage for one year ; sure 
 ly, your father will not refuse so slight a fa 
 vor as this ; and before that time I hope 
 months before -I shall be with you to plead 
 my own cause. Be firm and CONSTANT, my 
 own betrothed bride, and the God in whom 
 we trust will watch over and preserve you 
 from danger, and enable us to meet again in 
 happiness.' 
 
 At this moment the second bell rung, and 
 Alphonso appeared at the door, saying : 
 
 ' They are going to start immediately. 1 
 
 Another warm embrace, a fervent kiss 
 ' God bless you and have you in his holy 
 keeping,' which burst from both their lips at 
 once, and they parted. Clifton shook Mon- 
 taldo's hand, and sprung to the shore. The 
 next instant the steamer left the land, and ! 
 went bounding gayly on her way, regardless 
 of the heavy hearts she might be wafting afar 
 from hope and happiness. 
 
 Our hero remained some minutes gazing 
 after his friends, then drawing his hat over 
 his eyes, he walked slowly back to the car 
 riage. 
 
 ' Forgive me for detaining you so long,' 
 he said, as he took his seat by Mr. Hereford, 
 and then the silence was unbroken, save b) 
 sighs, till Mr. Hereford alighted at his o\vr 
 door, and invited his friend to go in with him, 
 Declining, however, he walked slowly on U 
 his hotel. The next morning our friends lef 
 the city to join Mrs. Clifton, Stanley goiti 
 home with his friend. 
 

 
 
 CHAPTER VI, 
 
 Ofjoys departed) never to return; 
 How bitter the remembrance! 
 
 A FEW days after the Incidents just related* ipafienc^ in me, but Were it not for the sweet 
 
 Mr. Hereford was sitting in his private count 
 ing-room, making a few closing arrangements 
 previous to leaving the city, when Monsieur 
 iDupage was shown in. 
 
 ' Ah, doctor^ I am happy to see you; I 
 am going to leave town immediately, to re 
 move my family to a more secure residence 
 during the sickly months. 1 
 
 1 True/ answered the doctor, ' it is hot 
 
 flower, whd looks Up to me fof guidance and 
 happiness, I could lay my head in the Cold 
 grave without a sig"h. My angdl wife awaits 
 me ill paradise; and my sweet babe 1 hope 
 has joined her there, for I can find no trace 
 of him iri this* lower world.' 
 
 The good doctor seemed to have forgotten 
 that he was not alone, and was uttering to 
 other ear's what he had hitherto confined to 
 
 safe for them, yet I regret to lose your soCie- ! his own breast. 
 
 ty-. I have so few intimate friend?, that your 
 absence will add much to my loneliness ' 
 
 ' Are you, then, going to remain during 
 the visit of our southern scourge 1 You have 
 escaped several years, but, though a physi 
 cian, you may not always be so favored. 
 Why not leave no\V, and recruit your health, 
 which I fear is failing V 
 
 ' O, rto, my friend, I must remain. There 
 may be many who will need my dttentidn, 
 who have not the means to reward a physU 
 cian's ^are* I trust it ia not unchristian im 1 
 
 Itis friend tt-atched him with surprise, as 
 he brushed tear after tear from his eyes. At 
 last, breaking a silence which was becoming 
 painful, he exclaimed : 
 
 1 My dear Bupage, for si* years we have 
 been intimate friends, and though I neter 
 mentioned it to you before, I have often ob* 
 served you sit silent and melancholy, in the 
 gayest circles, as though unable to derive 
 pleasure from such society; and how you 
 speak of having lost a son, and yet of his 
 fate being uncertain! If this is true, ; beg 
 
36 
 
 SENORA INES. 
 
 you will confide in ray friendship, and if the 
 most unremitting efforts can relieve your 
 mind, be assured no exertion shall be want 
 ing.' 
 
 'Ah!' cried Monsieur Dupage, 'I have 
 betrayed myself; but of what use is farther 
 concealment ? I shall never find my son, and 
 cannot fulfil my vow to his sainted mother. 
 But you must almost think me deranged, to 
 talk in such a manner. I will give you a 
 brief description of my past life, before you 
 leave town, at any time when you are at 
 leisure.' 
 
 ' I am perfectly so at present, and am so 
 deeply interested in the subject, that you will 
 oblige me by giving it now.' 
 
 Then ringing a bell which stood on his 
 desk, he told a man who entered to take c,are 
 they were not interrupted. As he disappear 
 ed, Mr. Hereford turned to his friend, and 
 signified his readiness to listen. After a few 
 moments, Monsieur Dupage commenced : 
 
 'My father, the Marquis de la Croisy, was 
 of noble family, and felt strongly that pride 
 of birth which could not stoop to an alliance 
 with an inferior. Early in life I became at 
 tached to a beautiful girl, who possessed ev 
 ery quality that my father could desire, but 
 one. She was of good, but not noble birth, 
 and he commanded me to forget her, and wed 
 one of rny own rank. This I could not do ; 
 and on leaving college, the lovely Marie be 
 came rny wife. 
 
 'My father, on hearing it, disclaimed me 
 entirely ; but ashamed to see a son of his 
 wanting the necessaries of life, he directed 
 my mother to bestow upon me annually a 
 sum sufficient to support us in comfort. Dur 
 ing my last term at college, a gentleman call 
 ing himself Senor de Marlino, from Mexico, 
 saw and fell violently in love with Marie ; 
 and when he avowed his love, and met with 
 a repul^i, his disappointment and rage knew 
 no bounds. He remained till all hope was 
 destroyed, by our marriage, and then depart 
 ed, telling Marie she would neve.r prosper or 
 be happy, for refusing 'him for a portionless 
 
 boy. His prediction sometimes cast a shade 
 over our happy home, but it soon passed 
 away, and we thought % no more of it. 
 
 ' Four years passed swiftly away. My 
 sweet Marie, and our little Henri, then about 
 two years old, composed^piy little world of 
 happiness. I was surrounded by none of the 
 luxuries of my boyhood's home. We kept 
 only two servants, but they were sufficient to 
 do the business of our little household. I 
 spent my time mostly at home, and now often 
 look back upon those few years as the hap 
 piest period of my life. I often ask myself- 
 
 '" What is this world to us? 
 Its pomps, its pleasures, and its nonsense all 
 Who in each other clasp, whatever fair 
 High fancy forms, or lavish hearts c^f] wish." 
 
 ' About this time I received a letter from 
 India. I had a bachelor uncle there, who 
 was very eccentric. When he heard of my 
 marriage and consequent banishment from 
 home, he said I should nejfy lose by it , and 
 to reward my constancy to her I loved, he 
 would make me his heir, and thus disappoint 
 my father in his scheme of punishment. I 
 never thought of it again, supposing it one 
 of his strange fancies, till that letter came 
 from his man of business. He said my un 
 cle was dead, and after leaving legacies to 
 his old servants, and a large sum for charita 
 ble purposes, he had left me, his favorite 
 lephew, one hundred thousand pounds, on 
 condition that I went in person to receive it. 
 
 ' 1 communicated this intelligence to Ma 
 rie, and saw by the deadly paleness of her 
 countenance how much she dreaded the sep 
 aration. It was several weeks before she 
 
 uld gain sufficient fortitude to bear our 
 carting; and I was at times tempted to give 
 up the fortune, and not leave her at all. But 
 this 1 felt I had no right to do, and prepared 
 o go; but it was with a foreboding heart 
 that I kissed my dear ones, and turned again 
 and again to gaze fondly upon them, as I 
 rode slowly from the house. I had engaged 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 37 
 
 a young lady, a friend of my wife, to remain < fort, and extending her arms, with a shriek of 
 with her during my absence. joy fell fainting on my bosorn. Her young 
 
 ' The ship that I sailed in was wrecked, ' friend and nurse brought restoratives, while 
 and only myself and seven others escaped to I bore her to a. bed, and she soon recovered, 
 land, losing everything but what we had on j It was a long time before either of us could 
 our persons. I had fortunately secured my speak. At last, throwing her arms around 
 papers and money about me. As soon as it my neck, she sobbed : 
 
 was possible, I wrote to my dear Marie, as I 
 
 I 
 
 ouglit to be thankful that this great 
 
 feared she would hear of the shipwreck, and j blessing is still left me; but, O Eugene, our 
 
 Henri our darling is lost to us." 
 
 ' Dead ?' was the only word I could utter. 
 ' " Ah, no!" she sobbed ; " would that he 
 stolen carried off we 
 
 of course think I was lost also. After a very 
 long and tedious journey, I reached India; 
 and presenting my credentials to the solicit 
 or, after going through all the formalities of; was! But he is 
 law, I was at last put in possession of my un- j know not where." 
 
 cle's fortune and title, that of Le Compte de j ' My tongue seemed palsied ; I could not 
 Morinval. j speak ; and I fixed my eyes in trembling hor- 
 
 ' I immediately set out on my return, but ror upon her face. But she could not ex- 
 rough weather rendered our passage long ; plain she fell back completely exhausted 
 and it was more than a year after I left my ; upon the pillow, and motioned her friend to 
 native land before I again stepped upon its j tell me all. 
 
 shores. I had written repeatedly, but had '" Ah, my dear sir," she commenced, 'it is 
 not received a line from home. As I came a sad event. The dear child seemed failing 
 within sight of Jfce home which contained in health, and his nurse took him to the sea- 
 the dear ones, from whom I had so long been j shore for a few weeks, in the hope that a 
 absent, F looked eagerly for the appearance ' change of air might have a good effect. It 
 of rny Marie to welcome my return, but in was not three weeks before Janet, the nurse, 
 vain. alighted from a carriage, and running into 
 
 ' When I knocked, my old servant appear- ' the house, fell on her knees before Madam 
 ed at the door, and raising his hands and de la Croisy, crying : 
 eyes, exclaimed : ' O, dear lady, it was not my fault. I loved 
 
 ' " Ah, Monsieur de la Croisy !" J him as though he had been my own child 
 
 ' But instead of expressing joy at my re- ' Our blessed lady is our witness ; I would 
 
 turn, he turned away and burst into tears, 
 sprung forward and caught him, crying: 
 
 I ; sooner have died than lost him.' 
 
 M 
 
 ' " Your sweet Marie had listened to this 
 raving in amazement, not being able to con- 
 
 ' What does this mean? Quick tell me 
 what is the matter. 
 
 ' But I could not wait for an answer, 
 rying onward, I passed through several rooms, ' what she meant : when she fell into an agony 
 and opened my wife's dressing-room, without of sobs and lamentations, from which we 
 meeting a person. There she sat, in a large j learned that two days before she had been 
 
 jesture her meaning. 
 Hur- ! ' " I was present, and begged her to explain 
 
 easy chair, supported by pillows, pale as mar 
 ble her form thin and emaciated. She was 
 
 obliged to leave their lodgings, upon. an er 
 rand which detained her for several hours, 
 
 robed in a dressing gown, scarcely whiter j and left the little Henri in his cot asleep 
 than her face. My heart contracted with ' Pierre, her husband, having promised to sit 
 agony, as I gazed on her. Her eyes were I by him and watch his slumbers till she re- 
 closed when I opened the door; but now ! turned. When she came back, the child was 
 turning her head, she rose with a sudden ef- not to be found, but her husband sat there as 
 

 SENORA INKS, 
 
 she left him, onJy he was fast asleep, and in 
 a state of brutal intoxication. 
 
 ' " She tried in vain to rouse him from his 
 stupor ; and leaving him, she flew through ev 
 ery room in the house, and then into the 
 streets, wringing her hands and calling for 
 her child. Some charitable people turned 
 out to assist in looking for him; handbills 
 were circulated and rewards offered but all 
 was of no avail ; and in a state almost of 
 distraction, fche threw herself into a carriage 
 and oame here to tell the sad news. 
 
 ' " My dear friend had listened, with hands 
 clasped and tearless eyes, to this relation of 
 her bereavement; but when it was closed, 
 she fell to the floor, bereft of sense and mo 
 tion. For many hours she fell from ojie 
 fainting fit into another, and when at last 
 these ceased, reason did not return. For 
 four weeks she raved constantly of her hus 
 band and child, and it is only within three 
 weeks that she has been slowly recovering." 
 
 ' This is indeed horrible !' I cried ; ' but 
 have you no suspicions, to guide us to the 
 perpetrators of this outrage?' 
 
 ' " Ah, yes not only suspicion, but cer 
 tainty. Two weeks after you left home, Se- 
 nor Martino came again to the place. He 
 called here, and congratulated Marie on her 
 happiness, said he had long since dismissed 
 all unpleasant feelings towards her praised 
 the beauty of her child and begged earnest 
 ly that he might be considered as a dear 
 friend, who would do all in his power to serve 
 her and hers. She thanked him, but said, 
 coldly, that her husband had left her in such 
 a situation that assistance from him, or any 
 one else, was unnecessary. 
 
 1 " A short time after he called again, ap 
 parently in the deepest sorrow, saying he had 
 
 just received a letter from a friend in , 
 
 giving an account of the wreck of the ship 
 you sailed in ; and saying that all on board per 
 ished. He came, as he said, to break the 
 news more gently to her than another would 
 have done. Even while he was there, a pa 
 per was brought in, which corroborated his 
 
 account, in everj particular. Then my dear 
 friend sunk to the earth insensible ; and as 
 soon as restored to a sense of her misery, she 
 went into strong convulsions, which contin 
 ued through the night ; an^ for many weeks 
 her life was despaired of. 
 
 ' " During her illness, Martino called often 
 to inquire about her, and acted, indeed, like 
 a friend. Receiving no letters from you, we 
 were convinced that you were indeed lost ; 
 and your wife mourned for you, as dead. 
 
 ' " Martino often called for some months, 
 treating her M'ith the most marked respect, 
 and as tenderly as though she had been a sis 
 ter ; but I observed he would turn the con 
 versation, when she spoke of you, and often 
 praised the beauty and splendor of New Or 
 leans, in America, and whispered a wish that 
 he might be allowed to transport her there. 
 At this remark, she turned upon him a look 
 of haughtiness, which changed his manner 
 instantly to that of a friend. 
 
 ' " Shortly after he callL and requested 
 of Marie a private interviewTbut was refused. 
 
 1 " I beg, dear lady," he cried, " that you 
 will grant my wish, and if you desire it 7 I 
 will never again intrude into your presence." 
 
 ' " Marie looked provoked ; but after a 
 pause answered : ' Well, as you please.' 
 
 ' " She led him into the ante-room beyond 
 this, and requested me to come here, where 
 I could hear eve/y word that was uttered, 
 She then returned to the room, leaving the 
 door slightly ajar. 
 
 ' " Dear Marie !" he cried, as soon as s-he 
 entered, " I have long sighed for this oppor 
 tunity of declaring my fervent love for you ; 
 though I have been silent till now, my pas 
 sion has burnt none the less intense. While 
 you remain here, old scenes and associations 
 will keep you constantly melancholy, and in 
 delicate health. Accept the hand and heart 
 of one who adores you ; let me t;ike you to 
 new scenes and society, even to the new world; 
 and you will soon recover health and the 
 natural buoyancy of your spirits. And your 
 sweet child, too, will have advantages which 
 

 SENORA INES. 
 
 it is impossible for him to have here, in your 
 circumstances. May I not hope that you will 
 listen to my prayers?'' 
 
 ' " He took her hand and pressed it to his 
 Hps. Releasing her hand from his grasp, she 
 answered : 
 
 ' " Senor Martino, I feel obliged for your 
 preference and offers, but I cannot accept 
 them. My heart is in the grave of my hus 
 band, and I cannot cast aside the memory of 
 him I first loved, and accept another in his 
 place. I cannot bring another father over 
 my child ; and not for worlds would I leave 
 a spot, rendered sacred by the loved presence 
 in time past of him who only can ever occu 
 py a place in this heart. Therefore, do not, 
 I beg, ever mention the subject to me again." 
 
 ' " She seemed to think the interview over, 
 and was moving to the door. Martino threw 
 himself at her feet, and besought her in the 
 most impassioned language to have pity upon 
 him to think of his sufferings, and change 
 her determination ; but she checked him, 
 saying, coldly : 
 
 ' " I fear you would compel me to regret, 
 that I ever bestowed upon you my friendship." 
 
 4 " He sprung to his feet at these words. 
 
 ' " Indeed, proud madam!" he cried, bitter 
 ly ; " you do well to speak thus harshly to 
 me. It will nerve me on to my duty. And 
 now mark well my words. You will never 
 enjoy another day of happiness, while you 
 have life. Sorrow and trouble will come up 
 on you, from which there will be no escape. 
 I once loved you, madam, but you scorned me, 
 and I vowed revenge. I have never lost 
 sight of you. I have had spies constantly on 
 ydur movements. I was informed of your 
 husband's intended absence, and repaired 
 hither to complete my vengeance. 
 
 * " I made you believe he was dead. There, 
 madam," and he threw down several letters, 
 " I intercepted those. Your husband is still 
 alive he will return ; but that will not bring 
 you happiness. Farewell, madam ; you will 
 remember what I have said ;" and he dashed 
 out of the house like a madman. 
 
 ' "I ran in, and found Marie standing in 
 the centre of the room, her hands clasped, 
 and her eyes strained in wild horror upon the 
 retreating figure of that dreadful man. 
 
 ' " She could not speak, but pointed to the 
 letters. I snatched them up, and breaking 
 open one of the latest date, read to her that 
 you were indeed alive, and would soon start 
 for home. At this joyful tidings she fell on 
 her knees, murmuring : 
 
 ' " He says I shall never be happy, but my 
 dear, dear Eugene is alive, and coming home. 
 O, I am already blessed beyond my hopes." 
 
 ' " I stole gently out of the room, so as not 
 to disturb her prayers ; and my heart, also 
 bounded for joy at the intelligence. 
 
 ' " On the third day after, the news was 
 brought us of Henri's loss, and at the same 
 time this letter was taken from the office." 
 
 ' She rose, and opening an escritoire, 
 handed me a letter, which I opened, and read 
 the following lines: 
 
 ' " Madam supposing you will be anxious 
 tor the fate of your child, I write this to let 
 you know that your son is in good hands. I 
 shall myself superintend and take the charge 
 of his education; and for the respect I bear 
 | his parents, that education shall be worthy of 
 ; them. His 'life shall be spent in the most 
 ; degrading, servitude, where his mind will be 
 forced to grovel on a level with his low com 
 panions. He will be taught to believe him- 
 , self the child of a licensed beggar, who sold 
 | him to a stranger for a trifle, to relieve him 
 ; of the burden of supporting him. The son 
 ; of the Count de Morinval, and heir apparent 
 ; to the noble Marquisate de la Croisy, will 
 assuredly be proud of his parentage. To 
 , assist you in the search you wjll probably in 
 stitute, I would say, that Martino is not my 
 name, nor Mexico my country." 
 
 ' It was with great difficulty that I could 
 
 1 control my emotions sufficiently to read 
 
 through this insulting, this horribly aggra- 
 
 j vating epistle. I rose to rny feet my eyes 
 
 i flashing indignation 
 
 ' As sure as there is a God in heaven, or 
 
40 
 
 SENORA INES. 
 
 might in this arm,' I exclaimed, ' that villain 
 shall feel my vengeance!' and I started to 
 rush from the house. My wife's- sobs recall 
 ed me. I knelt by her side pressed her 
 hand convulsively to my heart. 
 
 ' O, Marie !' I cried, ' how cruelly you 
 have suffered, while I was not here to con 
 sole and support you, under so much afflic 
 tion ; but, alas ! what consolation is there. 
 The cunning of that wretch will elude all 
 our vigilance, and only despair remains. 
 
 ' I will not, my dear friend, attempt to de 
 scribe our sufferings. I had returned home 
 with wealth, to surround us with every lux 
 ury the heart could desire; but we were 
 childless, and what did we now care for 
 wealth. In the course of a year, Marie pre 
 sented to my arms a daughter. She was 
 named for her mother, and since her death 
 has been the world to me. For the first four 
 months my dear wife exerted herself for her 
 child, and I hoped she would recover her 
 health; but, alas! vain hope. She faded 
 away, and in little more than a year, sunk to 
 her last rest, as gently as an infant to its slum 
 bers. , 
 
 ' Had I known that my child was dead, his 
 loss would almost have been ^forgotten, in 
 anguish for the death of my idolized Marie. 
 But to know that he was alive fulfilling the 
 wretched destiny marked out for him by that 
 man of horror added thorns to my misery. 
 
 1 My father died a few months before this, 
 and having forgiven my disobedience, left me 
 a third part of his fortune. I had given my 
 wife a promise that I would never cease my 
 efforts to discover our child, while life contin 
 ued ; and placing my infant in my mother's 
 charge, I commenced immediately the study 
 of medicine, supposing I could better gain 
 access to all ranks of society in that profes 
 sion, than any other. 
 
 ' But do not think I had been idle all thi 
 time. Every effort had been made to dig 
 cover the villain, who had robbed me of m] 
 boy. 1 had sent emissaries to the Unitec 
 States, to Mexico, and through a great par 
 
 if Europe. I had visited, and by persua- 
 ion, bribes, and threats, had endeavored to 
 Iraw some information from Pierre, but he 
 counterfeited innocence so perfectly, that I 
 could say no more. 
 
 Ten years passed away, in which I had 
 rained a perfect knowledge of my profession, 
 and had travelled much, always with one end 
 
 view. At this time, 1 heard that Pierre 
 had been fatally wounded in an affray, and 
 was taken to the police office. I went to him 
 mmediately, and with the certainty of death 
 Before him, he confessed that Martino had 
 iven him a heavy sum of money to give the 
 child into his hands, and promised that he 
 hould not be injured, but that he would him 
 self bring up the child in his own country. 
 He said that after Martino took the babe, he 
 iad gone to the tavern to procure liquor, and 
 drank to intoxication, so that he could not an 
 swer any questions. That the money he had 
 received led him on from one wickedness to 
 another, till now he had lost it all, and must 
 end his life in a prison. He said his wife 
 knew nothing of it that she idolized the 
 child, and had always been melancholy since 
 she lost it. 
 
 ' I could not look upon the wretch without 
 horror; but in consideration of his repent 
 ance and confession, I gave directions to 
 have him provided with every comfort, which 
 was done, and in a short time he died. 
 
 ' My mother and brother were now both 
 dead, and the title and possessions fell to me. 
 But the splendors of rank and wealth could 
 not detain me from the cherished object of 
 my life ; and taking my young Marie, then a 
 lovely girl of eleven, and the faithful Janet, I 
 came here. Dropping my real name, and 
 assuming that of Dupage, I hoped to elude 
 the notice of Martino, if .he was here. 
 
 ' But, ah, my friend, my life has been spent 
 in unavailing efforts, and I fear I shall never 
 be blessed with the sight of my child. I 
 never see a poor laborer passing along with 
 slow and melancholy step but I eagerly ex 
 amine his countenance, hoping to see the lin- 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 ' 41 
 
 eaments so dear to me. My dear Marie is 
 all I have to console ray sad hours. Can you 
 wonder then, my friend, that I am unhappy 
 that the recollection of past happiness in 
 spires" such a regard for its loss ? 
 
 ' " Still unfortunate and vain 
 To former joys recurring ever, 
 And turning all the past to pain/' ' 
 
 'My dearest friend,' cried Mr. Hereford, 
 who, by the humidity of his eyes, betrayed 
 his sympathy, ' my efforts shall be united 
 with yours, and I trust ere long your lament 
 ed son will yet be restored to your love ; and 
 if your amiable daughter will consent to ac 
 
 company us, in our retirement for a few 
 months, we shall indeed be happy. It will 
 leave you still more lonely, my friend, but 
 you might lose her, should she remain here.' 
 Monsieur Dupage, for by that name we 
 shall still call him, pressed the hand of his 
 friend, while the tears coursed slowly over 
 his face. After a short time he gained com 
 posure to thank Mr. Hereford, and accept his 
 offer about his daughter ; and then walked 
 home to prepare her for the journey. In a 
 few days they left the city for a country 
 seat, and the doctor felt more than ever his 
 [loneliness. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 On stormy floods and carnage-covered fields, 
 
 The march-worn soldier mingles for the toil. CAMPBELL. 
 
 BY our reader's leave, we .will now trans 
 port him, in fancy at least, to the Mexican 
 city of Vera Cruz. The brave troops, under 
 the command of the noble Scott, and his gal 
 lant generals, had been many days actively 
 employed in digging trenches, and planting 
 'batteries, till on the evening of the 22d of 
 March, having entirely surrounded the town, 
 the order was given to commence bombard 
 ing the city which was continued with lit 
 tle intermission for three days and nights. It 
 was a sublime spectacle, particularly in the 
 night, to watch the shells in their aerial flight 
 till they struck within the city ; to listen to 
 the crash, as they pierced the roof, or wall 
 of some building, carrying death and de 
 struction before them. Then to witness the 
 explosion lighting up the black expanse with 
 a brilliant glare for a moment then vanish 
 ing, and leaving tenfold darkness in its place. 
 
 But the inhabitants of the city were not the 
 only recipients of these dangerous visitants. 
 They returned the compliment in like man 
 ner, but happily with not very fatal effect. 
 
 The Mexicans at last found they mus t u 
 render, or see their beautiful town complete 
 ly destroyed ; and finally, after some con 
 sultation, and treaty, the Americans took 
 possession of the town and castle ! And then 
 the ' FLAG OF OUR UNION ' floated proudly 
 from the battlements its broad folds waving 
 gracefully out upon the morning breeze 
 and its appearance greeted, by the pealing 
 thunder of hundreds of cannon : and the en 
 livening strains of numerous bands of music. 
 A day or two after this, our friends retired 
 together to their quarters, and throwing them 
 selves into seats : 
 
 ' Well, my friend,' cried Stanley, ' we are 
 actually in the city of Vera Cruz ; have con 
 quered and taken possession of it by the most 
 signal prowess ; and are destined, I presume, 
 to perform something still more brilliant, as 
 we are to leave in a few days for Jalapa, en 
 route for the city of Mexico. But you appear 
 sad to night, what has occurred to depress 
 your spirits?' 
 
 ' You mistake, Edward, I am not low spir- 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 43 
 
 ited! I was only musing upon various sub 
 jects. Do you not remember, it is just five 
 months to day, since we left home, and part 
 ed from those we may never meet again ? I 
 often think of my dear mother's pale face, 
 and quivering lip, as she entreated me to take 
 care of myself, and remember that she and 
 Helen would be alone in the world if I should 
 fall. And then, the fervent blessing she call 
 ed down from Heaven, upon her departing 
 son, rests upon my mind ; and even in the 
 midst of carnage and death, it seems as though 
 the influence of that prayer turned aside the 
 weapon of destruction from my breast ! And 
 I was thinking of another thing he added 
 with a smile. ' We are going immediately 
 to Jalapa and you know ' he paused. 
 
 ' Ah yes, I know,' repeated his friend, 
 laughing, ' I know the young Senora resides 
 there, who brought away your heart tt> Mexi 
 co and so, perforce you must follow to look 
 it up.' 
 
 ' Well, I hope I shall find it, safe and 
 sound (or rather the one who has charge of 
 it), and I shall not regret my long journey to 
 obtain it.' 
 
 ' I have another wish,' said Edward, ' and 
 that is, that your Senor Zenovia may either 
 break his neck, or fall into our hands a pri 
 soner, in either case he would not be able to 
 trouble you at present.' 
 
 ' I thank you for your generous wish, my 
 friend,' said Clifton, smiling. ' To tell the 
 truth, I am quite impatient to get to Jalapa, 
 where I hope to see Ines unless her father 
 spirits her away from fear of our army. I 
 have so'metimes thought he might make my 
 serving against his countrymen an objection 
 to giving me his daughter, or he may not have 
 
 to her entreaties, and those of her 
 -but have forced her long ere this 
 
 listened 
 
 brother- 
 
 to the arms of another. But this is folly,' he 
 
 cried, coloring deeply, ' I do not deserve 
 
 good fortune, if I always prophesy evil.' 
 
 Oar friends sat a few moments silent and 
 abstracted, then Clifton raising his eyes, sud 
 denly exclaimed : ' My dear Edward, I think 
 
 you have not played a very wise part, in one 
 case at least.' 
 
 Stanley looked at him in surprise ! 
 
 4 1 mean,' he continued, with a smile, ' that 
 it was very strange you did not declare your 
 sentiments to Miss Hereford, on your last 
 visit, just before we left home.' 
 
 ' Declare my sentiments to her,' cried his 
 friend. ' What 1 throw myself at her feet, 
 peniless as I am, and avow my love, only to 
 be rejected with scorn and contempt, for 
 daring to raise my eyes to one so far above 
 me in fortune ? No ! I hope I have not lost 
 all pride yet, that I could do so weak a thing. 
 If I could have known she returned my ar 
 dent affection it would have been different.' 
 
 ' I thought you loved her,' said Clifton, 
 quietly. 
 
 ' Love her ?' cried his friend, ' I worship, 
 I adore her. When in her presence, 1 live 
 only in her smiles and now, in her absence, 
 her image is my constant companion. 1 
 
 ' I wish you would answer me two or three 
 questions,' said Clifton, ' a"nd I think 1 can 
 prove what I have said. Could you think of 
 uniting your fate with a girl who married 
 you entirely for your fortune V 
 
 ' Of course not, if I ever hoped to be 
 happy.' 
 
 ' Then you do not consider yourself any 
 less worthy of future happiness, for having 
 unhappily lost a large fortune ? and least of 
 all' could you esteem a young lady -who by 
 looks and actions would evince her affection 
 for you, before you even mentioned the sub- 
 
 been more par- 
 than to others of 
 
 ject ; and had not even 
 ticularly attentive to her 
 her sex ?' 
 
 Stanley remained silent a moment then 
 looking up with an embarrassed air, he cried 
 ' I see what you are about, my friend ; you 
 wish to condemn me from my own lips. I 
 understand all you wish to convey, and be- 
 Here you are not far from right. But tell 
 me, Arthur, do you think it possible that 
 Alice Hereford has honored me with any 
 
44 
 
 SENORA INES. 
 
 more regard than she would bestow upon any 
 friend ?' 
 
 Clifton met his friend's ejes riveted upon 
 his face, with a look of such eager hope, that 
 he could scarcely restrain an audible laugh ; 
 but with an effort he answered calmly, ' I 
 think if you had avowed your regard for her, 
 it is not only possible, but very probable that 
 you might now feel quite different from what 
 you do at present.' 
 
 He did not tell his friend that in a con 
 versation with Miss Hereford, just before 
 they left home, he had mentioned some in 
 cidents in Edward's life, and slightly touch 
 ed upon an affection which he felt, but dared 
 not avow in his circumstances. His look 
 informed her of the object of that attachment, 
 and he was convinced by her manner, that at 
 least want of .fortune did not lower Edward 
 in her estimation. But being merely the re 
 sult of his own observations, he would not 
 mention it. 
 
 Our friends continued their conversation 
 but a short time, and then retired to rest. 
 Upon first leaving home, they had joined the 
 invincible Taylor, and remained with him 
 till Gen. Scott was appointed commander in 
 chief; when most of the old hero's troops 
 were drawn off to support him, our friends 
 among the number. Captain Clifton and his 
 lieutenant had by their gallantry and gentle- 
 fhanly appearance, gained very many warm 
 friends in the army, of both officers and men. 
 As they were always together, they were 
 styled the friends. 
 
 The army remained but a few days in Vera 
 Cruz, and then resumed their march to the 
 capital. On the 17th and 18th of April, oc 
 curred the battle of Cerro Gordo. All the 
 operations of the battle covered several miles. 
 A number of detachments of daring troops, 
 under their gallant leaders, ascended the 
 long and difficult slope of Cerro Gordo, which 
 was the highest and steepest of all the ene 
 my's works, exposed to destructive fire, pour 
 ing down upon them from the heights and 
 resolved on victory, drove the enemy from 
 
 their works planting the American flag 
 where a few moments before floated the stand 
 ard of the enemy. 
 
 Captain Clifton with his command was or 
 dered round the hill, to attack a party of 
 Mexicans, who held aposition where, as they 
 were concealed from view, they picked off 
 many in the opposing ranks. When they 
 found themselves discovered, and saw the 
 force approaching to dislodge them, the first 
 movement was to retreat ; but their leader, a 
 young officer of prepossessing appearance, by 
 voice and gesture, incited them to stand by 
 him. For a few moments they bore the 
 shock of the assault firmly; but seeing their 
 companions falling on every side, the remain 
 der turned and fled with precipitation. 
 Their leader called, remonstrated, and urged 
 them to return but in vain! ' Cowards,' he 
 cried, 'curling his fine lip with scorn. 'Let 
 them go I will stand alone !' 
 
 At this moment, several blows were aimed 
 at his head, one of which brought him to his 
 knees. Then half a dozen swords were point 
 ed at his breast. Unable to rise, he was at 
 tempting to parry their deadly thrusts, when 
 Clifton springing from his horse with the 
 speed of thought, dashed them aside, crying : 
 ' Do not strike a fallen foe ;' and stooping, 
 he assisted the officer to rise. 
 
 ' Sir,' exclaimed the young man, ' your 
 noble conduct has conquered, I surrender to 
 you ;' and he presented his sword. But at 
 the moment the eyes of the two officers met, 
 and with an explanation of surprise each seiz 
 ed the other's hand. 
 
 It was Alphonsode Montaldo, whom Clif 
 ton had saved ; and seeing that he was 
 wounded and bleeding, he ordered him to be 
 taken to a place of safety, and his wounds 
 dressed, while himself returned to his station. 
 By this time the hill was won, and a white 
 flag appearing in the enemy's camp, after a 
 short parley, Gen. la Vega, with his officers 
 and men, laid down their arms. Santa Anna 
 with his suite were now in full retreat for Ja- 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 45 
 
 !apa, pursued by the greater part of the 
 American army. 
 
 It was several hours before Clifton could 
 be released from duty, to seek his friend 
 (for Stanley was also wounded, and in the 
 hospital). When they did meet, Montaldo 
 held out his hand. 'I believe I must call 
 you friend,' he said, smiling, ' even though 
 I see you in the ranks of the enemy ; and I 
 wish to thank you for my life ; as I should 
 have thrown it away, had it not been for your 
 interference.' 
 
 n expressed his pleasure that he had 
 been able to save the life of one he regarded 
 so highly. Mutual inquiries now followed, 
 about their respective friends. Alphonso 
 toW Clifton, ' that his father and sister were 
 now at Jalapa, undecided whether to await 
 the approach of the American army there, or 
 fly to the capitol.' He said, Colonel Zeno- 
 via was in the army of Santa Anna, at the 
 head of 1009 guerillas, and had probably 
 retreated with his general. He also said, that 
 his father had consented to postpone the 
 marriage of Ines for one year from the time 
 she reached home; on condition that at the 
 expiration of that period she should give her 
 hand to Zenovia. He confessed that the co 
 lonel was not a favorite with any of them 
 and he should be glad to have the match bro 
 ken off, if such a thing was possible, without 
 compromising his father. Ines had told him 
 repeatedly, that she did not could not love 
 him ; but he had not sufficient manhood to 
 give her up, though he certainly could have 
 little hope of happiness, with a woman who 
 could not, even now, conceal her dislike to 
 wards him. 
 
 ' Do you think my friend,' said Clifton, 
 ' that your father is so determined upon this 
 affair, that he would oppose our attachment, 
 was he riot bound to Zenovia by a strong 
 promise ?' 
 
 ' O, no, far from it ! ' From what he has 
 heard of you, I am convinced he is prepos 
 sessed in your favor ; and I have even seen 
 
 him shed tears, when listening to the account 
 of your noble preservation of my sister. But 
 it is that fearful vow ! Why he made it I do 
 not know, as he has never disclosed his mo 
 tive ; but as he has done so, he dare not break 
 it. But do not despair ! You are sure of 
 my sistcjr's affection, and something I am 
 confident will yet happen to prevent so great 
 a sacrifice.' 
 
 Clifton smiled. ' I am inclined to be of 
 your opinion,' he cried, ' at least, it has al 
 ways been my custom to look upon the 
 bright side of events, rather than anticipate 
 evil. But tell me, Montaldo, what are to be 
 your future movements? You will be parol 
 ed, and allowed to go any where you like, 
 except into the army again.' 
 
 1 Indeed I have thought little about it,' re 
 plied Alphonso, ' not beirig aware of your 
 general's intentions, with regard to his pri 
 soners. My honor would of course prevent 
 my again serving against you but to stay in 
 my own country, and sit idly by, witnessing 
 the struggles of my countrymen, without one 
 effort to assist them I can never do! I 
 think I will proceed to the United States. 
 My mother was an American and I have re 
 lations in New Orleans, who would probably 
 welcome me, particularly as it would remove 
 one from the forces of their enemy. 
 
 ' I am glad,' said Clifton, ' that you think 
 of doing so but you will certainly visit home 
 first?' 
 
 1 Yes ! as soon as, I am able to ride, which 
 I presume will be in a few days. 1 shall 
 meet you there of course,' he said, with a 
 merry glance into his face. 
 
 Arthur made no reply, but sat a few mo 
 ments silent then starting up and looking 
 at his watch, he said : ' I regret to leave you 
 but I must stay no longer we march in 
 an hour and I have much to attend to be 
 fore that time. I hope you are comfortable 
 here, and receive what attention is necessary 
 for your wounds. 1 have endeavored to pro 
 vide for that.' 
 
SENORA 1NES. 
 
 ' O yes, I have everything necessary; do 
 not be at all uneasy about me. I shall rely 
 upon your friendship, to see my father and 
 sister, and jquiet their anxiety for me, as I 
 fear they have heard it mentioned that I have 
 fallen.' 
 
 ' I will certainly do as you wish,' replied 
 Clifton ; ' and now good-by for a few days 
 only;' and with these words he left him. 
 
 Montaldo was surprised to see him in half 
 an hour return. He approached the couch, 
 and pressing the hand of his friend warmly, 
 he cried, with a look of pleasure, ' I have 
 just obtained permission of my commanding 
 officer, to take you along with us. My friend 
 
 Stanley is wounded, not severely but so tha 
 he will be unable to sit his horse, and you 
 will share his litter to the city. Will not 
 this arrangement be more pleasant than to re 
 main here ?' 
 
 ' My dear Clifton, you are ever thought 
 ful, ever kind. It will indeed be happiness 
 to return so soon to the care of my friends ; 
 and to know that I owe such pleasure to you, 
 will add still more to my gratitude.' 
 
 The captain now left him to complete his 
 preparations and in a few hours the last 
 brigade was on its way to Jalapa. Leaving 
 our friends to prosecute their march, we 
 will precede them a few days into the city. 
 
CHAPTER V1IL 
 
 
 That best of fathers ! how shall 1 discharge 
 
 The gratitude and duty which I owe to him ? CATO. 
 
 THE city of Jalapa is one of the most 
 beautiful places in Mexico. It is-situated in 
 a picturesque valley, entirely surrounded by 
 mountains. To the east, as far as the eye 
 can reach, ranges of mountains rise one 
 above another, till their summits, covered 
 with perpetual snow, seem concealing their 
 heads in the clouds of heaven. The rarest 
 kinds of fruit are found here in abundance, 
 and the salubrity of the climate renders it a 
 delightful residence. 
 
 It was towards evening, a day or two pre 
 vious to the incidents mentioned at the close 
 of the last chapter, that a young lady was 
 sitting alone in her dressing-room, in one of 
 the most magnificent houses in the city. She 
 sat before a small writing desk, with several 
 open letters before her, which she seemed to 
 have been perusing. Her raven tresses fell 
 in long ringlets upon her neck, and around 
 her pale face. Her right hand supported 
 her head, while her left lay upon the desk 
 before her. Upon her delicate front finger 
 
 sparkled a diamond ring, upon which her 
 dark eyes were fixed, with a mournful ex 
 pression. 
 
 Raising it ta her lips, she exclaimed, ' O, 
 this is the only memento I have of his love, 
 the memory of which has been my only com 
 fort for many long months. And yet not 
 my only comfort my father loves me. He 
 is ever kind, ever indulgent. He anticipates 
 my every wish, and is only happy when I am 
 cheerful. I will be cheerful ! It is due to 
 his tenderness that I should exert myself to 
 please him.' 
 
 She turned to the desk, and taking up one 
 of the letters, read still again a page she had 
 read probably fifty times before, in which her 
 uncle Hereford (we take it for granted our 
 readers have recognized Ines de Montaldo) 
 had spoken of Clifton, as one ' he would be 
 proud to call nephew, and who possessed as 
 noble a heart as ever beat in man's bosom.' 
 He said he thought him worthy of her, and 
 that was as high encomium as he could pas s 
 upon him. 
 
48 
 
 SENORA INES. 
 
 Her heart beat with exultation, at these 
 praises of one whom she thought the most 
 perfect of men. There was another item in 
 her uncle's letter upon which her mind dwelt 
 with interest. This was, that Clifton and 
 Stanley had just left the week before, to join 
 the army in Mexico. 
 
 She grew sad as she thought of all the 
 dangers by which Arthur would be surround 
 ed, ajad her heart sunk with apprehension, as 
 she read the Mexican accounts of their ene 
 my's loss, while she thought it hardly possi 
 ble that he could escape, when so many 
 brave beings were falling upon every side of 
 him. She had heard that the American 
 army was within a few days' march of Jalapa, 
 and she knew that the Mexicans were deter 
 mined to oppose their farther progress at 
 Cerro Gordo. She had a dear brother also, 
 in the army, and as she imagined those two 
 loved beings, perhaps even now, opposing 
 each other in deadly contest, she bowed her 
 head upon her hands, and wept in agony. 
 
 A short time after this some one tapped 
 gently at the door, and a gentleman of pecu 
 liarly benevolent appearance entered the 
 room. He was perhaps fifty years of age. 
 His complexion, and the contour of his fea- 
 tures, proclaimed him a Mexican by birth. 
 His form was still fine, and he had once 
 , been very handsome, but time and grief had 
 written legible traces in his countenance. 
 
 Advancing to Ines. he threw his arm 
 around her neck, and kissing her fondly, he 
 said : 
 
 ' Ah, my child, I see you are poring over 
 those letters again. I believe I shall take 
 them into my own possession, for they occu 
 py too much of your time, when I am so 
 covetous of your society. 1 really think I 
 shall have to write to my brother, and let 
 him know how fond you are of him.' 
 
 Ines blushed crimson, and placing the 
 letters in her desk, moved her seat to her 
 father's side, and pressing his hand in both 
 hers, she looked up in his face with a smile 
 of affection, as she said : 
 
 ' O, I am truly blest, for I have the deares; 
 and best of fathers.' 
 
 Don Carlos bent over his daughter, and 
 gazed into her eyes, upturned to his, and 
 beaming with love and tenderness, till, over 
 come with emotion, his head sunk upon her 
 shoulder, and he murmured : 
 
 ' What a treasure I possess in this sweet 
 child, the dear representative of my sainted 
 Alice.' 
 
 A few moments passed away, then wiping 
 his dewy eyes, he rose. 
 
 ' Come, my love,' he said, ' the carriage is 
 ready, and we will ride for an hour on the 
 Plaza.' 
 
 Ines immediately rang for her bonnet and 
 shawl, and, taking her father's arm, descend 
 ed to the carriage. 
 
 It was a lovely evening, and the Plaza was 
 crowded with carriages, passing and re-pass 
 ing each other in gay confusion. Occasion 
 ally, as they met, the fair occupants would 
 exchange a few words of greeting, and talk 
 gaily upon some lively subject, but generally 
 the existing war was the theme, which, be 
 fore this, they only dreaded at a distance ; 
 but now, it was approaching their very gates, 
 and might bring death and suffering into 
 their own households. 
 
 A carriage containing a gentleman and 
 two ladies now rolled up, and stopping oppo 
 site Montaldo's, the gentleman inquired if he 
 had heard any certain account of the expect 
 ed battle, knowing that he had a son in the 
 army. Don Carlos answered in the negative. 
 
 While the gentlemen were conversing, the 
 young ladies were boasting of the valor of 
 their countrymen. 
 
 ' We shall surely gain a victory over these 
 " barbarians of the north," ' cried one of 
 them. ' Our troops have selected a very ad 
 vantageous position, and they are resolved to 
 keep it. Besides, their numbers are suffi 
 cient to crush their enemies at once. I have 
 riot the least fear of defeat. But why do you 
 look so sad, senora ? It is enough to bear 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 49 
 
 ill fortune when it comes, without anticipa 
 ting it.' 
 
 ' You have no relative or dear friend en 
 gaged in this dreadful war,' replied Ines, ' or 
 the knowledge of their danger would perhap 
 depress your spirits as much as it does mine.' 
 
 ' Ah,' cried one of the girls, ' I had forgot 
 ten that you had a lover as well as a brother 
 there. If the colonel knows how much alarm 
 you experience for his safety, he will feel 
 himself securely guarded, and dare anything 
 to prove himself worthy of so much tender 
 ness." A slightly malicious glance from her 
 eye closed this speech. 
 
 ' O,' cried Ines, ' the colonel knows full 
 well the extent of my interest in him, and I 
 do not in the least doubt but he will take 
 good care of himself.' 
 
 Her red lip curled with an expression of 
 lofty contempt, as she spoke, and turning 
 away, the carriages parted, and as they rolled 
 off, one of the girls said to her sister : 
 
 'That Ines is an enigma to me. She 
 never denies her engagement with Zenovia, 
 and speaks of it as a thing of course, and yet 
 hovr often I have noticed her eye flash, and 
 her lip curl with scorn, when he was men 
 tioned.' 
 
 ' Ines,' said her father, as their carriage 
 turned, and moved slowly towards home, ' I 
 perceive, if the Americans gain the daj, and 
 their army enter this place, that you will be 
 more than ever averse to this marriage with 
 Zenovia. Mr. Clifton, if alive, will come 
 here, and plead his affection against my 
 wishes, and the result will be a clandestine 
 union, leaving your father to bear the penalty 
 of such conduct.' 
 
 ' My dear sir, have I not given you a sol 
 emn promise, never to bestow my hand upon 
 him without your consent, and do you dis 
 trust the truth of your child ?' 
 
 ' No, dearest, not your truth, but your 
 firmness against the pleadings of one whom 
 you love to enthusiasm. But to say nothing 
 of that, if Zenovia should meet him here, and 
 learn that he is the cause of your coldness to 
 
 himself, a deadly meeting would be the con 
 sequence, of which I know you would regret 
 to be the cause.' 
 
 Ines shuddered ! He continued : 
 
 ' Then why not at once consent to remove 
 to Mexico, where we shall be spared all this? 
 I have mentioned it before, but now, I see 
 more than ever the necessity of the measure, 
 both for your peace and my own.' 
 
 Ines threw herself upon his bosom, and 
 with trembling eagerness cried : 
 
 ' O do not take me away from here. If, 
 as you say, the Americans defeat our coun 
 trymen, our dear Alphonso may be wounded, 
 and brought in here : and surely we would 
 not wish to be so far distant, and leave him 
 to the care of strangers. And ah, my father, 
 for months I have been looking forward to 
 this time, and now that a few days only pre 
 vent our meeting, I cannot endure the idea 
 of leaving the place without seeing Arthur. 
 You will not go, dear father ?' 
 
 Don Carlos cried, in an impatient tone : 
 ' Foolish girl ! you have no reflection, no 
 care for the consequences. The present mo 
 ment is all you heed. I did not think you so 
 selfish !' 
 
 Ines was now sobbing as if her heart 
 would break. 
 
 After a moment's silence her father press 
 ed her to his breast, and kissing away the 
 tears said, ' Forgive me, dearest ! I was has 
 ty. Dry your tears ; I cannot bear to see 
 you weep. We will remain here, and Jet 
 events take their course. As you say, we 
 shall be nearer our Alphonso should he need 
 our attention.' 
 
 As they reached home, Don Carlos sup 
 ported her up the steps, and again kiss 
 ing her, said, ' Go to your room, my love, 
 and compose your spirits, and be ready to 
 welcome me with a smile when we meet 
 again.' 
 
 Ines hurried to her chamber, and throwing 
 off her hat, cast herself in a seat, to muse 
 upon her father's last words that he would 
 let things take their course. 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 1 Can it be,' she asked herself, ' that he 
 means at last to consent to our happiness? 
 Perhaps he feels that to keep such an oath 
 when it would create so much misery, is 
 more criminal than to break it, and thus 
 conduce to the felicity of beings so dear to 
 him.' 
 
 She knew not that she had any basis for 
 her hopes, but hope she did, and when in an 
 hour the door gently opened, she turned to 
 meet her father, with sparkling eyes, and 
 cheeks glowing with pleasure. 
 
 But it was not her father. A pleasant 
 looking woman entered, and advancing to 
 Inez, cried, as she looked in her face, ' I see 
 something has happened to give my sweet 
 child pleasure. May I not share her Delight ?' 
 
 Ines smiled. ' I do not know, indeed, my 
 good Martha, that I have any more reason to 
 be happy now, than yesterday at this time, 
 but I believe my spirits are a little lighter. 
 Perhaps we shall see dear Alphonso again in 
 a few days. You know they have halted on 
 ly a short distance from us, and whether they 
 conquer or otherwise, he may soon return.' 
 
 Yes, I know,' said Martha, with a quiet 
 smile, ' and it is possible another person may 
 be here as soon, either as a prisoner, or in 
 the ranks of the conqueror.' 
 
 ' O,' cried Ines, ' would that this cruel 
 war was over, and peace might once more 
 smile upon our unhappy land. But do you 
 not think there will be bloodshed here, on 
 their entrance V 
 
 ' O no,' replied Martha ; ' they say the au 
 thorities are determined if necessary to give 
 up the city, without an effort at defence, 
 which they think perfectly useless if our 
 army are defeated in the coming engage 
 ments.' 
 
 ' 1 hope so,' said Ines ; ' and now, dear 
 Martha, we will go down and meet my 
 father.' 
 
 Martha, as Ines called her, was a distari 
 cousin of Madam de Montaldo. At thi 
 time of her marriage Martha was a widow 
 her husband having died a few months pre 
 
 ious, leaving her destitute, and she gladly 
 ccepted an offer to accompany her cousin to 
 YIexico. She had been in the family of 
 VIontaldo ever since, acting as nurse to the 
 children and friend to the parents. She was 
 veil educated, and a pleasing companion. 
 
 On the death of Madam de Montaldo, she 
 lad charged Martha to watch over her orphan 
 children, and teach them to worship God as 
 heir mother had done. Don Carlos never 
 denied his wife any gratification, and the 
 ;hildren were educated in the Protestant 
 aith. They did not look to Martha as to a 
 )arent, but treated her with affectionate fa 
 miliarity. Although Ines had been absent 
 several years, on her return old habits came 
 jack with all their former force, and she 
 oved her as well as ever. 
 
 The next day, the news spread through 
 Jalapa like wildfire, that a hard battle had 
 3een fought, in which the Mexicans had been 
 defeated, and they had retired to wait the 
 morning for the renewal of hostilities. There 
 were few eyes closed that night in the town, 
 and towards morning the scattered troops 
 under Santa Anna, came flying into the city. 
 There was no time for rest, as they were 
 hotly pursued by the enemy, and after half 
 an hour's pause they again moved on. 
 
 It was very early in the morning, when 
 loud and repeated knocks at Senor de Mon- 
 taldo's door, alarmed the inmates. As the 
 master of the house saw a man enter, his 
 clothes disordered and dusty, his face pale 
 and haggard, with every mark of fear and 
 fatigue about his person, he cried in sur 
 prise : 
 
 ' Why, Colonel Zenovia, you look as 
 though you might have seen an army of 
 ghosts, from the pallor of your countenance.' 
 
 ' More probably an army of devils!' cried 
 Zenovia, throwing himself into a seat. ' Cer- 
 ro Gordo is taken, General La Vega and 
 many thousand men are taken prisoners, and 
 Santa Anna, with the remainder, are in full 
 retreat for Mexico.' 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 51 
 
 After sitting a few moments he started up. 
 ' My dear sir,' he said, ' this is no place for 
 yourself and Ines. Will jou not enter your 
 carriage, and fly with us to Mexico.? You 
 shall be guarded safe to the city. Those 
 barbarians will enter the town in a few hours, 
 perhips in one, and then I know not what 
 may be your fate. Say, my dear sir, that 
 you will go with us.' 
 
 ' Impossible,' replied Don Carlos. ' Sub 
 ject my tender child to the fatigues of ac 
 companying a retreating army, warmly pur 
 sued by a victorious* one ? I should prefer 
 remaining here, and trusting to the honor of 
 our foes. But why not stay here, and guard 
 us from danger, if you fear so much for us ?' 
 
 ' Stay here !' repeated Zenovia, and his 
 face grew paler at the idea ; ' indeed, that is 
 out of the question. Stay here to meet those 
 to expose myself to ' He here paused, 
 ashamed to finish the sentence. 
 
 At the moment Ines entered, and he 
 turned to her with the same request, but she 
 replied to it with even more firmness than 
 her father had done. She begged to know 
 ' if her brother was with him, or what had 
 become of him?' 
 
 ' I fear, my dear girl,' he answered with a 
 sigh, ' that Alphonso has not escaped as well 
 as many others. He was sent on rather a 
 dangerous service, and his party was almost 
 entirely cut off, or taken prisoners. One 
 who escaped, said he saw his officer struck 
 to the ground, and a dozen swords aimed at 
 
 o 
 
 him. But they closed over him, and he could 
 see no more.' 
 
 Senor de Montaldo turned deadly pale, and 
 clasped his hands in anguish at this dreadful 
 account, and Ines, with a shriek, fell back in 
 a swoon. Her maids were called in to attend 
 her, and Zenovia again resumed his flight, 
 leaving the father and daughter to the indul 
 gence of their grief. 
 
 In the course of a few hours the American 
 army marched in, and took possession of the 
 city, the authorities, and a committee of the 
 
 principal citizens, xvaiting upon them and re 
 signing the place into their protection. 
 
 Towards evening, Senor de Montaldo yis- 
 ited several officers to make inquiry about his 
 son. He was received with politeness though 
 he could gain no information whatever : but 
 still he did not despair, as there was another 
 division of the army not yet arrived, and he 
 endeavored to comfort Ines with the possi 
 bility that he might have been taken prison 
 er, and if Clifton discovered him he would 
 certainly provide for his safety. But in spite 
 of this small comfort they passed a sleepless 
 night. 
 
 It was nearly noon next day, before Ines 
 rose from her couch, and descended to meet 
 her father below. Seating herself in the 
 open window, she reclined languidly in an 
 easy chair, her mind occupied with surmises 
 as to the fate of her lored brother, when her 
 eye fell. upon a small body of men approach 
 ing, in the United States uniform, with a 
 wagon moving in their midst. She knew 
 that the last division had arrived that morn 
 ing, and supposed this to be some wounded 
 soldiers whom they were conveying to the 
 hospital, but how powerful were her emotions 
 when the escort halted in front of the house, 
 and the officer who commanded alighted from 
 his horse, and bowing low to her, requested 
 the privilege of bringing in two wounded of 
 ficers. 
 
 The poor girl comprehended at once that 
 her brother was here, and flew rather than 
 ran to the door, where she met her father, 
 and seizing his hand, without a word hurried 
 him to the gate, which several soldiers were 
 now entering, bearing a form upon their 
 arms. 
 
 ' My Alphonso, my noble boy/ cried Don 
 Carlos, ' do I indeed see you alive once 
 more ?' 
 
 * Yes, my dear father, and with your pres 
 ence, and my little Ines's nursing, I shall soon 
 be well again. But be kind enough to pass 
 on, my brave men. I have a friend in the 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 wagon, for whom I have promised the hospi 
 talities of my father's house.' 
 
 Ines looked eagerly at her brother : he 
 understood her, and shaking his head, mere 
 ly said ' Stanley.' 
 
 The men bore him to a room indicated by 
 Ines, and returning, in a few moments placed 
 Stanley upon a couch in another part of the 
 same room, and then left the house. 
 
 Ines now dropped upon her knees by her 
 brother's side. ' Tell me,' she cried, ' are 
 not your wounds dangerous? Tell me, are 
 you sure that care and affectionate nursing 
 will restore you V 
 
 ' Yes, yes ; dismiss your fears about me. 
 I have no doubt that a few-days will make me 
 quite well again.' 
 
 Ines still remained kneeling by him. Sev 
 eral times she opened her lips to speak, but 
 her words died in an inarticulate murmur. 
 At last, un&ble longer to support her anxiety, 
 the words' tell me,' escaped her lips, accom 
 panied by a look of imploring earnestness. 
 
 Alphonso glanced at her face, and seeing 
 that she needed some reviving intelligence, 
 pressed her hand as he said, ' He is well and 
 you may see him very soon.' 
 
 Ines bowed her head upon his hand for a 
 moment, then rising, she touched a bell, and 
 glided out of the room. Martha, who an 
 swered the bell, now entered the room, and 
 kneeling by Alphonsq, wept at the state in 
 which she found him. 
 
 The young officers were not dangerously 
 wounded, but rather weak from loss of blood. 
 Every attention which love and friendship 
 could devise, was bestowed upon them. 
 Stanley was as well treated as though he had 
 been in a father's rather than an enemy's house. 
 
 Senor de Montaldo and his daughter lis 
 tened with very different emotions to Alphon- 
 so's account of Clifton's noble conduct to 
 wards him. The old gentleman, although 
 he felt sincerely grateful, yet regretted that 
 the circumstance would only increase the es 
 teem of Ines, and as he noticed her sparkling 
 eye and heaving bosom, his heart smote him 
 that he must be the cause of sorrow to that 
 gentle heart. 
 
 Alphonso said ' that Clifton's duties would 
 not allow him to visit them during the day, 
 but at evening he hoped to meet his friends 
 here.' 
 
 The day passed slowly. It seemed to Ines 
 that the sun did not move, but had taken up 
 his abode upon the earth for a season. But 
 the day did pass, as days always will while 
 time lasts, and as evening approached, every 
 sudden noise made her heart beat faster, every 
 step brought the color of the rose to her 
 cheek, and then blanched it to the hue of 
 death. She was uneasy, company was a re 
 straint, and she was glad when her father 
 went out for an hour, attended by his confi 
 dential servant, or rather protege, Henri 
 Duvalle. ' / 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Lo, I am here to answer to your vows, 
 Aud be the meeting fortunate ! AKE.NSIDE. 
 
 IIEN T Captain Clifton entered the city of 
 i, struck with admiration of its pictur 
 esque beauty, he was thankful that they had 
 not been forced, by the hand of war, to de- 
 : faceits loveliness. lie knew that it contain 
 ed the only woman he ever loved ; and his 
 bosom swelled with impatience once more to 
 hear her soft voice welcome him to her pres 
 ence, and meet a glance of affection from those 
 bright eyes, ever beaming with gentleness 
 and hope. His duty kept him actively em 
 ployed through the day, and when at evening 
 he was released, and prepared for his visit to 
 a mansion where his reception was rather 
 doubtful, he was strangely excited, for one of 
 his usual composure. Taking six of his men 
 to guide him through the streets, as soon as 
 they came within view of his destination, he 
 dismissed them, to return to their quarters,, 
 and walked rapidly on. He had advanced 
 jut a few rods, when he heard the report of 
 i pistol, and turning, he saw in an opposite 
 ;treet, several men struggling together, while 
 >aths and execrations fell upon his ear. As 
 
 ' well as he could discern by the light of the 
 lamps, one man, in appearance a gentleman, 
 was defending himself against three or four 
 others, apparently of the lowest order. Fol 
 lowing the first impulse of his nature, to help 
 the distressed, Clifton bounded forward with 
 out reflecting upon the danger of throwing 
 himself, alone, among a band of desperadoes. 
 
 The villains were too intent upon their ob 
 ject to notice his approach, and had just 
 forced the gentleman to the ground ; two of 
 them searching his pockets, while the other 
 held a dagger raised in a menacing position, 
 in his hand. 
 
 With a single blow of his powerful arm, 
 Clifton sent one of the ruffians reeling to the 
 earth then seizing another by the throat, he 
 placed a pistol to the ear of the third, and 
 commanded him, upon pain of immediate 
 death, to rise instantly. The coward did as 
 he was told, and the gentleman sprang to his 
 feet, and advancing to the side of Clifton, 
 prevented the trembling miscreant moving, 
 by a firm grasp upon his collar. Seeing sev- 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 oral men rapidly approaching, he called, loud 
 ly for assistance ; and Clifton, in a moment, 
 had the satisfaction of being surrounded by 
 his own men, who, on leaving him, had heard 
 the pistol, and observing their captain change 
 his course, had followed to assist, if neces 
 sary. 
 
 The ruffians made violent efforts to disen 
 gage themselves, but in vain ; and they were 
 secured and marched oflf. The gentleman 
 thanked our hero in the warmest terms, and 
 turning to a young man, who was just at 
 tempting to rise from the ground, and whom 
 Clifton had not before seen, he said, as he 
 raised him up, ' My poor Henri was struck 
 down, in attempting to ward off a blow in 
 tended for me, but I hope you are not much 
 hurt ?' addressing his friend. 
 
 ' I think not/ he answered ; ' the blow 
 upon my head stunned me for a moment, but 
 I am well now.' 
 
 The old gentleman invited his champion 
 to accompany him home. ' I see,' he said, 
 ' from your dress, you are one of the army 
 now in possession of this place. I will not 
 indeed call you an enemy, you have perform 
 ed the part of a friend.' 
 
 Arthur however declined his invitation, 
 saying ' he was engaged this evening, but 
 would be happy, at another time, to avail 
 himself of his offer.' 
 
 ' I regret much,' said the gentleman, ' that 
 you will not go in, this evening, and receive 
 the thanks of my family, as well as my own. 
 But do let me see you soon. And may I not 
 know the name of my preserver ? My own 
 is Montaldo.' 
 
 Clifton started in surprise, but in a moment 
 recovering, he advanced to the young man, 
 saying, ' I see, sir, that you are weak, and 
 not able to walk alone ; lean on my arm, and 
 I will have the pleasure of calling for a mo 
 ment, at least.' 
 
 Senor De Montaldo preceded them into the 
 house, and Henri was placed upon a sofa. 
 Clifton's athletic frame trembled as, turning, 
 Don Carlos cried, ' My daughter my dear 
 
 Tries welcome and thank your father's pre 
 server.' He was going on to explain, when, 
 who can express his astonishment to see his 
 daughter fall into the extended arms of the 
 stranger. Understanding now who the stran 
 ger was, Don Carlos gazed at them a moment 
 with a troubled look. At last approaching 
 Henri, and saying a few words to him in a 
 low voice, he rose, and they left the room 
 together. 
 
 ' My sweet, my lovely Ines,' whispered 
 Clifton, as the door closed, ' I am blest, O, 
 how blest, to meet you once more and know, 
 that though we have been parted long, you 
 have not forgotten me.' 
 
 ' Forgotten ! Ah, Clifton, what else have 
 I had to think of these many long months ? 
 This dear pledge you slipped upon my finger 
 at parting, my father says has occupied more 
 of my attention than I have given to him. I 
 heard that you were coming into Mexico, and 
 the idea of your danger has been ever before 
 me.' 
 
 ' Did you not receive my letters V cried 
 Arthur ; ' I have sent you several before and ! 
 since I entered Mexico.' 
 
 ' Then you did write to me !' she exclaim 
 ed. ' O, how could 1 doubt it ? But when ,' 
 so many months passed away, and I received 
 not a line from you, I sometimes feared ' 
 
 Arthur prevented her finishing the sentence 
 by pressing his lips to her's. ' Do not give 
 those ideas words, my love,' he said, ' you 
 never should have doubted the constancy of 
 your own Arthur, who loves you better than 
 his own life. Never has a doubt of your 
 faith entered my heart, although I knew your 
 father would use every effort to banish me 
 from your mind.' 
 
 The tears sprang to Ines's eyes in a mo 
 ment, at these words. ' O, Arthur, forgive 
 me,' she cried ; ' if ever I distrusted you, it 
 was but for a moment. O, never longer. It 
 made me too unhappy.' 
 
 Clifton smiling, said, ' Well, take care that 
 you do not doubt me again ;' and he sealed 
 the oblivion of her fault on her lips. 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 We will not attempt to repeat their conver 
 sation. It was of much greater interest to 
 them than any one else, as lovers' conversa 
 tions usually are ; beside, it would be scarce 
 ly polite to play the eaves-dropper in such a 
 delicate case^ 
 
 It was quite late before Senor De Montaldo 
 returned to the room, and when he did, it 
 was with an expression of suffering in his 
 countenance. Walking up to Clifton, he 
 said, ' Senor, it seems to be your fate to be 
 constantly placing me under renewed obliga 
 tions. This is the third time that you have 
 rencl. red my family the most essential ser 
 vice, and the gratitude of a life cannot reward 
 you.' 
 
 ' Ah, sir, you have it in your power to re 
 ward me far exceeding my services ;' and 
 Clifton pressed the hand of Ines to his lips. 
 
 Don Carlos looked grave as he replied, ' We 
 will not speak of that subject at present, Se 
 nor. At another time I will explain all you 
 wish to know in regard to that.' 
 
 These words, with the expression of his 
 countenance, struck a chill to the heart of 
 Clifton. It seemed to him they foreboded 
 some cruel ruin to his hopes. And he drew 
 her loved form still closer to him, as though 
 his power could prevent their separation. 
 
 Senor De Montaldo remained a short time 
 silent, then told Arthur that his son and Stan 
 ley would not see him to-night, as they were 
 quite fatigued and had been carried to their 
 rooms some hours before. 
 
 ' Then I will return to-morrow, ' he said, 
 rising, and bowing.^' You mistake, my friend,' 
 said Montaldo, laying his hand upon the oth 
 er's arm. ' You will stay with us, certainly? 
 I cannot consent that you should leave us to 
 night.' 
 
 Clifton thanked him, but was again moving 
 towards the door, when he caught a beseech 
 ing look from Ines, which brought him back 
 to her side, but too happy to be convinced 
 that it was best to remain. The next morn 
 ing Clifton visited the invalids, and found 
 them both meditating an attempt to rise, say 
 
 ing, ' they were sick of confinement, and 
 wished to enjoy the society of their friends 
 below.' The captain reasoned calmly with 
 them upon the folly of such a proceeding ; 
 and Stanley gave up at once, as he was never 
 accustomed to dispute the wishes of his 
 friend. 
 
 As Clifton left the room, he was met by 
 Henri Duvalle, who told him the family await- 
 I ed him in the breakfast room. Henri might 
 ; have been, perhaps, twenty-two years of age. 
 He was pale, though of dark complexion. 
 An expression of sadness constantly dwelt 
 upon his features, and Clifton read in the 
 proud humility of his brow, that his soul was 
 far above his station. His countenance seem 
 ed familiar to the captain ; but where they 
 had met he could not conjecture. 
 
 He mentioned this idea to his friends ; and 
 Ines said ' he often reminded her of Dr. Du- 
 
 j P a S e -' 
 
 ' Ah, surely,' answered Clifton, ' it must 
 
 i be this resemblance which struck me. But 
 of course it is because they are of the same 
 country, as I have often heard that Marie 
 was all the child he had. Has this Henri 
 been long in your family?' he added, turning 
 
 j to Don Carlos. 
 
 ' About thirteen years,' said Montaldo. ' A 
 friend of mine, while travelling in France, 
 
 | found him in the streets. His father, who 
 was one of the lowest class, gave him to my 
 friend for a trifle, and in pity to the child he 
 brought him away from so unnatural a parent. 
 Henri remained in his family several years, 
 and he then placed him with me, under an in 
 junction to keep him in his proper place, as 
 he thought it folly to educate him above his 
 station. But Henri has at different times 
 rendered me great service, and observing that 
 he possessed an intelligent mind, the tutors I 
 placed over my own son have also had charge 
 of him. His low parentage, and the manner 
 in which his father parted with him, has been 
 a source of continual mortification to him.' 
 ' Poor fellow,' said Clifton, ' I pity him. 
 
 from my soul : but are you sure there was no 
 
56 
 
 SENORA JNES. 
 
 villany in the affair ? His pretended father 
 might have stolen him from a respectable 
 family, for it seems contrary to nature that a 
 parent would turn away his own offspring in 
 such a cruel manner.' 
 
 ' It is possible, but if even so, I know of no 
 way to discern the truth. My friend is dead, 
 and Henri has no recollection of the home of 
 his infancy.' 
 
 < Clifton made no reply, but he thought he 
 would write Mr. Hereford, and make some 
 inquiries, which might, perhaps, lead to the 
 truth. The captain soon after returned to 
 his quarters, promising Ines to see her often, 
 if her father permitted it. 
 
 Several weeks passed away. Stanley had 
 recovered, and was at his usual station by the 
 side of his captain. Alphonso, also, was now 
 well, and preparing to go to Vera Cruz, and 
 from there to the United States. Captain 
 Clifton visited often at Senor De Montaldo's, 
 who sometimes received him with all the cor 
 diality of sincere friendship ; at others he was 
 grave, almost cold, while his appearance de 
 noted the conflicts of his mind. He had 
 grown pale and melancholy. His step was 
 no longer elastic, but slow and wavering. 
 Clifton had many times requested an inter 
 view, that he might formally declare his love 
 for Ines, and request a favorable answer, but 
 the subject was always evaded, and now he 
 heard it whispered, that as soon as Alphonso 
 left home, his fath'er and sister were going to 
 the city of Mexico : of course the motive was 
 to remove her from him. 
 
 The day before his young friend was to 
 leave, Clifton went as usual, to pnss an hour 
 with Ines, and imparting to her his firm con 
 viction that her father would never consent 
 to their marriage, he plead with all the ear 
 nestness of his deep affection, that she would 
 consent to a clandestine union. She con 
 fessed that he possessed her whole heart 
 that a parting would make her very unhappy 
 yet she could not think of violating her 
 promise to her father. She wept as she said 
 this, but in a moment she rose, and giving 
 
 him her hand she said, ' We will together go 
 to him ; perhaps he may relent.' 
 
 Before they reached the door, however, it 
 opened, and Henri appearing, said, ' Senor 
 De Montaldo would be glad to see Captain 
 Clifton a few moments, in his library.' Lead 
 ing Ines to a seat, he pressed her hand, and 
 followed Henri from the room. 
 
 As he entered the room, Don Carlos was 
 sitting with his face buried in his hands. 
 Raising his head, he pointed to a chair, then 
 as he saw Arthur about to address him, he 
 exclaimed, ' I know what you would say ; but 
 oblige rne by first listening to me for a few 
 moments. I know, Senor, that you love my 
 daughter that you wish to make her your 
 own. I know, also, that her heart is entirely 
 yours ; that to force her to marry another, 
 would very soon give her a resting-place in 
 the grave. And believe me, my friend, I 
 think you worthy of her ; and there is none 
 on earth with whom 1 would sooner entrust 
 my daughter's happiness than yourself. Be 
 ing forced to act so different, from what an 
 affectionate parent would wish, is the misery 
 of my life. 
 
 ' The father of Colonel Zenovia, though 
 much older than myself, was my most inti 
 mate friend ; and when my sweet Ines was 
 an infant, we made a sportive engagement 
 between her and his son. As years passed 
 on, he was continually pressing me to prom 
 ise him sincerely that our playful engagement 
 should be considered binding. But I an 
 swered that ' I should never force my child to 
 act contrary to her feelings; but still I would 
 mention the young Zenovia as her future 
 husband, and she might, perhaps, think of no 
 other. As he grew older, however, I saw 
 much in him to dislike, and determined un 
 less she really loved him, that my sweet girl 
 should never be his. 
 
 ' About a year since, Senor Zenovia was 
 taken very ill, and fearing he should die sent 
 for me, and then asked me to promise that 
 our children should be united as soon as Ines 
 returned home. I refused, and after exhaust- 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 57 
 
 that they were base forgeries, though the 
 hand was well counterfeited. 
 
 ' Early the next morning, I rode to his 
 house, eager to dissolve my promise and con 
 front him with his villany; but judge my 
 anguish when I found he was dead. Now 
 there was no retracting ; my oath could not 
 be cancelled. I hurried home, and for weeks 
 after was not able to leave my house. The 
 most horrible suspicions have sometimes en 
 tered my mind in regard to my father's death. 
 He was invited to dine at Don Jose Zeno- 
 via's with twenty other gentlemen ; and from 
 the moment in which he left his friends to 
 return, T never was able to discover the least 
 trace of him. It was believed that he was 
 robbed and murdered on his way home. Sev 
 eral years after, a skeleton ftas found hidden 
 away, and partly covered with rocks and 
 earth, which Don Jo?e insisted was my father, 
 and I had all due honors paid to the remains ; 
 but I never was satisfied ; and since Zeno- 
 via's death, 1 have imagined he might have 
 known more about that death than he chose 
 to acknowledge. 
 
 ' Thus you see, Senor, how I am placed. I 
 have cenfided these circumstances to your 
 honor, believing your heart will not condemn 
 me as having done wrong.' 
 
 We will not repeat Clifton's arguments to 
 prove that a vow made under such circum 
 stances could not be binding ; or how he 
 plead that the happiness of. his children 
 should be of more consequence to him, than 
 a promise so given. Don Carlos paused 
 a moment, then said 
 
 ' I have told you before, that in my heart I 
 would gladly receive you as my son, could it 
 be so ; but after what 1 have said, you can 
 not surely expect me to see you married, or 
 that I should consent to its taking place.' 
 
 His strong emphasis on the word consent, 
 and the piercing glance he bestowed upon 
 our hero, made his heart beat strangely. He 
 looked eagerly in the face of Montaldo, to see 
 if there was anything there, to explain his 
 equivocal words. But he turned away quick- 
 
53 
 
 SENORA INES. 
 
 ly, saying, ' You may tell Ines what I have 
 related to you ; ' and Clifton bowing, left 
 him. 
 
 As the door closed, the old gentleman said 
 
 to himself 
 
 'Will he take the hint? Surely if he re 
 gards his own happiness very much, he will 
 
 understand and act according.' 
 
 Her lover endeavored to persuade her that 
 it was wrong to delay their union, as some 
 thing might happen to prevent it entirely ; 
 but she was firm, and he was obliged to ac 
 quiesce. 
 
 The very next day, Clifton gave Alphonso 
 several letters, and begged him to deliver 
 
 those to his mother and cousin himself; as he 
 
 thought his friend would find a visit there 
 As Clifton entered the room where Ines 
 
 , pleasant, and they would be most happy to 
 had remained, trembling with anxiety and 1,1 
 
 meet one who had seen him so lately, 
 suspense, he pressed her to his heart, while 
 
 his eye sparkled with hope and expecta 
 tion 
 
 ' Now my love,' he cried, ' you will not re 
 fuse to give me your hand ? I will provide 
 a priest, and to-morrow you will give me the 
 right to protect you through every danger. 
 Your father will soon forgive us, and then 
 we shall have no more fear of Zenovia.' 
 
 Ines looked up at him in amazement ! 
 
 4 What can you mean V she cried ; ' have 
 you lost your senses ? ; 
 
 ' O no, I have just gained them.' And sit 
 ting by her side, he related the particulars of 
 his interview, and ended, by saying he felt 
 assured her father would be glad to know 
 they were married, though of course he could 
 never consent to it. 
 
 He spent a long time combating her objec 
 tions, and at last drew from her a trembling 
 consent. 
 
 ' But not to-morrow,' she said, ' my dear 
 brother goes to-morrow, and I should not be 
 able to support additional agitation.' 
 
 Montaldo promised all he desired, and re 
 ceiving the blessing and prayers of his parent 
 and sister, he left them. Clifton engaged a 
 Catholic priest (as there was none other to 
 be had), and thinking there was nothing now 
 to prevent the completion of his hopes, re 
 signed himself to sweet dreams, in anticipa 
 tion of the morrow. But alas ! ' There's 
 many a slip 'twixt the cup and lip ;' and our 
 hero fourid the adage verified in this instance. 
 Before daylight, he was roused to take the 
 command of one of the three detachments to 
 be sent out to guard in a train, which was 
 approaching from Vera Cruz, and which 
 General Scott feared was not sufficiently 
 guarded. 
 
 D 
 
 Captain Clifton had but an hour to pre 
 pare in, and the project of the day was not to 
 be thought of. He wrote a few lines hastily 
 to Ines, explaining how matters stood ; and 
 gently, very gently, chiding her for the delay 
 which had prevented their union, and he left 
 the city. 
 

 CHAPTER X. 
 
 The mustering squndron, and the clattering oar, 
 Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, 
 And swiftly forming in th,e ranks of war. BYROS. 
 
 IT was scarcely later than sunrise, when 
 Captain Clifton rode forth from the city, at 
 the head of his company, with his lieutenant 
 as usual by his side. The warm sun shone 
 brightly upon their uniforms and glittering 
 epaulettes; and they rode gaily along, chat 
 ting upon every subject which the lively fan 
 cy of the young soldiers suggested. Noth 
 ing of particular interest occurred, until to 
 wards evening, when they were descending a 
 steep hill, where the road was overhung on 
 one side by huge masses of rocks, with deep 
 chasms yawning between, as though thrown 
 into that form by some convulsion of nature. 
 On the other side, a low chapparal at a little 
 distance from the road communicated with 
 a ledge of rocks extending into the coun 
 try. 
 
 The advance had reached the bottom of 
 the hill, and were crossing a little valley at 
 its foot, when one shot and then another 
 whistled through the rocks. The horse of 
 the leader reared, and plunging, nearly threw 
 his rider, so sudden was the movement. 
 
 Wheeling around on the instant, he com 
 manded a halt, and forming his men, dashed 
 forward to the chapparal, from which the 
 shots proceeded. They were me'tby a show 
 er of balls, but nothing daunted pressed on. 
 
 At the same moment, Captain Clifton, 
 who had commenced descending the hill, 
 saw the movement and the eccasion of it; 
 and casting a piercing glance around, he 
 discerned among the rocks on the opposite 
 side, lances gleaming in the sun. Instantly 
 comprehending their designs, he divided his 
 men into two parties, and giving Stanley the 
 command of one, ordered him to charge di 
 rectly through the rocks; while he with the 
 remainder dashed down the hill, and entered 
 from below. Leaving their horses in charge 
 of several of their number, the captain led 
 his men on foot through the denies. 
 
 Nearly a hundred men rose from their 
 hiding places, as the small company appeared, 
 and presented a formidable front of bristling 
 lances. Clifton, after a first discharge of their 
 p stols, gave the order to charge sword in 
 
60 
 
 SENORA INES, 
 
 hand. The guerrillas were too intent upyn 
 saving themselves, by placing the broken 
 rocks between them and their foes, to strike 
 very sure; and they were driven from rock 
 to rock, leaving numbers stretched upon the 
 earth, by the fatal' weapons of our gallant 
 company. At last, panic struck, they threw 
 away their arms and sought safety in flight. 
 At the same moment a number of flying lan- 
 ceros came rushing down from above, closely 
 pursued by Stanley, and his victorious sol 
 diers. The remains of the party now disap 
 peared ; and the captain recalling his men, 
 found they had lost six of their number, 
 while many of the enemy had fallen to rise 
 no more. They had scattered their foes like 
 the wind, and not one was now visible. 
 
 Nothing farther obstructed their march, 
 and soon after noon on the following day, 
 they met the train they were to conduct on 
 ward in safety. The meeting of the two 
 companies was cordial ; and when they halt 
 ed to take their evening meal, each party re 
 lated the incidents of their march. Clifton 
 met many acquaintances in the escort, and 
 inquired about old friends whom they had 
 seen more lately than himself. When pass 
 ing through the rocky valley where they had 
 been attacked coming out, they took every 
 precaution to prevent surprise; but they 
 were not molested, as the guerrillas probably 
 found the rocks not as safe concealment as 
 they fancied. When they were within ten 
 miles of Jalapa, a large body of lanceros were 
 discovered hovering near them. They were 
 mostly on foot, only a few of the officers being 
 mounted. They kept just out of pistol shot, 
 but continued in the same direction for some 
 time. The escort several times sent out par 
 ties to scatter them ; but they would evade 
 the attack, separate, and seem entirely dis 
 persed ; then in five minutes unite again, and 
 go on as before. Suddenly they paused a 
 moment, and then upon a signal from their 
 chief, darted forward for the centre .of the 
 train, which they supposed to be of the most 
 value. 
 
 Captain Clifton was stationed almost at 
 the exact point where the attack was made. 
 Calling upon his men to stand firm, they dis 
 charged a shower of balls upon the guerrillas, 
 as they advanced upon them. Their onset 
 was so fierce, that though many oftheir num 
 ber fell, it did not stop their progress. On 
 they came, with their long lances poised in 
 their hands, giving many severe wounds. At 
 the first assault, Clifton's horse was wound 
 ed. . Maddened by the pain he became un 
 manageable t and rearing and plunging, he 
 struck down several men who were aiming at 
 his rider's life. Bearing him into the very 
 centre of his foes, he received another wound, 
 and fell. Disengaging himself from the sad 
 dle, Clifton sprang to the ground. He was 
 alone and expected death ; but resolved to 
 sell his life as dearly as possible. His sword 
 drew blood at every stroke, and many fell 
 beneath his aim. 
 
 Enraged that one man should make such 
 havoc among them, they hemmed him in 
 close, and bleeding from a dozen wounds, it 
 seemed that nothing could save him; but at 
 this moment the Mexicans fell back on either 
 side of him, and the faithful Stanley, at the 
 head of his men, reached his captain's side. 
 Throwing himself from his horse, he assist 
 ed Clifton to mount, and taking another him 
 self, they spurred back to rejoin the escort. 
 The guerrillas were now flying on every side ; 
 but they were not pursued far, as there was 
 little fear of another attack. Cupidity had 
 suggested the present one, and they fought 
 with more courage than they would have 
 done under some other circumstances. The 
 commanders immediately ordered the wound 
 ed to be collected, and in a few hours they 
 were in the city. 
 
 Clifton's wounds were not dangerous; as 
 after having them dressed he rode into the 
 town. As soon as he was able, and released 
 from his engagements, he hastened to Senor 
 De Montaldo's, and was very much surprised 
 to find the house locked ; and judging from 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 61 
 
 the perfect silence reigning through it, unin 
 habited. , 
 
 For a few momenta our hero paused, un 
 decided what to do; then recollecting that 
 there was a cousin of the family residing in 
 the city, after some hesitation, he decided to 
 visit there, and if possible, find the reason 
 for this singular movement. He was receiv 
 ed coldly, and his inquiries answered evasive 
 ly. Vexed at their suspicions, he assumed 
 rather an air of hauteur, told them he was a 
 friend of the family, and having been absent 
 several da'vs, he was surprised on his return 
 to find they had departed. ' But it is of 
 little consequence,' he said, turning away. 
 
 The gentleman now rose, exclaiming : 
 
 ' May I ask your name, Senor? ' 
 
 ' Captain Clifton, of the United States 
 army,' said our friend, haughtily. ' Perhaps 
 you rmy have heard it.' 
 
 Arthur was passing out of the door, when 
 the gentleman stepping forward, laid his hand 
 on the other's arm, crying : 
 
 ' I have indeed heard that name, and have 
 every reason to respect it. Forgive me, Se- 
 nor, for treating you so rudely. Just step 
 back to a seat, and I will tell you all I know 
 of my cousin. He supposed that as soon as 
 the conquering army left the place, it would 
 be left unprotected from the hordes of rob 
 bers that infest the country ; and he could 
 not think of exposing his lovely daughter to 
 such danger. Therefore placing most of his 
 valuables in security, he yesterday started 
 with his family for the capital.' 
 
 ' Did he leave no word with you for ? ' 
 Clifton stopped embarrassed. 
 
 ' He did not ; but he may have left some 
 message with one of your officers. It would 
 be singular if he has not.' 
 
 ' Strange indeed,' muttered Clifun to him 
 self. ' But are you sure,' he continued 
 aloud, ' that they were provided with pass 
 ports, and what was necessary to render their 
 ourney secure ? ' 
 
 ' O jes,' replied the gentleman, ' he said 
 e had everything prepared.' 
 
 Clifton thanked him for his information, 
 and hurried to his quarters ; where locking 
 himself in his room, he remained several 
 hours a prey to the most agonizing emotions. 
 He felt really displeased with Ines, that she 
 should have gone away so secretly, without 
 leaving the least message for him. After 
 what had passed, he looked upon her almost 
 as much his wife as though the ceremony 
 had been performed ; and he thought she had 
 treated him ill. That Senor De Montaldo 
 should leave him, after their last conversa 
 tion without any explanation, surprised him ; 
 but that Ines, whom he almost adored, and 
 whom he thought the most perfect of women, 
 should consent to such a measure, without 
 expressing one word of regret for leaving 
 him, when a few more hours might have unit-, 
 ed them forever, grieved him to the soul. 
 Clifton was possessed of the most lender and 
 delicate feelings; and though composed and 
 dignified in his exterior, yet when he formed 
 an attachment, he loved with his whole soul. 
 No son, lover, or friend, could be more de 
 voted than Arthur in all these relations; and 
 though not jealous, he was quickly suscepti 
 ble of any change or slight in his friends. 
 Too proud, however, to allow such feelings 
 to have long dominion over him, he roused 
 himself to exertion, and although he could 
 not banish regret, he very soon commenced 
 as usual to hope for the best. 
 
 The army remained but a week longer in 
 Jalapa, and then set out for Puebla. It is 
 not our design to give a circumstantial ac 
 count of the movements of the army, or the 
 sanguinary battles in which they fought and 
 conquered, but merely give a few incidents, 
 occurring in their victorious march to the 
 capital city of the republic. 
 
 They remained more than two months in 
 Puebla, receiving supplies and new detach 
 ments of troops, and making occasional over 
 tures of peace. The first week in August, 
 the army again commenced their march. 
 They met with many obstacles to impede 
 their progress ; but nothing could daunt the 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 ardor of the brave troops, they still pressed 
 on; and on the 18th of August reached the 
 town of San Augustin, where a skirmish 
 took place. 
 
 The next day at noon, commenced the 
 battle of Contreros, and it was nobly sustain 
 ed until dark. The firing on both sides was 
 incessant; and to the Mexicans peculiarly 
 fatal, till night and a heavy rain closed the 
 scene, by separating the combatants. Very 
 early the next morning, a portion of the 
 troops in a gallant assault, led by Colonel 
 Riley, turned the enemy's batteries, driving 
 double their number from their guns, and 
 taking several hundred prisoners. 
 
 As soon as the intelligence of this victory 
 met General Scott, who was on his way to re- 
 % inforce the attacking party, he sent General 
 Worth (to whose brigade Captain Clifton was 
 attached), to take possession of San Antonio, 
 a village two miles distant. They attacked 
 the enemy with such impetuosity, that al 
 though the Mexicans' grape and canister flew 
 like hail through the ranks, and put many a 
 brave fellow hors du combat, yet there was 
 not the least sign of wavering. The officers 
 evinced the most determined bravery, plung 
 ing into the thickest of the engagement; and 
 there was no hesitation among their eager 
 followers. The Mexicans were soon forced 
 to evacuate the place, and were hotly pursued 
 by the victors. As they neared the city, 
 they made another desperate stand at Churu- 
 busco, which was strongly fortified ; but 
 though their resistance was obstinate.the im 
 petuous valor of the United States troops, 
 was not to be withstood. They carried the en 
 trenchments, made many prisoners, and pur 
 sued the enemy to the very gates of the city. 
 Our two friends had not been idle during 
 the combat. The young captain led on his 
 brave men with the steady courage of a vet 
 eran. Twice had he warded a deadly blow 
 from the breast of Stanley, who eager only 
 for victory, thougjit not of himself. 
 
 In the meantime, the commander-in-chief 
 with another division, had taken the strongly 
 
 entrenched position of San Pablo, after a 
 fierce action of more than two hours ; all of 
 which time there was a continuous roar of 
 cannon and musketry. The Mexicans, 
 though having every advantage of position and 
 weight of guns, could not maintain their 
 ground against soldiers, every one of whom 
 was determined to conquer or die ; and the 
 whole armament with a great number of pris 
 oners were taken. Thus ended the day. 
 four distinct battles had been fought and 
 won, the enemy numbering nearly four to 
 one. 
 
 The next day the army marched to Tacu- 
 baya, within full view of the city of Mexico, 
 where they halted, and received a flag from 
 the city asking terms. Several flags were 
 interchanged, and in two or three days an 
 armistice was agreed upon, Scott dictating 
 his own terms, and commissioners appointed 
 to treat for peace. On the 8th of September 
 the negotiations having closed with as little 
 prospect of peace as ever, and the armistice 
 being declared at an end, General Scott or 
 dered an attack on MolinoDel Rey, in which 
 he was as usual victorious ; though with the 
 loss of many of his brave men. The next 
 day, skirmishes were frequent. Captain 
 Clifton was ordered out with his company to 
 reconnoitre a certain point of the enemy's 
 fortifications, and to report the probability of 
 success, in an attack upon that position. 
 Vaulting into the*saddle, our hero felt scarce 
 ly himself, without the presence of his bosom 
 friend, who, from a severe wound received 
 the day before, was unable to accompany 
 him. Suppressing a sigh, he rode onward. 
 As he approached the works, in turning a 
 height, they came suddenly in full range of 
 the enemy's battery, which opened upon 
 them, making sad havoc in their ranks. Re 
 treating from this dangerous position, instant 
 ly but in perfect order, they the next mo 
 ment encountered a large party of infantry, 
 which very nearly surrounded them ; but by 
 his usual quick thought, the captain avoided 
 that, and turning aside, they passed in safetj 
 
SENORA INES. 63 
 
 through a route, cut up by ditches and rough 
 broken ground. 
 
 Clifton, as he prepared to clear the last 
 
 effort, he raised his steed erect, and made a 
 motion to ride through the party ; but twen 
 ty instruments of death were pointed at his 
 
 ditch, turned in his saddle, and sent a part- 1 breast, and as many more dark, menacing 
 ing ball as evidence of his good will, when . faces lowered around him. Seeing the folly 
 his horse stumbled, and tightening the rein to ' of resistance, and feeling the effects of his 
 prevent his falling, he en'deavored to spur ; fall, he submitted to stern necessity; though 
 him over; but instead the horse reared and . not without being sorely mortified that he 
 fell back upon his rider. His men saw not! should fall into the hands of the enemy as a 
 the disaster, and in a moment a hundred ; prisoner. He was led off and that evening 
 Mexicans surrounded him. With a powerful ' taken into the city. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 ' Hist ! thou man of blood, the sighing breeze 
 May waft tuy secrets to the light of day.' 
 
 WHEN Ines de Montaldo received Clifton's 
 letter, informing her of his forced departure, 
 and expressing his regret that she had allow 
 ed anything to delay their union, which now 
 he feared would be entirely prevented, she 
 wept as she thought he might impute her un 
 willingness at that time to want of affection 
 for him. Her father soon after entered the 
 room unperceived, and seeing the open letter, 
 reached forth his hand to take it. She at 
 tempted to draw it away, but he held it firm, 
 and looking into her face, said, calmly : 
 
 ' What does he write that you fear to have 
 me look upon ?' 
 
 The poor girl could not utter a word ! 
 She dreaded to have him know that she had 
 contemplated such an act of disobedience, 
 and burying her face in Her hands, she await 
 ed her father's first words. 
 
 Reading the short epistle through, he ex 
 claimed somewhat sarcastically : 
 
 ' Strange, that after having consented to 
 break your father's promise in this way, you 
 should, by some capricious fancy, postpone 
 
 the mad project till it would be of no use. 
 However, as you doubtless wish to be very 
 dutiful, we will start in a few days for the 
 capital, where you will be secure from such 
 persecution.' 
 
 Ines started. ' Surely, my father,' she 
 cried, ' you will not go till he returns.' 
 
 ' Why not?' cried the old gentleman ; ' de 
 lays are dangerous. Captain Clifton did not 
 think of delay, when he saw you upon the 
 point of being struck to the earth, or when 
 your father or brother were in danger, though 
 of course it was very wise in you to ask 
 delay, when his happiness depended upon 
 immediate action.' 
 
 Ines turned away in mortification. She 
 knew not how to explain her father's singular 
 humor, so different from his usual appear 
 ance. After a silence of a few moments, he 
 sat down by her side, and told her gravely 
 that she must prepare to leave in two days, as 
 he should take his whole family to Mexico, 
 knowing there would be little safety for them 
 here, after the army left, which would be 
 very soon. 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 She could not oppose him, and therefore 
 said nothing ; but her tearful eyes and pallid 
 countenance betrayed her feelings. She 
 wrote to Clifton, explaining, as far as she 
 knew, her father's motive for this change of 
 abode, and with her eyes raining down tears 
 upon the paper, she entreated him not to 
 think coldly of her for what she could not 
 avoid. She regarded herself as much his 
 wife in soul, as though the sacred vows had 
 been pronounced, and could never break 
 ker vows to him by bestowing her hand upon 
 another. Had Arthur received this letter, it 
 would have saved him many miserable hours. 
 Don Carlos, though he had determined never 
 to break his promise by consenting to his 
 daughter's marriage with Clifton, yet he felt 
 it was a cruel vow, and in his heart he hoped 
 his friend would persuade Ines to a private 
 union, and was vexed that she should have 
 prevented it by what he termed maiden coy 
 ness, and he resolved to leave the town im 
 mediately, we fear almost as much to punish 
 her, as to gain a place of safety. 
 
 They had no difficulty in reaching their 
 destination, and Don Carlos immediately took 
 up his residence in his own house, which had 
 been left for nearly a year in the care of ser 
 vants. As Ines threw herself upon her bed, 
 the first night, she thought how different 
 were her feelings a week before. Then, ! 
 happy in the society of him she loved, with 
 the prospect of being united so that man 
 could never separate them ; now, she was 
 alone, had been hurried away, as she sup 
 posed, to avoid him, and brought where she 
 would of course be persecuted by the bane of 
 her life, Zenovia. She not only disliked him 
 for some traits in his character, but despised 
 him for his cowardice. She had heard much 
 from her brother, of his shrinking from any 
 service where he would be exposed to danger, 
 and of his cruel treatment of some soldiers 
 who were under him. 
 
 Had she never seen Clifton, she would 
 have disliked Zenovia, but now that he seem 
 ed destined to part her from him she loved, 
 
 her soul rose in abhorrence against him, and 
 she would sooner die than unite her fate with 
 his. Her mind was very much depressed, as 
 she thought her sudden journey might pre 
 vent her again meeting Arthur ; at all events, 
 it might be many months before he could 
 reach the city, and the dreadful 14th of Sep 
 tember, the day in which her father had said 
 she must bind herself forever to one she 
 hated that day might come, and there be 
 none to save. Disturbed by these thoughts, 
 it <vas long before sleep visited her eyes, and 
 then the most frightful dreams harassed her, 
 and the morning sun was a relief. 
 
 As soon as Zenovia found that Don Carlos 
 had returned to the city, he called upon them. 
 Had Ines followed the dictates of her feel 
 ings, she would have received him with 
 hanghty coldness, but policy made her treat 
 him with civility. She was obliged to se^ 
 much of him, but his society was distasteful to 
 her, and she avoided him as milch as possible. 
 He perceived it, and having heard from some 
 of the servants of Clifton's visits, he soon af 
 ter, in a conversation, mentioned him in such 
 a manner that Ines feared his suspicions 
 were roused, and she exerted herself to ap 
 pear indifferent to the subject ; but her in 
 creased color, and evident embarrassment, 
 did not escape unobserved. As she left the 
 room, his eyes followed her with a look of 
 malicious meaning, and he said to himself: 
 
 ' Then it is true, as I have suspected, and 
 this is the reason why I am treated with such 
 indifference ; but have a care, my proud 
 lady, I can hate as well as love. A moment's 
 hesitation, when the time arrives, and I shall 
 have other means of obtaining my wishes. 
 Revenge shall be my study.' 
 
 Slow and weary the months crept on, and 
 then the news arrived that the United States 
 army had appeared, and obtained decisive 
 victories over the Mexicans in several battles, 
 and were now at the very gates of the capital. 
 The armistice allowed a suspension of hostil 
 ities for a time, and then commenced a strug 
 gle for the city itself. 
 
SENORA INES, 
 
 Just at evening, on the second day after 
 the armistice was broken, Ines, restless and 
 uneasy, unable to sit at home, requested her 
 father to ride with her a short distance in the 
 city, to see a poor woman who had been sick 
 a long time, and to whom she had paid many 
 visits, never forgetting to accompany kind 
 words with something more substantial. The 
 city was quiet : the noise and tumult of bat 
 tle had ceased for the day. Senor De Mon- 
 taldo and his daughter visited the poor old 
 Roxa, as they called her, and were returning, 
 when just as they passed nearly opposite the 
 city prison, they paused to allow a small body 
 of troops to pass them. They halted, and 
 opening, discovered a prisoner in their midst. 
 But O, what were the emotions of Ines, 
 when she recognized in him the beloved of 
 her soul. 
 
 He sat proudly erect upon his horse, with 
 ati expression of perfect composure, almost 
 of haughtiness, upon his broad brow. He 
 gazed fearlessly around, and though, at first, 
 many were the jibes and insults cast at him, 
 his dignified mien caused them to shrink 
 within themselves. At the moment that Ines 
 recognized him, forgetful of everything but 
 her lover, and his danger, she bounded from 
 the carriage, and stretching her arms towards 
 him, shrieked his name in agony. 
 
 Clifton turned at the sound of that loved 
 voice, and would have sprung forward to 
 meet her, but the iron grasp of many soldiers 
 held him back, and struggling in vain for 
 freedom, he was hurried away. Ines fell 
 fainting into her father's arms, who reached 
 her just in time to prevent her falling to the 
 ground, and placing her in the carriage, they 
 drove rapidly towards home. 
 
 Colonel Zenovia had witnessed this scene, 
 and he understood it all at once. Had Ines 
 seen him then, she might indeed have shrunk 
 affrighted from him. His eyes glared with 
 the fearful light of a demon's, while his lips 
 were compressed, and his hands clenched in 
 his rage. He remained motionless for some 
 moments, then starting, he muttered to him 
 self: 
 
 ' Poor fools ! do they think they will tri 
 umph over me so easily 1 I will move the 
 powers of heaven and hell, but I will foil 
 them yet. She shall never be his, in life at 
 least.' 
 
 He walked over to the prison, and saying 
 a few words to the guards at the entrance, he 
 passed in, and seeking the keeper, for two 
 hours was engaged in close conversation with 
 him. When he emerged from the prison, a 
 smile of malicious triumph played over his 
 lips, for he thought himself now secure of 
 vengeance. * 
 
 Donna Ines did not long remain insensi 
 ble ; the acuteness of her feelings soon roused 
 her. Gazing wildly around, she cried, as 
 she clasped her father's hand convulsively, 
 ' Was that a dream, a fearful dream, or was 
 it indeed reality V 
 
 Her father's saddened countenance an 
 swered her question. 
 
 ' O, he must not die! you will save him,' 
 she cried, clasping his knees, and looking 
 imploringly in his face.' 
 
 ' Calm yourself, my child,' answered the 
 old gentleman, ' he will not die. He is a 
 prisoner of war, and will merely be detained 
 till the present struggle is over, and then, if 
 not liberated entirely, will be placed upon 
 parole.' 
 
 ' But, my dear sir, Zenovia saw him carried 
 into the prison ; he knows my regard for 
 Arthur, and I fear will enter into some 
 scheme to deprive him of life. I believe him 
 capable of anything evil.' 
 
 ' Impossible ! my love ; such conduct would 
 be visited by the authorities with severe pun 
 ishment. Clifton is my friend, and I will use 
 my influence to secure his safety from all se 
 cret plotting.' 
 
 The night passed heavily away. Ines fan 
 cied herself struggling in the power of Zeno 
 via, and that Clifton rushed to her rescue, but 
 could not reach her. Then the scene chan 
 ged, and Clifton lay under the uplifted dag 
 ger of his enemy, which had already drank 
 his life blood, and he was rejoicing in the 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 67 
 
 completion of his revenge. She rushed for 
 ward to die with him, and in her agony 
 awoke. Relieved to find she had been 
 dreaming, and still fearful that it might prove 
 true, Ines the next morning called Henri to 
 her presence. 
 
 She extended her hand as he advanced, ex 
 claiming, ' Henri, have I not treated you as a 
 brother ? I certainly regard you as such.' 
 
 He bowed, and glanced upon her face to 
 see what was coming next. 
 
 She paused a moment, then said, ' I wish 
 you to do me a service, as a brother would 
 do for a sister ;' again, she paused. 
 
 ' I hope you do not doubt my willingness 
 to assist you, if in rny power,' answered Hen 
 ri ; ' you have but to command, and I obey.' 
 ' No, no ! Henri, I do not wish to com 
 mand. I merely beg a favor. You know 
 that Mr. Clifton is a very dear friend of my 
 father, and that we are under numerous obli 
 gations to l*m. He is now in prison, and on 
 you alone I depend, to find some means of re 
 leasing him. That cruel Zenovia, I am con 
 vinced, will use every effort to injure him.' 
 
 ' Anything that I can do for his release,' 
 he answered, ' shall be done cheerfully. I 
 think much of Captain Clifton. But tell me 
 what you wish, my dear madam.' 
 
 ' Thank you, Henri, you are always oblig 
 ing. I wish you to watch the movements of 
 Zenovia, keep constantly near him, and learn, 
 if possible, his designs. Then, if you can do 
 so, find in what part of the prison Mr. Clifton 
 is placed, and in some way deliver a message 
 to put him on his guard. Will you do this ?' 
 
 ' I will do all that is within my power,' re- ' 
 plied Henri, and from the state of confusion ! 
 here, by reason of the war going on outside, 
 I may be able to do as you wish.' 
 
 He left her immediately, and proceeded to 
 the prison. Mixing with the guards, he en- ' 
 tered into conversation with them, and affect- : 
 ing contempt for their enemy, and rejoicing 
 that Captain Clifton, whose name was so well 
 known to the guerrillas from his puissant arm, 
 was in a place where he would not trouble 
 
 them again, he gained all the information he 
 desired, of the place of our hero's confine 
 ment, and also of Zenovia's interview with 
 the keeper. Moving carelessly away, he ex 
 amined the barred windows, till sure he had 
 found the one he wished. 
 
 During most of the day he watched the 
 movements of Zenovia, followed him unseen 
 from his house to the prison, and from there 
 to a low hovel, in one of the narrow dark al 
 leys of the city. Here, however, he remained 
 but a moment, and then went home. 
 
 Convinced, by what he had observed, that 
 Senor Zenovia meditated some foul play to 
 wards Clifton, Henri, after imparting what 
 he had learned to Ines, again set out, intend 
 ing to convey a few lines to Clifton, if that 
 was possible, and concert some plan for his 
 escape or concealment till he could leave 
 the city, or his own army entered. Ap 
 proaching the dark alley, which he had before 
 seen Zenovia visit, he heard his voice speak 
 ing in low tones to a man by his side. 
 Creeping cautiously, as near as possible, he 
 stood concealed by an angle of a wall, and 
 listened to their conversation. The compa- 
 ! nton of Zenovia was of gigantic stature, but 
 ' Henri could not see his face. 
 
 ' Colonel,' said he, addressing Zenovia, ' I 
 1 wish this bad job was done. These Ameri- 
 ' cans seem to have charmed lives. They 
 1 have always fought our men one to five, ay, 
 and beat them too.' 
 
 ' Pedro,' said the other, darting at him a 
 look of withering scorn, not unmingled with 
 some surprise, ' do I understand you aright ? 
 Your words would seem to imply that these 
 northern barbarians have charmed away your 
 courage and senses too. Giant as you are, 
 you have no reason to doubt your success in 
 this enterprise against an unarmed man. He 
 must certainly sleep to-morrow night.' 
 
 ' But,' said the other, ' this Senor Clifton 
 is not a small man, and I have heard many 
 of our soldiers speak of his marvellous 
 strength and activity, and should I miss the 
 first blow, he might overpower me.' 
 
68 
 
 SENORA INES. 
 
 The colonel, though almost bursting with 
 rage, dared not give vent to his feelings, but 
 endeavored to soothe and encourage the old 
 man. 
 
 ' You have always served me well,' he 
 said, ' why should you now refuse rne this 
 last boon ? Assist me in this, and the other 
 affair I mentioned to you, and that will be all 
 of the kind I will ever ask.' 
 
 ' You say well, master, I have always serv 
 ed you faithfully, and have done many black 
 deeds for your father and yourself, without 
 asking why ; but now I am getting old, and 
 I have not a dollar to pay for masses for my 
 poor soul.' 
 
 ' Is it the lack of money, my good Pedro, 
 that makes you raise so many objections ? 
 Put that hateful captain where he will trouble 
 me no more, assist me to secure that proud 
 girl, as I told you, and you shall have gold to 
 your heart's content.' 
 
 As he spoke he drew a purse from his 
 bosom, and presented it. 
 
 ' Here, take thi% as an earnest for the fu 
 ture. Of course you will put the old man to 
 rest before you sleep. I shall depend upon 
 you.' 
 
 Pedro dropped the purse at his master's 
 feet, and exclaimed, ' Colonel Zenovia, take 
 your gold, if it is mine only on that condi 
 tion ; for I can never harm a hair of his head. 
 That good old don? O never! It is quite 
 enough that he lias been denied the light of 
 day for fifteen long years, without now closing 
 his life by violence.' 
 
 ' Then he must starve,' said Zenovia, biting 
 his lip till the red blood gushed, with sup 
 pressed rage at being thwarted in any of his 
 plans ; but determined to conquer his passion, 
 he turned after a moment's pause to the old 
 
 man. with the bland, persuasive manner he 
 so well knew how to assume, and said : 
 
 ' Listen to me a moment. You are aware 
 that this braggart captain is an American, 
 and our enemy. He has come here to assist 
 in destroying our country, and to make us 
 slaves. I feel it the duty of every Mexican, 
 to take the life of any or all of them who fall 
 in his way ; besides, they are all heretics, 
 and if they have the power, they will burn 
 our churches, and kill our priests.' 
 
 ' Enough, enough,' interrupted the old 
 man ; ' I will do what I can t exterminate 
 these intruders. Give me directions, and I 
 will go this moment, and despatch one of 
 them.' 
 
 ' Thank you, my good friend,' said the 
 colonel, extending his hand; 'that is like 
 yourself. I knew as soon as you reflected a 
 moment, you would be willing to do what is 
 right for me, and I will reward you bounti 
 fully. By the promise of a heavy bribe, I 
 have prevailed upon the jailor to mix opium 
 in his food to-morrow night, enough to place 
 him in a sound sleep. Then he is to set the 
 door ajar, and be waiting near till you de 
 spatch him, when he will assist in securing 
 the body. Several of the bars will be sawed 
 through, and the window left open, that it 
 may be supposed he has escaped. Now you 
 understand the arrangements, do not forget j 
 to-morrow at midnight;' and they parted, 
 that man of wickedness and his tool. 
 
 Soon after they disappeared, Henri stepped 
 from his hiding place, saying to himself: 
 
 ' Well, I have discovered your villany, and 
 with good fortune will prevent its execution. 
 Turning into a shop near by, he pencilled a 
 few lines on a slip of paper, and walked to 
 the prison. 
 

 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ' Through the broken portal, over weedy fragments, 
 Thalaha went his way. Cautious he trod, and felt 
 The dangerous ground before him with his bow.' 
 
 WHEN Captain Clifton was brought into 
 the city as a prisoner, he thought it was more 
 than probable he should never leave it alive. 
 He had heard that Colonel Zenovia was there, 
 and he knew enough of him to suppose that 
 he would leave no means untried to free him 
 self from such a rival. When he entered the 
 army, he took his life in his hand, and if he 
 died, it would be gloriously ; but to perish in 
 a Mexican prison, unknown, uncared for, 
 even his very captivity kept secret from his 
 friends the thought was indeed painful ; not 
 that he feared to die, but such a death was 
 appalling .During his ride to the city, ke dis 
 tanced the rude familiarity of his guards, by 
 his dignified manner. When he reached his 
 prison he turned to take one last look at the 
 light of day, before he was shut out from it 
 entirely ; and what were his emotions when 
 he saw and heard her whose memory had 
 so long dwelt in his heart; and when forced 
 away, it seemed that this one glimpse of her 
 continued interest in him made the darkness 
 within still more dreary. He was placed in 
 5 
 
 a room alone, the massive stone walls and 
 heavy grated windows seemed to render all 
 hope of escape impossible. But even could 
 he effect that, how long could he expect to 
 remain free, when every person he met must 
 be an enemy ? The sight of Ines, when she 
 so unexpectedly appeared before him, dwelt 
 upon his mind as a presage of good ; and he 
 slept as soundly on his pallet of straw, as he 
 would on a bed of down. 
 
 Thr ( ext morning, when his breakfast was 
 broug> t in, he endeavored to commence some 
 conversation with his surly keeper ; but he 
 only answered in monosyllables, and soon 
 left him. Clifton had been accustomed to so 
 much life and activity for many months past, 
 that the gloom and silence of the prison de 
 pressed his spirits. At evening, when his 
 jailor came in, he tried to gain some informa 
 tion about the state of things without the 
 gates ; but he maintained a sullen silence, 
 only passing around the room and examining 
 the windows, as if fearing he might escape. 
 The windows were high and strongly grated. 
 
70 
 
 SENORA INES. 
 
 As the night advanced, Arthur drew a stool 
 under one of the windows, and stepping upon 
 it, stood a long time gazing out upon the 
 night. The moon shone brightly, and he 
 thought he saw a man walking slowly under 
 the windows, and looking up anxiously to 
 wards him. Having some curiosity to know 
 the meaning of these movements, he pressed 
 his forehead against the bars and watched. 
 The man held something white in his hand, 
 and several times made a motion to throw at 
 the window. An idea darted through the 
 brain of our hero, that it might be intended 
 for him ; and putting his hand through as far 
 as possible, he saw what he was now certain 
 was a leiter, ascending towards him ; but the 
 aperture was so small that he could not catch 
 it. Another trial, with the same success ; 
 and then the man after some delay, placed it 
 in the crevice of a long pole and again elevat 
 ed it ; Clifton this time took it, and the man 
 instantly disappeared. 
 
 Opening the paper, he read by moonlight 
 the following lines : 
 
 ' Do not eat the food given you to-morrow 
 night ; it will contain death. You will find 
 several bars of your window broken, and at 
 eleven to-morrow night, as the moon will 
 then be nearly down, if you would escape 
 certain death, open your window and come 
 forth. Just under the wall you will find 
 arms and a disguise. Go a few rods straight 
 forward, and you will meet a friend, who will 
 conduct you to a place of safety.' 
 
 There was no name to this note, but Clif 
 ton could sot dismiss the sweet hope that the 
 man was a messenger of Iries ; and descend 
 ing from his stool he retired to his rest. The 
 next d ty passed without anything to beguile 
 the tedious hours, but his own thoughts. He 
 knew that the letter he had received might 
 be a contrivance of Zenovia to decoy him 
 'into danger, rather than to save him from as 
 sassination ; but he preferred at least dying 
 in the open air, and determined to run the 
 risk. He thought as in the song, 
 
 ' 1 take thy word, for in a place 
 
 Less warranted than this or less secure 
 
 I cannot be, that 1 should fear to change it.' 
 
 At evening he was removed from his room 
 for a short time. Soon after he was taken 
 back, his evening meal was brought in 
 He regarded the man who brought it with ab 
 horrence, as he thought he was then plotting 
 against his life. Of course he ate nothing ; 
 but placed his food under the mattress to pre 
 vent suspicion. He immediately examined 
 the grating of the windows, and found three 
 or four sawed through ; so that by a little 
 exertion, he could loosen them from the 
 wall. 
 
 He waited impatiently for the appointed time, 
 which he could only know by the decline of 
 the moon. One sound after another died 
 away in the building, and all was still. At 
 last he thought he would delay no longer. 
 Gently removing the bars one by one, which 
 he found more difficult than he at first imag 
 ined, he found the aperture sufficiently large 
 to admit him. Listening some minutes, and 
 hearing no movement in the building, he 
 sprung upon the stool which he placed under 
 the window, and with a violent effort, raised 
 himself to the aperture. Here he paused a 
 moment, and looked to discover if there were 
 any spies ; but no sound struck upon his ear, 
 and he swung down the length of his arms, 
 and then allowing himself to drop, reached 
 the ground without injury, save a sound shak 
 ing in every limb. Moving swiftly along close 
 to the wall, he very soon discovered the arms 
 his unknown friend had mentioned. Throw 
 ing off his coat and plumed cap, he donned a 
 Mexican coat and broad brimmed hat, and 
 affixing a false moustache to his upper lip, he 
 deposited a set of citizen's arms about his per 
 son, thinking this was enough to assure him 
 of his unknown friend's faith. In a moment 
 he was moving with the fleetnessof a deer, in 
 the direction mentioned in the note, and had 
 reached the borders of an old park, through 
 which his path led, when he heard suppressed- 
 voices, and saw two figures advancing. 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 71 
 
 One of them paused a mora-nt, whispering 
 ' hist ! did you hear nothing'' 
 
 They both listened attentively, and glanced 
 cautiously on every side; bit all being quiet, 
 
 cancy among the servants ; ' and now my 
 dear lady,' I said, ' will you ratify the en 
 couragement, I have given in your name, 
 and add another to your many acts of kind- 
 
 they were convinced their fears were imagi- \ ness.' She consented, and I accompanied 
 nary, and advancing, halted opposite the place ! Camelia ove r immediately: t have seen her 
 where our hero was concealed, and within a several times since, and she says her lady is 
 few yards of him; where he could not only j becoming very much attached to her. 
 hear their conversation, out see their counte- ' Upon my instigation, Camelia has told 
 
 nances. At the first sound of voices, he had 
 
 her mistress of an old woman who was very 
 
 carefully ensconced himself within the thick kind when she was in distress, and has asked 
 spreading branches of a shrub pine, of which ; her to visit the old* woman, in company with 
 there were many in that part of the park ; i herself, which she has promised to do. This 
 and though impatient to leave this dangerous : evening I saw the girl, and engaged her to 
 vicinity, he was of course obliged to remain persuade lues to go with her to-morrow af- 
 quiet where he stood. ternoon. The old woman will detain her 
 
 One of the men before him, although the till you arrive with a carriage, and bring her 
 weather was warm, was so muffled in a cloak, to me. I shall have everything in readiness 
 that but little of his face was visible; but our to leave the city immediately, as Santa An- 
 watcher could perceive that his eyes were na is going to leave with the remainder of his 
 
 troops. 
 
 lues will never rnarry me willingly. 
 I am determined not 
 
 piercing and restless in their expression, 
 
 while an enormous black moustache curled 1 must even try force, 
 on his lip. There was something in his ap- to be disappointed.' 
 
 pearance, impressing Clifton with the belief ' But, colonel,' said Pedro, ' by forcing the 
 that they had met before. lady away in this manner, you will lose 
 
 His companion was a man of gigantic her fortune, and that is all you ever cared fur.' 
 frame, apparently about fifty-five years of age. ' That is true, at least of late, but 1 do not 
 His hair of mingled black and gray, hung in intend to lose the fortune. The moment we 
 tangled masses around his neck and face, j are married, I shall demand it in her own 
 His eyes, deep set in his head, overhung by name. It was the mother's fortune, and was 
 long shaggy eyebrows, and a deep cut across ; bestowed upon the daughter.' 
 his upper lip, gave him a sinister and forbid- ' Are you sure, senor,' asked the old man, 
 
 ding aspect. 
 
 'Well, Pedro,' said the 
 
 ' that the girl will do as she says ? She may 
 first mentioned betray us to Don Carlos, and ' 
 
 person, resuming their discourse, ' as you 
 have promised to assist me, I will now unfold 
 
 ' O, I have looked out for that,' said the 
 colonel. ' The girl is in love with one of 
 
 my plan for seizing lues. You know she is my officers, and I have promised him to her. 
 very generous, and will risk even great dan- on that condition. Now, old man, do not fail, 
 ger to assist those who have awakened her and uncounted gold shall be yours. See,' he 
 sympathy. Two weeks since, I called upon continued, pointing to the west, ' the moon 
 her, and asked if she would take a poor or- has sunk below the horizon ; the signal of 
 phan girl into her service. I said that a the affair up yonder,* pointing to the prison, 
 young girl had applied to me to find her a ; ' Now go, and be silent and sure. 1 
 home, and I had promised to see and inter- | The old man moved stealthily away, and 
 est a young lady in her favor, who I felt as- Zenovia, after watching him till he disappear- 
 sured by her well known benevolence, would ed, turned and walked rapidly toward his 
 protect her, even if there should be no va- own house. As soon as convinced they 
 
72 
 
 SENORA INES. 
 
 were out of hearing, our hero rose from his 
 hiding-place, and moved forward into the 
 open space. At the same moment, a figure 
 stepped from the opposite side to meet him. 
 Knowing he was discovered, Clifton drew a 
 pistol, and determined to await his approach, 
 whether friend or foe. At the moment he 
 heard his own name pronounced in a low 
 voice. 
 
 ' Ah, Henri/ he exclaimed, ' is it you, this 
 is indeed a fortunate meeting. Did you 
 hear what those villains have been contriving 
 about entrapping Donna Ines into their 
 power ? ' 
 
 ' Yes, I heard it all, and shall repeat it to 
 Don Carlos. I presume he will take mea 
 sures to secure the rascals ; but we have no 
 time to stay here; you will soon be missed, 
 and a search instituted for you.' 
 
 The friends now moved rapidly on togeth 
 er, Henry detailing all that had passed since 
 Ines saw him led into the prison. Clifton's 
 heart beat proudly, as he learned that his 
 lovely mistress was the moving principle of 
 his rescue. After some moments' silence, 
 Clifton said 
 
 ' Henri, you may tell Senor De Montaldo 
 that if he will select a party of men for the 
 purpose of securing Zenovia, I will myself 
 join him. I think I can do it without fear 
 of detection. He would scarcely know me 
 himself in this disguise.' 
 
 ' I think you would do very well for a 
 guerrilla/ said Henri, smiling. 
 
 They now turned suddenly from the dense 
 ly populated part of the town, and striking 
 into a narrow alley, soon entered a space 
 where the buildings were very few, and of 
 the lowest order. He stopped here, and 
 turning to his companion, said 
 
 'Are you superstitious? I mean are you at 
 all afraid of ghosts?' 
 
 Clifton smiled. 
 
 ' Ah, you do not believe in ghosts, then/ 
 said his friend. ' Well so much the better. 
 There,' pointing a little distance before him, 
 ' is a building that has been deserted by hu- 
 
 
 
 man inhabitants\for many years. It is said 
 to be haunted, ffom strange figures having 
 been seen entering and leaving it at mid 
 night. Groans have also been heard issuing 
 from the ruined ardhes, and when it has been 
 searched, not a being could be discovered. 
 It is now rarely ev^r approached, and has 
 fallen into ruins. A$ you do not fear the 
 spirits who have taken up their abode there, 
 you will find it a secure refuge, while you 
 are obliged to remain in concealment.' 
 
 Looking cautiously around, he stooped 
 down, and moving a large stone, which lean 
 ed against a dilapidated building, he brought 
 forth a small basket and a dark lantern, which 
 he handed to Clifton. A few steps farther on, 
 from a similar concealment, he drew a glit 
 tering sword. Our hero seized it. 
 
 ' Now/ he exclaimed, ' with a good sword 
 in hand, I fear neither ghosts nor men.' 
 
 As they parted, Henri said 
 
 ' If you are determined to come forth and 
 join in the night's enterprise, you had best 
 stain your skin with this liquid/ handing 
 him a phial ; ' you will better escape suspi 
 cion ; and now good night. I shall watch 
 till I see you safe in yonder house.' 
 
 Pressing the hand of his friend, Clifton 
 moved away, and in a few minutes was grop 
 ing his way along a broken wall to the inte 
 rior of the building. As soon as he thought 
 he would not be observed from without, he 
 opened the lantern. Looking around he saw 
 the room he had entered was entirely without 
 furniture, while several of the windows were 
 broken, and a gust of wind rushed through, 
 nearly extinguishing the light. Following 
 an impulse of curiosity, Arthur traversed 
 one room after another. The doors, many 
 of them were entirely broken down, others 
 hanging by one hinge, and those that retain 
 ed their upright position from being so long 
 unmoved, creaked painfully on their hinges. 
 The walls were crumbling in pieces, and 
 covered with a damp mould, rendering the 
 air very disagreeable. Passing quickly 
 through these, he paused nearly in the cen- 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 73 
 
 tre of the house, before a door which was 
 locked; but the key still remaining in it he 
 turned it and found himself at the top of a 
 flight of stairs. The air that met him was 
 cold and damp; and closing the door, he sat 
 dowi upon a window seat and mused upon 
 the hte which had condemned such a vast 
 and splendid pile of buildings to desertion 
 and lecay. The broken casements swung 
 back and forth with a harsh grating sound, 
 while the night wind moaned ominously 
 through the crevices, and around the angles 
 of the building. If Clifton had been in the 
 least superstitious, he would have imagined 
 the gloom peopled with beings not of human 
 mould After sitting a few moments, he 
 heard or thought he did, a low groan. Start 
 ing up he listened, but it was not repeated, 
 and supposing it only fancy, he resumed his 
 seat ; but soon again a low moan met his ear. 
 It seemed to come from below. He rose and 
 immediately opened the door, which led to 
 the apartments under the ruins, and con 
 vinced by a faint and distant murmur, that 
 he was not the only occupant of the place. 
 Snatching up his lamp, and placing the bask 
 et of provisions on his arm, he descended the 
 stairs. They were long, and at the bottom 
 he found a door locked and without a key. 
 He made several ineffectual attempts to force 
 it open, then turning, he retraced his steps, 
 and hastily traversing one room after another, 
 without finding what he wanted, he at last 
 stumbled, and nearly fell over something on 
 the floor. Stooping, to his great joy he 
 found it was a flat bar of iron, which had 
 been loosened from some part ofthe building. 
 Seizing it eagerly, he returned to the door. 
 With several powerful blows, he battered the 
 lock, so that with a great exertion of strength 
 the door fell in with a sudden crash; the 
 hinges which were nearly rusted through 
 giving way. Throwing down his bar of iron, 
 he passed swiftly on to another door, where 
 the key remained in the lock. Opening it 
 he paused, for he heard a faint voice mur 
 muring 
 
 ' God is merciful, and has softened his 
 heart that i. shall not perish.' 
 
 Clifton started, and shuddered with hor 
 ror. Walking the extent of the room, he 
 discovered a door made entirely of bars of 
 iron. In the centre, was a small square ap 
 erture, sufficiently large to admit a man's 
 arm. 
 
 'O,' cried a feeble voice within, in the 
 Mexican language, ' then you have come to 
 give me food, and I shall not starve.' 
 
 ' Starving,' cried Arthur, ' O, this is horri 
 ble ; but you shall not starve, I will feed 
 you.' 
 
 ' O, Pedro,' said the voice, ' do not delay, 
 or I shall die before you reach me ; the death 
 agony seems even now at my vitals.' 
 
 ' I am not Pedro,' answered Clifton, ' but 
 I will give you food ; ' and taking a biscuit 
 from the basket he had continued to hold on 
 his arm, he reached it through the aperture. 
 It was so dirk within, that Clifton could not 
 see the being he was trying to feed. 
 
 ' Ah,' cried the poor man, ' I cannot reach 
 it. I have not tasted food for three days,and 
 am too weak to rise.' 
 
 ' Do not despair, my poor friend ; I will 
 find means to get it to you.' 
 
 Dipping the biscuit in some water, he 
 placed it upon the point of his sword, and 
 reaching through, the perishing man seized 
 and conveyed it to his lips. 
 
 ' O, bless you, kind senor, whoever you 
 are,' he cried in faltering accents ; ' this will 
 prolong my life.' 
 
 Arthur cautioned him not to eat too much 
 at first, as it would injure rather than restore 
 him ; and then attempted to loosen tjje grates 
 of his prison, but they resisted all his effort?. 
 
 In a short time the old man (for such he 
 seemed to be), by a great effort raised upon 
 his knees, and clinging to the b.ars, said very 
 feebly 
 
 ' O, senor, let me have one look upon 
 your kind face ; you are not Zenovia, or one 
 sent by him ; bless you, O bless you ; ' and 
 losing his hold, he fell back motionless. 
 
74 
 
 SENORA INE& 
 
 Clifton called to him repeatedly, but he 
 moved not, he had fainted fropi exhaustion. 
 Almost wild with the fear that he would die 
 before he could reach him, Arthur caught 
 up his lamp, bounded from the place, and 
 hastened to where he had left the iron bar. 
 Seizing it eagerly, he returned, and finding 
 the old man lying in the same state, he now 
 used almost frantic efforts to break the door. 
 At last, when he feared he must give up in 
 despair, one of the grates loosened and fell 
 to the ground. 
 
 ' Thank Heaven ! ' washis joyful exclama 
 tion. 
 
 Another and yet another yielded to his 
 powerful arm, till the aperture was large 
 enough to admit him. Passing through it on 
 the instant, he took the old man in his irms, 
 and carried him to a mattress spread in one 
 corner of the dungeon, and there kneeling by 
 his side, bathed hig face in the best he had, 
 cold water, and poured a portion of L into 
 his mouth. It was a long time befo e the 
 poor man gave any signs of life, and tien he 
 did not seem to realize his situation. Mur 
 mured blessings were constantly on hi* lips; 
 but further than that he was not sensible. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ' And thus the villain's treachery is unmasked, 
 And the bright sun shines on hie damning deed.' 
 
 THE morning light found Clifton yet at his 
 post, and the hour of noon showed him in the 
 same position. The old man had several 
 times roused himself sufficiently to take a lit 
 tle food, and his watcher had nursed him 
 with the care of a son. He had himself eaten 
 nothing since the morning before, but he felt 
 not the need of food, and for worlds he would 
 not have taken one morsel of what might 
 save the life of the perishing creature before 
 him. 
 
 Soon after noon, the old man awoke from 
 a quiet sleep of several hours. He was no 
 Jonger oppressed with a stupor ; his senses 
 were clear, though he was very weak. 
 
 Taking the hand of his young attendant, 
 he kissed it repeatedly, and then raised it to 
 heaven, while his lips murmured blessings 
 on his head. Our hero again supplied him 
 with food and water, and after he had finish 
 ed, asked him gently why he was there, and 
 what person could be guilty of such atrocity 
 as to confine him in that fearfti' place. 
 
 ' I have not yet strength to-repeat the tale/ 
 sighed the invalid ; ' very soon I will teil you. 
 But first, my dear senor, tell me how you 
 came to wander to this place, in which for 
 fifteen years I have never seen a human being 
 save my jailors? You speak our language, 
 but, I think, are not a Mexican. And tell 
 me, is it true that this city is besieged by a 
 foreign army, as I have been informed ?' 
 
 ' It is true ! and I am one of that army ; 
 but do not fear me on that account. I will 
 save you from this dungeon, and protect you 
 with my Hie. I was taken prisoner in a 
 skirmish, a few days since, but having es 
 caped from my prison wandered here for 
 safety ; and I am truly thankful that my mis 
 fortunes have enabled me to save a fellow- 
 creature from so cruel a death as that to 
 which you were doomed.' 
 
 ' The holy virgin will bless you, senor. 
 But tell me more about yourself. I love to 
 hear you speak, and it has been so long since 
 I have looked upon a face but that of those 
 
76 
 
 SENORA INES. 
 
 merciless beings, who at last left me here to 1 mind against me, and though still openly pro- 
 dim eyes fessing the warmest friendship, he in secret 
 meditated revenge. 
 
 perish, that I cannot remove my 
 from your face.' 
 
 Arthur, to please the old man, related 
 some incidents of his life, mentioned his 
 coming into Mexico, gave a slight account of 
 the success of their arms, and then touched 
 upon his acquaintance with Senor de Montal- 
 do and family, and the villany of Zenovia. 
 
 The old man listened attentively, and at 
 the close raised his clasped hands to heaven, 
 crying, ' O, Powers of Mercy, I thank thee. 
 Thou hast sent this man to bring wickedness 
 to light, to preserve the innocent, and punish 
 the guilty, and to restore thy servant once 
 more to the bosorn of his family.' 
 
 Clifton looked at him eagerly. 
 
 ' Who then are you ?' he said ; ' who are 
 your family, and who has confined you so 
 many years in this gloomy place ?' 
 
 The old man desired to be raised, that he 
 might sit up on his bed. He appeared to be 
 very old. His hair, white as the driven 
 snow, hung upon his shoulders ; his beard, of 
 the same color, flowed down upon his breast. 
 His face was colorless, and he was thin to 
 e naciation. Clifton raised and supported 
 him on his breast. 
 
 Turning his eyes upon Clifton, he said, 
 ' My family was one of the first in Mexico, 
 possessing wealth and influence. I have held 
 many public offices, and have ranked high in 
 the nation. I had many friends and but few 
 enemies. I had an angel wife, who died a 
 few years after our marriage, leaving me with 
 one only child, a son, and he was all that a 
 parent coujd wish. He loved me with ardent 
 devotion, and when he brought one to his 
 home, lovely, accomplished, and every way 
 worthy of him, though he idolized her, there 
 was no diminution in his reverence for me. 
 I had a friend, at least one who called him 
 self such, but we were opposed in politics. 
 Many times we were opposing candidates for 
 office, and as fortune would have it, I was 
 usually elected against him. I knew it not 
 then, but it seems that this embittered his 
 
 ' About fifteen years since we were placed 
 again in opposition. For some time the con 
 test was doubtful, but at last it seemed in 
 clining in my favor. At this time I was in 
 vited, with some twenty gentlemen, to dine at 
 his house. The time passed as usual on 
 such occasions. Mirth arid hilarity reigned ; 
 gay conversation, in which all mention of 
 politics was avoided, occupied the evening. 
 It was late before the party separated, and 
 my friend detained me a few moments, to lis 
 ten to some new project he had just started, 
 and then, mounting my horse, I rode slowly 
 towards home. I had proceeded but a little 
 distance, when a gigantic man started up be 
 fore me, and giving my horse a severe blow, 
 he started aside so suddenly, that carelessly 
 as I was sitting, I was thrown to the ground. 
 An iron grasp was placed upon my shoulder, 
 a cloak thrown over my head, and I was 
 dragged swiftly away. I struggled to free 
 myself, to cry for help, but the fall from my 
 horse had bruised me, and my mouth was so 
 closely covered, that I could not make an au 
 dible sound. My captor paused several 
 times, as if to take breath, and then pursued 
 his course. I was very soon brought into a 
 house, as I knew by the change of air, and 
 the echo of his footsteps. 
 
 ' 1 was dragged down a flight of steps, 
 through several doors, which were locked 
 after us, and then into this room. I was 
 placed upon a mattress, and then I knew, by 
 retreating footsteps, that I was about to be 
 left alone. From being dragged along over 
 a rough road, in such a harsh manner, my 
 limbs were so bruised and sore, that it was 
 with the greatest difficulty I could more. 
 After several painful efforts I succeeded in 
 removing the muffling from my head, and 
 rose upon my hands and knees. I was in 
 I called aloud, I shout- 
 least be allowed a light, 
 
 complete darkness, 
 ed, I begged to at 
 that I might view my prison but echo only 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 <' 
 
 answered. The floor was of stone, and the 
 walls of the same material. This, and the 
 damp, cold air I breathed, convinced me that 
 I was under ground, probably in a dungeon, 
 from which I should never be allowed to 
 move. I am not naturally fearful, but then 
 an irresistible horror took possession of my 
 faculties, and falling upon my face, I remain 
 ed in a state between stupor and faintness, 
 how long I know not, but probably several 
 hours. 
 
 ' When I came to myself, I was lying in 
 the same position, but light shone around me, 
 and I heard whispered voices near. I made 
 an attempt to turn, but my limbs were so 
 stiff and swollen, and pained me so cruelly, 
 that I could not stir. Some one now ap 
 proached, and rough hands raised me up, 
 placing me on the mattress. The pain was 
 so excruciating, that I groaned in agony. 
 Raising my eyes I saw the same giant form 
 bending over me which I had seen once be 
 fore, and at a little distance, he who had 
 pretended such devoted friendship for me, 
 stood gazing with a cold, indifferent look, 
 upon one whom he had so villanously en 
 trapped. 
 
 1 Turning my eyes full upon his face, with 
 the powerful emotions of my soul speaking 
 from them, he turned pale, and quailed be 
 neath the glance. Turning away, he ad 
 dressed a few words to his servant, and walk 
 ed towards the door. Then all my indigna 
 tion against my false friend gave way to the 
 horrible idea of being shut up in darkness, 
 denied the blessed light of heaven, and sepa 
 rated from my family and friends. In vain I 
 begged him to stay and answer my questions ; 
 he turned away, with a sneering reply, that 
 important business demanded his attention. 
 Then all my indignation burst forth. I de 
 nounced the vengeance of Heaven upon his 
 wicked head, told him he would never be 
 
 happy, that the memory of this deed would 
 haunt him while he lived, and render his 
 death bed one of horror insupportable. 
 
 ; He dashed out of the room, and, mutter 
 ing curses, disappeared. I fell back upon 
 the bed completely exhausted. Excitement 
 had lent me temporary strength, but that 
 was over, and I now lay, quite unable to 
 move, while my attendant bathed my limbs, 
 and, binding them up, presented me some 
 food ; but 1 could not eat, and putting it 
 aside, requested, in as calm a tone as I could 
 assume, to know the reason of this outrage. 
 Pedro, for that was his name, said I was 
 placed here by the order of Don Jose Zeno- 
 via, in revenge, because I had so long thwart 
 ed his wishes, and mortified his pride, and 
 now, on my removal, he expected to gain his 
 election, which would otherwise fall upon 
 myself. 
 
 ' But surely,' I cried, ' he does not think 
 to keep me here unknown to all my friends. 
 My son, I know, will ferret out his villany, 
 and I shall not long remain here.' 
 
 4 The man shook his head at this remark. 
 
 ' " Alas, senor," he said, " I fear you will be 
 disappointed. This old edifice belongs to the 
 Zenovia estate, and for many years has been 
 totally deserted, and even bears the name of 
 being haunted. No one thinks of coming 
 here, and Zenovia has taken his measures so 
 effectually, that there can be no discovery, or 
 even suspicion to fall upon him. It will be 
 supposed that you have been robbed and 
 murdered." After a pause of a moment, he 
 added : 
 
 ' " Senor Zenovia intends to confine you 
 here through life. You will have food and 
 lights brought you, and will be obliged to 
 content yourself with your fate." He soon 
 after left me, and for three days I did not see 
 him again. For a short time I was support 
 ed by indignation, but it did not last long ; 
 
78 
 
 SENORA INES. 
 
 my spirits would not keep up under' such 
 dreary solitude, and the knowledge that it 
 was to be forever. 
 
 ' When Pedro came again, I was humble 
 as a child, and besought him to tell Zenovia, 
 that if he would free me, restore me again to 
 life and liberty, I would swear solemnly nev 
 er to disclose what had passed, but to find 
 some excuse for my absence, which should 
 not in the least affect him, as not wishing 
 longer to engage in active life. I scarcely 
 knew how high my hopes were raised until 
 Pedro came again and they were blasted by 
 disappointment. He said his master had 
 considered a long time upon my proposition, 
 but at last said he would do nothing about it 
 my fate was sealed, and I had better be 
 come reconciled to what could not be avoid 
 ed. I will not weary you, senor, by particu 
 lars of my sad imprisonment. 
 
 ' It was nearly two years before I saw Ze- 
 novia again, but he was then, as before, deaf 
 to all rny entreaties for liberty. He told me 
 that a few weeks before a body had been 
 found concealed, not far from where I was 
 kidnapped, and my son had ordered all due 
 honors paid to the corpse, supposing it to be 
 myself that time had already blunted the 
 edge of his grief, and he was beginning to 
 mix again with the world. He said too 
 (which stung me more than all the rest), 
 that my son had affianced his only daughter, 
 the namesake and living image of my sainted 
 wife, to his son. 
 
 ' Fifteen years have passed away, and in 
 that time I trust that I have become resigned 
 
 o 
 
 to my fate, believing that when this mortal 
 body should resign its breath, my Father 
 would take me to be with him in paradise. 
 Pedro furnished me with books to beguile 
 the weary hours, and also writing materials, 
 that I could transfer my thoughts to paper. 
 
 This was entirely from a feeling of sympathy, 
 as Zenovia would never allow me that small 
 consolation. The perusal of those books has 
 enabled me to live on and endure, and has 
 directed me to the God of mercy for comfort 
 in distress. 
 
 ' For two years past my food has been 
 brought to me by Pedro and the young Zeno 
 via, alternately, my treacherous friend being 
 dead. Four nights since, Zenovia came to 
 me, and said the North American army were 
 at the gates of the city, and might very soon 
 enter it. If they did he could stay no longer 
 here, and of course could not attend to my 
 wants. He left me food and light for one 
 day, and a dagger, saying when I felt tired of 
 life, I was at liberty to use that. 
 
 ' Ah, my friend, what thoughts of horror 
 took possession of my soul, when after so 
 many years confinement I was at last left to 
 starve, or end my life by suicide. So you 
 found me, and blessings the most precious 
 will rest upon you, for your great kindness. 
 You have mentioned Don Carlos de Montal- 
 do you must have conjectured, from my 
 narration, that I am the father he has "so 
 long mourned.' 
 
 ' Ah yes,' cried Clifton, whose emotion had 
 been almost overpowering as he listened ; 
 ' ah yes ! and it will be the happiest day of 
 my life, when I can restore to him one so re 
 vered, and place you, my dear sir, in a situa 
 tion of comfort and happiness.' 
 
 Arthur then unfolded to Don Juan the 
 project of the night, and asked if he would 
 be willing to remain there till the next morn 
 ing, when he would return with means to 
 convey him away in safety. 
 
 ' Do not hesitate a moment for me,' cried 
 the old gentleman ; ' hasten, and secure the 
 villains, then return for me. I am not strong 
 enough to be moved to-night, and am so ac- 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 customed to solitude that I shall not fear to 
 be alone.' 
 
 Clifton asked if he had writing materials 
 still left, and being directed to them, he sat 
 down and wrote a brief account of the state 
 of the invalid, and where to find him, then 
 directed it to Don Carlos, and placed it in 
 his bosom. It was now growing towards 
 night, as he found by going above, for it was 
 all night below, and he commenced his pre 
 parations for going back into the city again. 
 Staining his skin a tawny hue, and again af 
 
 fixing his black moustache, he arranged his 
 clothes so that Don Juan said he would never 
 be recognized. 
 
 The old man's courage faltered when he 
 saw his preserver about to leave him, but 
 yet would not consent to detain him a mo 
 ment. ' I have perfect confidence in you,' 
 he cried, and again our hero received his 
 fervent blessings. He left the door open, 
 and the remains of the food and water by his 
 side, and also his lamp, which he supposed 
 would last till morning, and then departed. 
 
CHAPTER XIV, 
 
 4 Now seize the wretch, and bear him hence ; 
 Let justice do her work upon the caitiff'.' 
 
 WHEN Henri Duvalle returned home, he 
 found all the family had retired to rest. 
 Passing through a long corridor, on his way 
 to his own sleeping apartment, he heard a 
 door softly open, and looking round he saw 
 Ines step into the passage. 
 
 ' Henri,' she said, in a low, soft voice, 
 scarcely above a whisper. He turned back 
 instantly, and in answer to her inquiries, re 
 peated what he had done for and with 
 Clifton. 
 
 ' Are you sure he will be safe there V she 
 asked eagerly ; ' there are strange stories 
 told about that old ruin : and did you not 
 know it was on Zenovia's estate.' 
 
 ' Yes, madam, but the senor has too much 
 on his hands at present to think of pursuing 
 Captain Clifton, if he even discovers that he 
 has escaped. He has a new project in his 
 head, which will be. explained to you to-mor 
 row.' He bowed, and the lady disappeared 
 into her room. 
 
 The next morning, Don Carlos was inform 
 
 ed of all that Henri had overheard, and of 
 Clifton's intended visit that evening. Don 
 Carlos listened to this account with the strong 
 est indignation. He sent for his daughter at 
 once, and when she entered, asked some in 
 different question about her new maid, and 
 then inquired if she had made a request that 
 her mistress would accompany her to see an 
 old friend. 
 
 ' She has mentioned it several times,' re 
 plied Ines, ' and this morning, I promised to 
 accompany her at evening.' 
 
 ' Yes, perfectly right, my love,' now if you 
 please, go and find out the precise spot where 
 the old woman's house stands, and then come 
 and tell rne; but excite no suspicions of your 
 object. Speak to her carelessly, as about aa 
 indifferent subject.' 
 
 ' But may I not know my father '?' 
 
 ' Not at present,' he interrupted ; ' after 
 your return I will explain.' 
 
 She left the room, and Don Carlos selected 
 the required number of servants, furnished 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 81 
 
 them with arras, and obtained a promise of 
 perfect secrecy and obedience from them. 
 Ines found and gave her father the descrip 
 tion he wished, and in return he explained 
 his motives for the inquiry. Ines shuddered 
 at the danger she was so near falling into, 
 and turned to Henri with a bright look of 
 gratitude. 
 
 He bowed, ard smiled sadly. 
 Running up to him, she took his hand, and 
 said iu a soft, coixing voice, ' Now, my bro 
 ther, do not always look so sad, and throw 
 a look of humility into your brow.' 
 
 ' Have I not reason ?' said Henri ; ' of what 
 should I be proud f 
 
 ' Well, I do not ask you to be proud of 
 your sister, but still I claim that name, and 
 my father loves you as a son. Do you not, 
 ray dear sir ?' and she turned an appealing 
 look upon him. 
 
 He smiled, and kissing her, said, ' Yes, my 
 dear, Henri merits our warmest regard, and 
 he certainly has it.' 
 
 Ines now tripped up to her chamber. A 
 thousand ideas flitted through her mind. She 
 felt a heavy weight removed from her heart, 
 for she believed all fear of Zenovia was at an 
 end. Coward as he was, she could not think 
 he would dare approach them again, when 
 his treachery was unmasked ; and visions of 
 hope and happiness filled her brain, in which 
 the presence of our hero was indispensable to 
 complete the charm. It was towards even 
 ing. Ines was sitting at her window, listen 
 ing to the cannonading, which, during the 
 day, had been still advancing nearer to the 
 city, and noting an occasional shell as it en 
 tered, struck, and exploded. Messengers 
 rode hastily to different parts of the city, giv 
 ing accounts of the taking one position after 
 another by the besieging army, and it was 
 the general opinion that it could not hold out 
 another day. It was also whispered that 
 Santa Anna intended deserting the place, 
 with a large body of chosen troops, leaving 
 them to the mercy of the enemy, and alarm 
 and confusion reigned throughout. Senor 
 
 De Montaldo's house stood outside of the cen 
 tre, and far removed from the scenes of com 
 motion going on without, so that they seemed 
 to enjoy comparative peace. As Ines looked, 
 she saw a man coming up the street ; he 
 paused several times, probably to listen to the 
 roar of ordnance. Just opposite her window 
 he stopped, and seemed making some inquiry 
 of a person he met. Why did her heart beat 
 faster as she gazed on him ? She could not 
 tell ! He was dressed as a common Mexi 
 can ; his low top, broad brimmed hat, was 
 drawn over his face, which was quite dark, 
 and his upper lip was graced with a jetty or 
 nament, customary with those of her country. 
 But there was something in his movement, 
 his graceful bow, as he left the man he was 
 speaking with, and his quick glance upward 
 to her window, as he rapidly crossed the 
 street, and stood a-waiting admittance at her 
 father's door, that sent a thrill through her 
 whole frame. Clasping her hands tightly 
 over her heart, she sat tremblingly awaiting 
 what would follow. But when half an hour 
 passed, and everything was quiet as usual about 
 the house, sh*e said to herself, while a burning 
 blush mantled her cheek, ' What a silly being 
 I am, looking for winders in every slight 
 event. I ought to know that it would risk 
 his life to come here. O, God grant,' she 
 added energetically, ' that he will not ven 
 ture out where I fear destruction will await 
 him.' 
 
 At this moment a light step approached, 
 and some one tapped at the door. She flew 
 to open it, and Henri told her in a low voice 
 her father desired to see her in the library. 
 She followed him with tottering steps, several 
 times opening her lips to ask him a question, 
 and as often closing them with a sigh. 
 
 Henri left her at the door, and she entered 
 alone. As she had imagined the stranger 
 was there, in close conversation with her fa 
 ther. Don Carlos started up as he saw her, 
 and saying, ' I can give you but a short half 
 hour, disappeared from the room. Ines in 
 amazement was just turning to follow, when 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 a low voice pronounced her name, and Clif 
 ton, casting his hat to the floor, and taking 
 the moustache from his Jip, advanced and 
 clasped her in his arms. ' Loveliest and best,' 
 he cried, ' do I indeed once more hold you to 
 my heart, and all my own ? No fear now ol 
 a parent's frown on our love ; with his entire 
 approbation we must be happy. ; 
 
 Ines hid her face a few moments on hi 
 shoulder, then raised her eyes and surveyed 
 his countenance. 
 
 ' Does my dark skin terrify you ?' he asked 
 with a smile. ' I think I may pass very well 
 in the character 1 have assumed, since even 
 you did not at first recognize me.' 
 
 Ines disengaging herself from his embrace, 
 and moving to a seat, began to question him 
 anxiously about the danger he run in thus 
 exposing himself. He soon quieted her ap 
 prehensions, and then they conversed of the 
 future, which, to their vivid imagination, was 
 just opening for them in perfect happiness. 
 
 But they were not long allowed this plea 
 sure. Don Carlos entered : ' Come, 'Senor 
 Clifton,' he cried, ' Henri has already depart 
 ed with our small force, and we had better 
 soon follow ; but first we will secure that 
 faithless girl, who so nearly drew my Ines 
 into such peril.' 
 
 Arthur started up, and resuming his dis 
 guise, said to Ines, ' Dear ladj, if you have 
 any compission, you will give me something 
 to eat before I go, for I assure you I am quite 
 ravenous.' 
 
 She bounded off at this request, and our 
 friends took measures to prevent any trouble 
 from Camelia, by placing her in a private 
 room, under guard. When they returned, 
 Ines had prepared a light meal with her own 
 hands, not wishing to attract attention by 
 calling upon the servants. Clifton really 
 stood in need of food, having so long fasted, 
 and thanking her more by his eyes than words, 
 they immediately departed. Ines watched 
 them with tearful eyes, till they disappeared 
 in the distance, and then went to her room to 
 pray for their safety. 
 
 Don Carlos and his friend walked on to 
 the rendezvous, the former explaining as they 
 went, the plan of operation. As they came 
 near the house described to them, they part 
 ed, and each secured a position where they 
 could command a view of the door. It might, 
 perhaps, have been an hour, though to Clif 
 ton it seemed an age, and it was getting so 
 dark that he could not distinguish objects 
 plainly, the moon being hid by heavy clouds, 
 when the roll of carriage wheels fell upon his 
 ear. The sound approached nearer, and 
 paused within a few rods of him. The next 
 moment a figure descended the steps, and 
 speaking a few words in a low tone tcr the 
 driver, he peered cautiously around for a 
 minute, and then walked swiftly towards the 
 house. It was too dark to discern features, 
 but from the enormous size of the man, Clif 
 ton judged it must be him they sought. Join 
 ing Don Carlos, they summoned two of the 
 party concealed near, and together advanced 
 to the door. Placing his ear to the door, 
 Clifton heard a man's voice say, ' But what 
 shall I do, old woman ? Senor Zenovia will 
 be furious, when I meet him alone. Is there 
 no possibility of their coming yet?' 
 
 ' O, no !' answered the old woman, ' Don 
 na Ines would not come out so late. I am 
 afraid they have discovered something about 
 it, and so have kept her at home.' 
 
 At this moment making a sign for the oth 
 ers to follow, Clifton gently raised the latch 
 and entered. ' Secure that woman,' he said, 
 in an authoritive voice, to the two men. She 
 was a very large person, and exerted her 
 strength to the utmost, but at last with great 
 difficulty she was secured, and a muffling 
 placed over her mouth. 
 
 At the first glimpse of his enemies, Pedro 
 endeavored to rush past them and escape at 
 the door, but failing in that, he drew a pis 
 tol, and warned them to keep their distance. 
 Clifton, with one bound, was at his side, and 
 dashing up the weapon, it went off, but with 
 out injuring any one. Throwing it from 
 him, a dagger instantly supplied its place. 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 83 
 
 By a sudden motion Clifton caught the ruf 
 fian's arms, and endeavored to pin them to 
 his side; but he was powerful, and wrench 
 ing away, he inflicted a wound in Clifton's 
 shoulder. Moving a step backward and 
 drawing his sword, he said, gravely, ' Pedro, 
 you fight well in a bad cause. We have no 
 desire to injure you ; it is your master we 
 seek. You must see that resistance is use 
 less,' pointing to his companions. ' You 
 cannot escape us ; give up at once, and life 
 will be grained you, on condition of guiding 
 us to Zenovia ; but otherwise we shall be 
 obliged to use unpleasant means to effect our 
 purpose.' 
 
 The old man looked keenly at the speaker 
 for a moment, then suddenly drawing another 
 pistol from his bosom, he cried, ' I have no 
 faith in your promises ;' and pointing at his 
 antagonist, the ball missed Clifton, and pass 
 ing through the garments of Montaldo, slight 
 ly grazed ins shoulder, and entered the wall 
 beyond. Our hero saw where the shaft sped, 
 and rushed forward, the whole determination 
 of his soul darting from his eye. Pedro 
 started aside, not however without receiving 
 a severe wound. Darting forward within 
 the sweep of the sword, he caught Clifton in 
 his muscular arms, and endeavored to crush 
 him with his great strength ; but he found he 
 had not a child to deal with. After a violent 
 effort, Arthur succeeded in mastering his 
 hands, and with almost superhuman strength, 
 dashed him against the wall. Panting for 
 breath, the giant stood erect a moment, then 
 passing his hand upon his brow, he staggered 
 forwird and fell upon the point of Clitton's 
 sword, and sunk to the ground. What we 
 have attempted to describe, had * scarcely 
 been the work of a minute. The two men 
 had just secured the old dame, and turned to 
 assist Clifton as Pedro fell. Cords were 
 passed around his limbs, and the blood 
 staunched, which flowed freely from the 
 wound in the breast. He made no resistance 
 after lie fell, but to all their questions he 
 maintained a suilen silence. Clifton and 
 
 Don Carlos consulted a few moments togeth" 
 er, and then giving some orders to the two 
 men with them, they disappeared at a back 
 door. 
 
 Looking around, Don Carlos found a large 
 cloak hanging near the door, and throwing 
 it over Pedro, he with Arthur raided him on 
 their arms, arid bore him slowly towards the 
 carriage. The night was so dark that the 
 driver could only distinguish several figures 
 moving towards him. Straining his eyes 
 through the gloom, he said, ' Pedro, are you 
 there?' Clifton assisted Don Carlos into the 
 carriage with the wounded man, and then 
 moving towards the speaker, said in a gruff 
 voice, in imitation ot the old man, ' Ail right ; 
 1 have them safely caged, but 1 had to fight 
 for it. Did you not hear the report of the 
 pistol ? It frightened her a litlle, I imagine. 
 As soon as 1 get into the carriage, drive on 
 with as liitle noise as possible, to the place 
 where the colonel is to meet us.' 
 
 ' I will,' answered the man. ' The colonel 
 will think we have done a good niglu's work, 
 and now on for our reward.' 
 
 The carriage 'now moved slowly forward. 
 The road seemed endless, and Clifton was 
 beginning to think the driver suspected him, 
 and was taking the'm in quite a different di 
 rection from the first order. At last they 
 stopped, and a voice outside asked, ' What 
 success ?' 
 
 ' Excellent,' was the driver's answer, 
 ' they're all here. 1 
 
 'Then I will bring the colonel,' said the 
 first voice. 
 
 'Now is my time,' whispered Clifton. 
 ' You, senor, had better remain here and 
 watch this rascal, while I join our little party, 
 which I am sure must be very near us.' 
 
 lie opened the door genily and stepped 
 out. The moon shed a dim and uncertain 
 light upon the scene; he saw that they had 
 left the buildings behind them, and he judged 
 from appearances, that they must be on the 
 outer confines of the city. A few broken 
 ruins of what had once been the walls of a 
 
84 
 
 SENORA INES. 
 
 house, rose upon the eye, dark and ragged in 
 its outlines, and an occasional tree cast a 
 shade over the ground. His eyes roamed 
 anxiously in search of his men, but he could 
 see nothing. His ear, however, took a slight 
 sound of murmuring voices, in the direction 
 of the ruined wall. Advancing cautiously, 
 he muttered one word in a voice so low that 
 only a careful listener could have heard it; 
 but it was answered in the same tone, and 
 he knew his small but resolute band were 
 there. 
 
 At the same moment he saw several figures 
 advancing towards the carriage. Giving the 
 word to his eager followers, they moved 
 stealthily along in the same direction. Not 
 expecting an assault, they started back in 
 surprise, as the little party rushed upon them, 
 sword in hand. Zenovia, who was in front, 
 made a bound to reach the carriage, but the 
 muzzle of a pistol met his breast, and he 
 threw himself back into the midst of his men. 
 The moon now streamed forth with its full 
 lustre, revealing each party to the other. 
 Stepping a little in advance, Clifton said, 
 1 Mexicans, soldiers, we come to arrest a 
 criminal ; we seek your chief; leave him in 
 our hands, and you can depart in peace ; re 
 sist, and you force us to take him by vio 
 lence !' 
 
 The men looked at each other in silence. 
 Zenovia, fearing that they would indeed leave 
 him, glanced upon them to discover their 
 feelings ; waving his sword he exclaimed, 
 ' Forward, men ! Who talks of deserting his 
 chief? On, I say, they are but a handful !' 
 
 Thus encouraged, the attack which now 
 commenced was repelled with firmness for a 
 few moments. Zenovia, while surrounded 
 by his men, felt very brave ; but when he 
 saw them falling about him, a deadly panic 
 seized him, and he turned to flee. Clifton's 
 eye had never left him for a moment, and as 
 he noted this motion, he told Henri, who 
 stood by his side, to take those who remained, 
 prisoners, if possible ; but not allow them to 
 escape, as they could easily bring an over 
 
 whelming force upon them. Then with the 
 speed of the wind, he followed Zenovia. The 
 latter turned, and seeing but one person near, 
 for one moment actually thought of turning 
 upon his opponent, but his innate want of 
 courage forced him onward. Fear instead 
 of giving him speed retarded his flight, and 
 Arthur immediately overtook him. Forced 
 to extremity, Zenovia now turned and at 
 tempted a desperate thrust at our hero's 
 breast. Parrying it with another, he knock 
 ed the sword from his hand, and with the 
 strength of a single arm stretched him upon 
 the ground. 
 
 ' I ask my life. O, have mercy !' cried the 
 terrified wretch, raising his hands. 
 
 Clifton looked at him with an expression of 
 such scorn, that the coward shrank away to 
 avoid a second. At this moment Henri ap 
 proached. 
 
 ' Captain,' he said, ' everything is accom 
 plished. We have taken five prisoners the 
 rest lie where they will never move again.' 
 
 ' Then we will return immediately,' replied 
 Clifton. 
 
 They bound Zenovia's hands, and secured 
 his mouth. By the young captain's order, 
 the wounded prisoners were placed in the 
 carriage, with two of Don Carlos's party, who 
 were severely wounded ; the rest were com 
 pelled to walk ; and they moved silently, but 
 swiftly as possible, towards home. 
 
 It was after midnight when they halted at 
 Senor de Montaldo's door. The prisoners 
 were placed in separate rooms, with a guard 
 over them. Don Carlos's family physician 
 was called in, and the circumstances being 
 explained to him, he immediately dressed 
 their wounds, and they were left to repose. 
 
 Early the next morning the United States 
 army marched into the city. As soon as it 
 was consistent, Captain Clifton repaired to 
 meet the commander-in-chief. He was re 
 ceived by his brother officers with cordiality; 
 and his own particular company welcomed 
 his re-appearance with shouts of joy. But 
 Stanley who can describe bis transports, 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 85 
 
 when he once more pressed to his breast the 
 friend he loved as his own life, and of whom 
 he had not been able to obtain the slightest 
 trace since his disappearance. Clifton re 
 quested permission to take a portion of his 
 company, that he might guard from danger 
 those friends who had saved his life ; as in the 
 present state of the town there was much to 
 be apprehended from the uprising of the peo 
 ple. In consideration of his services, this 
 was granted. He left twenty of his men at 
 Senor de Montaldo's, charging them to keep 
 strict watch over Zenovia, to whom he now 
 revealed himself. Zenovia grew black from 
 rage and mortification, when he found that he 
 had been foiled at every point by his rival, 
 and turning away, deigned no reply. Arthur 
 remained but a few moments, and then depart 
 ed with the rest of his company for the ruins. 
 
 Meanwhile, Senor de Montaldo was sitting 
 by the side of the dying Pedro. The sur 
 geon had told him he could not survive the 
 day, and Don Carlos was urging him to con 
 fess what he knew of his father's fate. He 
 had heard Henri's account of the conversa 
 tion between Zenovia and his servant, and 
 suspicions before aroused, now become ago 
 nizing. He begged Pedro to relieve his anx- ' 
 iety, and tell him if his father had indeed 
 been murdered. He promised that he should 
 be released and enabled to leave the country, 
 if he would but tell the truth. For a long 
 time Pedro continued a sullen silence ; at last 
 he turned to Montaldo 
 
 ' Will you promise, senor,' he said, ' that, 
 should I recover, I shall not die for my crimes? 
 I am too wicked to die. I would live to re 
 pent and make some reparation.' 
 
 ' I promise you, solemnly, that it shall be 
 as you wish.' 
 
 ' Senor,' resumed Pedro, ' commanded by 
 my superior, I have injured you greatly. 
 Your father has lived in close confinement 
 fifteen year?. Don Jose Zenovia command 
 ed that he should have no comforts, but mere 
 ly food, to sustain life. He hated the old 
 don, because he was his rival, and so put him 
 6 
 
 out of the way. But, senor, your father will 
 tell you that I provided him with many com 
 forts which were forbidden, by both father 
 and son.' 
 
 He then started, as if a sudden and painful 
 recollection crossed his mind. He covered 
 j his face with his hands, and exclaimed : 
 
 ' O, senor, why did you wish to know all 
 this? Why, did I ever tell you, now that it 
 is too late ?' 
 
 Senor de Montaldo had listened with ago 
 nizing emotion to the old man's words. 
 
 ' What do you mean ? Why too late ?' he 
 cried ; ' surely, you will tell me where he is?' 
 and he clasped the hard hand of the other in 
 both his, while his eyes were fixed with im 
 ploring eagerness upon his face. The old 
 man sobbed : 
 
 ' Alas ! it is four days, since he has had 
 food. The cruel Zenovia wished me to take 
 his life ; and when I refused, he said he must 
 starve, as he was going to leH-e the city, and 
 could have no more trouble with him ; and, 
 blessed Mary forgive me, I obeyed, and have 
 not seen him since.' 
 
 Don Carlos sprang to his feet his eyes 
 glared furiously upon the man before him. 
 He seized his hand with a gripe that made 
 him cry out with pain. 
 
 ' Tell me,' he cried, ' tell me quick where 
 you have put him. Tell me, I say, or I will ' 
 
 His head drooped upon his breast. 
 
 1 O !' he added, in a tone of the most ex 
 quisite misery : ' surely, my heart will break 
 with this agony.' 
 
 At this moment the door opened, and Clif 
 ton entered. 
 
 ' My friend,' he said, approaching Don 
 Carlos, ' prepare your mind for a surprise ; a 
 happy one, I think.' 
 
 ' Happy !' ejaculated he. ' O, Clifton he 
 my father 0, horror !' 
 
 Arthur understood at once what he had 
 been listening to, and hastened to undeceive 
 him. Opening the door by which he had 
 just entered, he was immediately followed in 
 to the room by several men, bearing on a mat- 
 
86 
 
 SENORA INES. 
 
 tress a pale and emaciated form. They laid 
 it down at Clifton's feet, who, raising the aged 
 man tenderly in his arms, placed him upon a 
 couch. Then taking his friend's hand, he 
 led him forward. 
 
 ' He is not dead, my dear sir,' he exclaim 
 ed. ' God in his mercy haa preserved and 
 restored him to your affection.' 
 
 Don Juan raised himself upon his couch 
 and extended his arms, while his son clasped 
 him again and again to his heart. They were 
 both overcome with emotion ; and Clifton 
 motioned his men to leave the room, while he 
 himself retreated to the bed-side of Pedro, 
 who was groaning inwardly. 
 
 ' Now I shall die more happy,' he murmur 
 ed, faintly. After a pause, he continued : 
 
 ' There is another thing I wish to confess, 
 before I leave the world.' 
 
 ' Confession and repentance,' said Clifton, 
 turning to him, ' will even at the eleventh 
 hour obtain pardon.' 
 
 * I hope so,' was the poor man's ejacula 
 tion. ' Where is Henri ?' turning his dim 
 eyes about the room. ' J have something to 
 say that will remove from him the imputation 
 of disgrace, and I hope will enable him to 
 return to home and family.' 
 
 Clifton started. 
 
 ' Then there was villany in the manner of 
 his removal from France ? Do not delay to 
 make the confession, and very much good 
 may arise from it.' 
 
 At this moment Don Juan called Clifton 
 to his side. Placing his hand in that of his 
 son, he said : 
 
 1 Carlos, to this kind being I am indebted 
 for life ior preservation from the cruel death 
 of starvation. O, cherish him in your heart's 
 care ; he is worthy of far more than you can 
 bestow.' 
 
 ' He has ever 
 
 . , 
 been the 
 
 preserver 
 
 of me 
 
 and mine,' cried Don Carlos ; ' from the first 
 day he ever saw one of my family, he has 
 not ceased to confer benefits upon us.' 
 
 He paused a moment, then turning tolnes, 
 who had entered the room unperceived, he 
 placed her hand in that of our hero. 
 
 ' Take her,' he exclaimed ; ' she is yours, 
 with the free and full consent of her father ; 
 and believe me, I have suffered much, when 
 forced to treat you with coldness, for even 
 one moment.' 
 
 Arthur encircled Tnes's waist with his arm, 
 and both kneeling at Don Carlos's feet, be 
 sought his paternal blessing. He gave it with 
 tears, and eyes raised to heaven. 
 
 ' Ah !' cried the happy lover, ' this one 
 moment is full compensation for all my suffer 
 ings, since it assures me that our love is fully 
 sanctioned.' 
 
 Rising, he led his affianced bride to Don 
 Juan. 
 
 ' My love,' he said, ' look upon your rever 
 ed grandfather, who for fifteen years has been 
 closely confined under the orders of the Se- 
 nor Zenovia, and tell me if we have not rea 
 son to be thankful, that we have escaped be 
 ing the victims to the equal villany of his son?' 
 
 Ines looked from one to the other in be 
 wilderment, then casting herself upon her 
 knees, clasped the thin hand of the old man, 
 exclaiming : 
 
 ' Ah ! is it can it be possible?' 
 
 Don Juan drew her towards him, and plac 
 ing both hands on her head, his lips moved in 
 blessing, though no sound issued from them. 
 Fear of overtasking the old man's strength, 
 soon caused the friends to leave his bed-side, 
 and he sunk into a quiet sleep. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Thus ambition grasps 
 
 The empire of the soul ; thus pale ftevenge 
 Unsheathes her murderous dagger. AKE>-SIDE. 
 
 A FEW hours after, Don Carlos, Clifton and 
 Henri were sitting by Pedro's bed-side. He 
 had fallen into a kind of stupor, which lasted 
 several hours ; and upon rousing from that, 
 he felt that he was fast failing, and called the 
 friends to listen to his last confession. Turn 
 ing to Henri, he said, in a feeble voice : 
 
 ' I have been the unwilling instrument of 
 inflicting the deepest wrong upon you. You 
 hare supposed yourself the child of a man 
 who, even in your menial situation, was a dis 
 grace to you ; but it is not so. Your father 
 was a gentleman of high birth, and heir to 
 extensive wealth. You were stolen from him 
 when too young to remember your parents, 
 by Senor Zenovia.' 
 
 The gentlemen started in surprise. 
 
 ' Stolen by Zenovia ?' cried Don Carlos. 
 ' Is it possible ? But why should I doubt it? 
 From late disclosures, it is proved that his 
 life has been passed in acts of villany. My dear 
 Henri, I congratulate you.' 
 
 ' Thank you, dear senor ; but let us listen 
 
 to Pedro, while he is able to speak. O, Pe 
 dro, tell me quick do not delay. 1 
 
 The old man sighed deeply. 
 
 ' Many years ago,' he commenced, ' I ac 
 companied Senor de Zenovia (who was then 
 a widower) abroad, as his servant. In France 
 he fell violently in love with a young lady, 
 who was engaged to a young Frenchman. 
 My master was madly in love with her ; and 
 when she refused him, and married the French 
 gentleman, he raged for a while like a mani 
 ac ; vowing vengeance upon them both. At 
 last, however, he came home here, leaving a 
 man, whom he paid heavily, to give him eve 
 ry information relative to the objects of hia 
 hatred. 
 
 ' ' Some four years after this, he visited 
 France again, and found that the young gen 
 tleman had just left home for India, to receive 
 a large fortune, which was left to him there. 
 The news soon came that the vessel in which 
 he sailed was lost, and my master carried the 
 intelligence to his wife. She was sick for a 
 
88 
 
 SENORA INES. 
 
 long time after it, but at last recovered. Se- 
 nor Zenovia was at her house a great deal, , 
 and pretended to be very friendly. He had j 
 found by some means that the lady's husband ' 
 was not dead, and he intercepted several let 
 ters from him ; but he continued to talk to 
 the lady of his death. 
 
 ' After some months passed away, Senor 
 Zenovia asked the lady to marry him, and 
 come over to America ; but she would not 
 consent, and said something that made him 
 furious. He gave her the letters from her 
 husband, but told her he would have revenge. 
 He gave the husband of the child's nurse a 
 heavy sum to let him take the child ; and in 
 the absence of his honest nurse, 1 took the 
 boy, and brought him to Senor Zenovia, who 
 brought him away with him, and kept him in 
 his own house for several years. He was the 
 perfect image of his father, and my master 
 hated him and treated him very harshly. At 
 last he gave him to Senor de Montaldo, to 
 bring up as one of his lowest servants, mak- 
 in<r up a falsehood to account for his having 
 the boy. 
 
 ' My master was always angry because he 
 was well treated here; but he had given him 
 away and could not prevent it. He told 
 me to change his name, but the poor child 
 would answer to nothing but Henri, and I told 
 my master I would never force another name 
 upon him. Believe me,' he said, turning to 
 Henri, ' I have been miserable, when I have 
 thought of how much I had done to injure 
 you,' and he paused. 
 
 ' But the name,' cried Henri ; ' my father's 
 name is it the same that I bear ?' 
 
 ' No,' replied the old man ; ' your father 
 was Compte de Morinval, and your grand 
 father Marquis de la Croisy, of Kouen.' 
 .. Henri bowed his head upon his hand, and 
 for a long time remained silent ; at last he 
 took the hand of Don Carlos, exclaiming : 
 
 ' O, my dear senor, you have been a father 
 to me indeed, rather than a master, who 
 might have claimed the most rigorous servi 
 tude; and if I ever find my parents (which I 
 
 fear is scarcely probable), they will bless you 
 for your attention to their child.' 
 
 Pedro looked at him wistfully; several 
 times he attempted to speak, and at last he 
 aid : 
 
 ' Will you not forgive me? I am dying, 
 and would wish to die in peace.' 
 
 Henry extended his hand 
 
 ' Yes, I forgive you,' he said, ' and if you 
 sincerely repent, may God also pardon you, 
 even at the hour of death.' 
 
 The friends now separated. Clifton joined 
 his command, and Don Carlos visited Zeno 
 via. As he entered, the latter turned away 
 coloring with shame and rage. Don Carlos 
 advanced to his side, and addressed him, 
 calmly : 
 
 ' Senor Zenovia,' he said, ' you of course 
 have relinquished all idea of obtaining the 
 hand of my daughter. I could never receive 
 for a son a man guilty of such crimes as you 
 have committed ; even if the base attempt 
 upon herself had not forever rendered that 
 impossible. Pedro is about dying, and has 
 confessed the numerous atrocities which to 
 gether you have perpetrated. The history of 
 Henri Duvalle has been repeated. My poor 
 father has been found, and released from a 
 loathsome dungeon, when left by you to per 
 ish by a lingering death. He has been saved 
 by Captain Clifton, the affianced husband of 
 Ines, that noble being whom you plotted to 
 murder in his prison. 
 
 ' I have already sent to the authorities an 
 account of your conduct, and very soon you 
 will be summoned to accompany them where 
 due justice will be meted out to you. I for 
 bear reproach, Senor Zenovia. I think your 
 conscience will reprove you sufficiently. God 
 has in his justice brought your iniquity to 
 light, and saved the innocent from perishing 
 through your villany, and I am thankful.' 
 
 As he ceased speaking, Don Carlos turned 
 and left the room, with a charge to the guard 
 to look well to their prisoner. 
 
 Rage, hatred, fear the idea of an igno- 
 jminious death, which he could not escape, 
 
SENORA INKS. 
 
 rendered Zenovia almost beside himself. 
 Half delirious with so many mingled emo 
 tions, he sat, his hands clenched, and his 
 eyes rolling with horror for a moment ; then 
 suddenly starting up, he bounded to the side 
 of one of his gu rd, and before he was aware 
 of his intention, snatched a dagger from his 
 belt and plunged it into his own bosom. His 
 momentary delirium gave him the courage 
 that otherwise he could not have summoned. 
 A wild commotion within the room reached 
 the ear of Don Carlos before he had advanc 
 ed many paces, and he stepped back. There 
 lay Zenovia, weltering in a pool of blood 
 drawn from his own heart. His eyes rolled 
 wildly in his head for a moment; a convul 
 sive shudder ran through his frame, and his 
 guilty soul fled, uncalled for, to the presence 
 of his Creator. 
 
 Don Carlos knelt and prayed fervently for 
 the pardon of the soul just departed its earth 
 ly tenement. The American guard did not, 
 of course, believe in the efficacy of prayer 
 for the dead, but struck with awe, they look 
 ed on in silence. A few moments after, the 
 government officers entered the room for their 
 prisoner. The circumstances were explained, 
 and Zenovia was by them removed for inter 
 ment. The five prisoners taken with him 
 were placed in their charge, and they depart 
 ed. Pedro died before night a Catholic 
 padre was with him gave hirn absolution ; 
 and he died in peace. 
 
 The events of the last two or three days 
 cast a gloom over the house for a time ; but 
 soon things resumed their usual course. Clif 
 ton spent most of his time at Senor de Mon- 
 taldo's. He was happy now, and he saw the 
 same sentiment in the bright eyes of his sweet 
 Ines. 
 
 Stanley called often, and his affectionate 
 heart truly sympathized in his friend's felici 
 ty. The commander-in-chief placed officers 
 over the city, and made every arrangement 
 for the security of his army with his usual 
 prudence and foresight. Soon after the city 
 came into their possession, letters arrived 
 
 from the States to our friends. Clifton re 
 ceived one from his mother, in which she 
 said her health was very poor, and urged him, 
 if it was consistent, to leave the army and 
 come home to her. She described her lone 
 ly hours in his absence, and trusted his affec 
 tion, as well as his duty, would lead him 
 home. He also received a letter from Mr. 
 Hereford, containing a sketch of what Mon 
 sieur Dupage had related to him, and ended 
 thus : 
 
 ' From your description of the young Henri 
 mentioned in your letter, I must hope that he 
 is indeed the lost son of my dear friend; but 
 I dare not impart my suspicions to him, as I 
 would not wish to raise false hopes. You 
 will probably soon return at least I hope so; 
 and can you not bring Henri with you? I 
 am impatient to see the father and son united. 
 Alphonso is with us ; at least, what time he 
 can spare from his visits at your mother's.' 
 
 Arthur read this last sentence with a smile. 
 
 ' Ah,' thought he, ' has my lovely Helen, 
 then, brought the gay Montaldo to her feet? 
 That is pleasant news, if true.' 
 
 Don Carlos now entered, and advancing, 
 said : 
 
 ' Well, Clifton, I have a letter here from 
 Alphonso. He has been falling in love with 
 one of your mother's ladies, and here asks 
 my consent to his union. Read this, and tell 
 me if I had better grant his wishes.' 
 
 Arthur perused, and returned the letter 
 with a bright smile. 
 
 ' My cousin Helen,' he answered, ' is very 
 dear to me. I do not like the idea of giving 
 her up, and I know of no one but your son 
 on whom I would bestow her.' 
 
 ' I certainly have no reason to dispute her 
 worth,' said Don Carlos, laughing, 'judging 
 by what I know of one nearly related to her. 
 My happiness lies in that of my children, and 
 1 shall not oppose my son in what I am con 
 vinced will increase his happiness.' 
 
 Arthur now communicated the contents of 
 his letters, and saying he should resign his 
 commission immediately, gained permissicn 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 from Don Carlos to make Ines the compan 
 ion of his journey home. After a short si 
 lence, Don Carlos said : 
 
 ' My friend, in giving you my daughter, 
 I give you a treasure in herself, but her for 
 tune, I regret to say, is very trifling. I have 
 lost much, very much, during the prosecution 
 of this war, so that I am nearly robbed of re 
 sources; but if I have read your heart aright, 
 that will not change your sentiments towards 
 Ines.' 
 
 ' You have indeed read it aright,' replied 
 Clifton. ' My fortune is sufficient to sur 
 round us with every luxury, and her dear, love 
 ly self is all I desire ; believe me, my friend, 
 I do not in the least regret it ;' and his eyes 
 sparkling with pleasure evinced his truth. 
 
 Clifton immediately sent letters to the 
 States, informing his friends of the events 
 which had taken place in Mexico. He re 
 quested Mr. Hereford to meet him at Vera 
 Cruz, with a clergyman from New Orleans, 
 to unite him forever to the beloved of his 
 heart. He wrote, also, of the disclosures in 
 regard to Henri, and requested him to bring 
 Monsieur Dupage to Vera Cruz, but without 
 telling him the reality, as he wished to see if 
 there was any natural sympathy between the 
 father and son, which would lead them in 
 stinctively to each other. Ines also wrote at 
 the same time to Alice Hereford. 
 
 The commander-in-chief accepted the re 
 signation of Clifton ; and Stanley and they 
 were very busy in making arrangements for 
 their journey home. The last of October a 
 train was to start for Vera Cruz, and our 
 friends were to travel under protection of its 
 escort. 
 
 Don Juan de Montaldo had recovered his 
 strength and a degree of health ; he was se 
 rene and happy in the society of his recover 
 ed friends, who watched over him with the 
 tenderest care. About a week before the 
 time appointed to leave Mexico, Stanley re 
 ceived a letter by the English courier, which 
 caused ftim much agitation. Rushing to his 
 friend, he said : 
 
 ' Here, my friend, have I not reason to be 
 thankful? Read this.' 
 
 It was from the attorney, whose absence he 
 had lamented, on his return from Europe. 
 We will give some extracts of the letter, as 
 the easiest way to inform our readers of the 
 facts relating to Stanley's loss of fortune. He 
 commenced : 
 
 ' At last, my friend Edward, I have found 
 a trace of you. I have searched the old 
 world, and at least a part of the new, and 
 have just succeeded in tracing you with the 
 besieging army in Mexico. As soon as this 
 reaches you, if it is possible, return home. 
 I say home, my friend, for you are NOT the 
 friendless, isolated being you doubtless imag 
 ine yourself; but to explain. 
 
 ' When you left home for Europe, you 
 know your father, Mr. Melmoth, had married 
 a woman who excited your dislike so much 
 that you expressed it to me. She' has proved 
 far worse than you could imagine. About a 
 year before the death of Mr. Melmoth, I per 
 ceived that he began to grow melancholy, and 
 sometimes presumed upon my long friendship 
 to question him as to its cause ; but he would 
 always wave the subject. At last I found a 
 clue to his sadness. Reports began to circu 
 late that his wife was more intimate with her 
 brother than their relationship warranted ; and 
 it was even whispered that he was not a broth 
 er, but a LOVER, who shared more of her af 
 fection than was compatible with her duty to 
 her husband. Then I did not wonder at my 
 friend's sadness ; on'y thinking strange that 
 he did not cast them both off at once. 
 
 ' Some three weeks previous to his death I 
 called upon him, but was told by his servant 
 that he would receive no company. I told 
 him to take in my name, and I knew he would 
 admit his old friend. He pretended to obey 
 my orders, end returning, said his master 
 wished to be excused to-day. I went home 
 surprised and very much grieved. 
 
 ' A week passed by, and I heard many of 
 his old friends complain of the same treatment; 
 and to some of them the servants intimated 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 91 
 
 that their master l.ad been drinking deeply, 
 and did not like to be seen. At the close of a 
 week, I again went to his home and solicited 
 admiss : on. This time his wife met me, and 
 in answer to my request, said her husband 
 was not in a state to see company. I imme 
 diately demanded the reason. She said in a 
 low voice, affecting to be very much mortified, 
 that he had become a perfect inebriate that 
 he was almost constantly in a state so degrad 
 ing, that she could not think of admitting any 
 one to his room. In vain I urged. She was 
 obstinate ; and I was forced to return home, 
 chagrined at my want of success. But I 
 could not be contented. I did not I could 
 not believe what she said, for I had always 
 thought him too high-minded to stoop so low, 
 and I determined to try again. Proceeding 
 there quite early one morning, while they 
 were breakfasting I did not ring at the 
 door, but opened it, and made my way alone 
 to my friend's room, fortunately without 
 meeting any person. Mr. Melmoth was in 
 bed, pale and emaciated. He attempted to 
 rise, but could scarcely support himself. As 
 I entered, he held out his hand and looked 
 eagerly at me 
 
 ' " O," he cried, " how did you pass my 
 jailors? But turn the key in the lock before 
 you answer me." 
 
 ' I obeyed him ; and taking a seat by his 
 side, told him how I had been refused admit 
 tance, and at last found my way there entire 
 ly alone. 
 
 ' " And doubtless you have heard, too, that 
 I was intoxicated, and received no company, 
 have you not ?" 
 
 4 1 bowed without reply. 
 
 ' " But you did not believe it?" he cried, 
 lookingly earnestly in my face. " Ah, no ! ] 
 know you did not." 
 
 ' I assured him that I knew him too well 
 for that. He pressed my hand, and after a 
 pause of a moment, he said : 
 
 ' " 1 am glad you have come. I feel that I 
 am dying, and wish tr tell you something con 
 cerning my family. Take a pencil and note 
 
 it down. My friend," he continued, glanc 
 ing around the room, " they are killing me 
 my wife and her pretended brother. I have 
 no proof, but I believe it ; I am taking slow 
 poison." 
 
 'Then why do you stay here? Why not 
 at once denounce them to justice ? interrupt 
 ing him. 
 
 ' " Surely," he replied, " am I not kept a 
 close prisoner all my friends denied admis 
 sion to my presence ? and now it is too late ! 
 I am dying. But listen to me : they are do 
 ing this for my property; they wish to secure 
 ALL to themselves, and will not stop here. 
 My children, I fear, will fall a sacrifice to 
 their cupidity. O, to you I look to warn and 
 protect them. 
 
 ' " While a widower, you drew up for me 
 a will in favor of my three children. It has 
 been recorded, and cannot be disputed. It 
 is there," pointing to a cabinet; " touch that 
 secret spring: now place the will in your 
 bosom. My wife has urged me for a long 
 lime to make one in her favor, and has even 
 threatened that I will be forced to do it ; but 
 remember what I say to you, that is my will, 
 and I shall never make another. 
 
 ' " That brother, or rather paramour, of my 
 wife," he cried, bitterly, " I have forbidden 
 the house, but she still acts under his direc 
 tion. Now, my friend, you must go, or they 
 will surprise you here. Do not forget my 
 children. If you choose, return to-night with 
 authority to open this house, and take me 
 hence. I have little anxiety about it myself." 
 
 ' He pressed my hand, and softly unlock 
 ing the door, I went out. 
 
 ' As I closed the hall door and walked rap 
 idly down the street, I saw one of the ser 
 vants looking after me, and knew that I was 
 discovered. I returned at night, as I had 
 promised, but Mr. Melmoth was dead. There 
 was no proof of foul play, and so the guilty 
 ones escaped. I resolved to wait and see 
 what course the widow would pursue, before 
 I made known the affair of the will. 
 
 ' At this time I was taken violently ill, and 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 it was two weeks before I was able to go out 
 Then I found that your brother, Francis, had 
 returned home a week before, and was no\\ 
 an inmate of that house of mystery. I has 
 tened there, and \vas told he was not at home 
 The next morning I called again, and was re 
 ceived by your father's widow. She told me 
 very politely that her son was very sick, hav 
 ing been taken in a fit the night previous, but 
 she would conduct me to him. 
 
 ' Her frank, open manner staggered my 
 opinion of her guilt for a moment. Your 
 brother lay upon his couch, insensible. A 
 respectable physician of the city sat by his 
 side. 1 asked his opinion of his patient. He 
 shook his head said he feared he would 
 never be any better, but he would do all in 
 his power for him. The doctor left with me. 
 I asked him if he had any suspicions that 
 our yo'ing friend came to his illness by un 
 fair means. 
 
 ' " O, I think not," was his answer; "I 
 have discovered nothing of the kind." 
 
 ' Still I was not satisfied, and determined 
 to visit him, unknown to the family. This I 
 accomplished the next evening. Francis 
 was perfectly sensible, but a mere shadow of 
 what he had been. He seemed exceedingly 
 glad to see me. 
 
 ' What, my poor boy,' I cried, ' what has 
 brought you to this?' 
 
 ' He sighed deeply. 
 
 ' " My health has not been very good for 
 some time past," he answered, " and when I 
 returned home, and found that my father was 
 dead, and his wife told me such dreadful sto 
 ries of his late conduct, I could not believe 
 them, certainly ; but my bereavement was 
 sudden, and I sunk under the shock. I was 
 placed upon a couch, and have not since left 
 it. You know, of course," turning to me, 
 " that my father has made a will entirely in 
 favor of his wife. I have heard it read, and 
 cannot dispute it, though it seems cruel." 
 
 ' Your father never made that will,' I re 
 plied. I then repeated my conversation with 
 Mr. Mel moth. 
 
 ' " O, this is horrible !" he cried, wringing 
 his hands in agony, " and I too am probably 
 their victim. Last night I heard my father's 
 wife speaking in low tones to the man she 
 has so long called her brother, but who is 
 now her husband. They thought me insen 
 sible, but I was listening. I heard her say, 
 " We will soon have Francis with his father 
 and sister, and then everything will be ours ; 
 by this I think they are helping me out of 
 the world." 
 
 ' After a moment's pause to take breath, he 
 continued : " My friend, sit down and listen 
 to me for a few moments. I have been ab 
 sent several years at college, and know but 
 little of what passed at home. Some three 
 weeks since, I received a visit from her 
 brother." He lowered his voice. " He 
 brought me a letter from my father, in which 
 he wrote, that my brother Edward was dead ; 
 and he requested me, as I valued his bless 
 ing, to go to the bank and draw my brother's 
 patrimony in his name, and come home to 
 him, as he was very feeble. He enjoined it 
 upon me repeatedly to fulfil his wishes. I 
 was surprised for it seemed a strange pro 
 ceeding but as my brother was dead, and 
 my father commanded, I obeyed. When I 
 returned home, I found my father had died 
 before the letter was written and when I 
 charged his wife with it she looked too guilty 
 to remove my suspicions." 
 
 ' You are right,' I interrupted, ' your fath 
 er never wrote to you in that way, he was too 
 upright besides, your brother is not dead. 
 Here is a letter 1 received from him but yes 
 terday; he is well, but anxious about his 
 friends at home, as he has not heard from 
 you in many months.' 
 
 Francis clasped his hands. " O, indeed 
 that is happy tidings," he cried. " There, 
 quick, quick, my friend, in the secret dra\v- 
 r in yonder cabinet, you will find what I 
 drew from security. It is all safe ! Take 
 t, conceal it about you and when Edward 
 ;omes, give him the amount, and ask him to 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 in high style in Mr. Melmoth's house. I 
 learned ujion inquiry, that he had formerly 
 kept one of the lowest gambling houses in 
 the city. I called upon Mrs. Windsor, and 
 requested her to vacate the house, and also 
 relinquish all right to any part of Mr. Mel- 
 moth's property, as his will was made entirely 
 in favor of his children. She answered with 
 the utmost effrontery, that by her husband's 
 last will, executed three days before his death, 
 he had given her all he possessed. I called 
 for the will and found it in due form, as she 
 had said. Taking the "names of the attorney 
 and witnesses, I after much trouble ferreted 
 them out. The two witnesses I found at last, 
 in one of the hells 
 disgraced. They 
 
 class of human beings. It was some time 
 before we could learn anything from them. 
 At last, by promises that they should not be 
 proceeded against, we succeeded they con 
 fessed that three days after Mr. Melmoth 
 died, Windsor had offered them a large 
 ing. Scarcely an hour after I heard of his ' sum of money to witness a will which he 
 death I was again seized with that painful said Mr. Melmoth had signed, but died so 
 
 forgive me. I have done wrong, though I 
 knevyit not at the time." 
 
 1 I promised all he wished. 
 
 ' ' l They have been searching several days 
 for the money you now have, but there they 
 shall be disappointed. Through their im 
 position, I was betrayed into taking it, but 
 they shall never reap the benefit they looked 
 for; and now, too, they report that 1 have 
 spent my time for months at low gambling 
 houses. O, my friend, I look to you to clear 
 my fame, and that of my father and dear 
 Edward. O, keep them out of their clutches, 
 promise me that you will." 
 
 ' I promised all he desired, and asked if he 
 would not allow me to remove him from the 
 house. 
 
 ' " O no," he cried, " it is useless. I cannot 
 survive more than a day or two, they have 
 taken good care of that." As we parted, he 
 pressed my hand to his heart. " Farewell!" 
 he cried, " I shall never see you again !" 
 
 ' He said too true, for he died before morn- 
 
 with which our town is 
 were of the very lowest 
 
 malady which has so many times threatened 
 my life. My physician told me [ must leave the 
 country in less than twenty-four hours that I 
 
 suddenly that witnesses had not been called. 
 They said Windsor, his wife, and the attor 
 ney were present at the time. Their depo- 
 
 must travel for months, it was the only thing i sition was taken down, and themselves placed 
 that would keep me from the grave. I re- in durance till called for. Next, the servants 
 lated to him the circumstances lam now | were examined, and being threatened with 
 writing to you, and protested I must stay to punishment in case of obstinacy, said that 
 
 bring the offenders to justice. He however 
 advised me to seek you, accompany you 
 home, and then together prosecute the affiir 
 in hand. I set out the next day, and in reach 
 ing Florence, where your last letter was 
 dated, found you had long since left for home. 
 This was a disappointment. My health would 
 not permit my immediate return, and I wrote 
 to you, but suppose you never received the 
 communication. Two months since, I re 
 turned home, you were not to be found, 
 though I made every inquiry for you. 
 
 ' I immediately commenced a prosecution 
 against your father's widow and her husband, 
 Mr. Windsor, for forgery. They wore living 
 
 they had been bribed by their mistress to 
 utter falsehoods, in order to blacken the 
 character of their master and his son, and 
 they had never seen the least thing in either 
 but was perfectly fair and honorable. 
 
 ' With this array of proof, we had only to 
 go forward. The attorney who drew up the 
 will, fled from the country, and we have not 
 been able to trace him. Windsor and his 
 wife were thrown into prison, and when they 
 found their guilt proved beyond doubt, and 
 disgrace and punishment would ensue, the 
 hero of the drama strangled himself with his 
 handkerchief, while his wife, oppressed with 
 terror of her approaching fate, and perhaps 
 
94 
 
 SENORA INES. 
 
 with remorse for her guilty life, is now a 
 raging maniac, kept in close confinement in 
 an asylum Everything is now clear, my 
 dear Edward. You must return and resume 
 your station in the world. By the conditions 
 of the will, on the death of your brother and 
 sister, you are Mr. Melmoth's sole heir. I 
 congratulate you, Edward. I know your proud 
 spirit, and am certain you must have suffered 
 much ; but I hope the future will amply com 
 pensate for the past.' 
 
 As Clifton closed this long epistle, he turn 
 ed to his friend with^a glance that revealed 
 all the glad feelings of his soul. ' Ah, my 
 
 friend,' he cried, ' you can scarcely be more 
 rejoiced at this change than myself.' 
 
 Stanley pressed his friend's hand in silence. 
 His heart was overflowing with too many dif 
 ferent emotions to allow him the power of 
 speech. We will not aver, that some thought 
 of Alice Hereford did not mingle with his 
 pleasurable emotions. 
 
 The next week the train left Mexico for 
 Vera Cruz, and with it our small company, 
 Don Carlos, his daughter, and Henri with 
 Clifton, and Stanley, bade adieu to their 
 friends Don Juan blessing his grandchild 
 and her young lover, and commending them 
 to the care of Heaven. 
 

 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Which crowns the bliss of two hearts, and brings others nearer to a happy issue. 
 
 ' Mirth, music, friendship, love's propitious smile, 
 Chase every care.' 
 
 IT was towards evening, on a bright day 
 about the middle of November, that a body 
 of American troops rode forth from the city 
 of Vera Cruz, to meet a train just approach 
 ing from the city of Mexico. The advance 
 was already seen at a distance, their banners 
 streaming forth in the sunlight: while en 
 livening strains of music floated upon the air. 
 On a piazza of one of the first hotels, might 
 be seen a small party standing in a group, 
 apart from the crowd. The entrance of the 
 train seemed to occupy their attention ex 
 clusively. There they stood, making com 
 ments upon the different heroes as they pass 
 ed. After a while, exclamations of impatience 
 escaped some of the party. ' Will they nev 
 er come?' cried a lively girl, who was bend 
 ing over and examining the faces of those 
 passing in the street below. ' What do you 
 
 think?' she continued, turning and address 
 ing a young gentleman by her side. ' Do 
 you think they have decided to take up their 
 residence in Mexico ?' 
 
 ' Perhaps so,' he answered with a smile j 
 the next moment he exclaimed, ' who do you 
 think that carriage contains? Do you re 
 cognize any one there, Mademoiselle Marie ?' 
 
 'Ah, there they are, sure enough ; but look, 
 Senor Alphonso, they do not deign us even 
 a glance they are, going to the house across 
 the way. There is Arthur and his friend 
 riding by the carriage. But do you know 
 the gentleman with your sister Ines ?' 
 
 ' The elder,' replied Alphonso, ' is my 
 father the other, an adopted brother; but 
 they have alighted, and are disappearing 
 within. My friends, you will excuse me, if I 
 leave you a few moments.' 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 He darted away, and in a few moments 
 was seen entering, where his friends had 
 disappeared. 
 
 Mr. Hereford and Monsieur De la Croisy, 
 with their daughters, composed the party we 
 have mentioned. They remained at their 
 station but a few moments, and then retired 
 within. In a short timeAlphonso returned, 
 and introduced his friends into a large pri- 
 rate room, which Mr. Hereford had secured 
 for the party. We will pass over the joyful 
 meeting of the re-united friends, leaving it 
 to the imagination of the reader. Clifton 
 was quite disappointed that Helen was not 
 present. Alphonso told him ' that his moth 
 er was rather feeble, and her daughter could 
 not think of leaving her.' 
 
 Stanley now did not attempt to veil his 
 sentiments for Miss Hereford. Love spoke 
 in every glance. Her eyes fell before his 
 own, with a soft confusion, which awakened 
 fervent hope in his bosom, an inmate rarely 
 occupying that sanctum. After the first 
 greetings were over, and the feelings of the 
 company had subsided into something like 
 calmness, Clifton at a glance from Mr. Here 
 ford, left the room, and in a moment return 
 ed with Henri, whispering to him as he en 
 tered, to be composed and not betray himself 
 by his agitation. 
 
 Arthur first presented him to Mr. Hereford 
 and Alice and then led him to Monsieur 
 De la Croisy, with the introduction ' Senor 
 De Montaldo's adopted son, and my preserver 
 from a prison and death.' The doctor arose, 
 extended his hand with a smile of welcome, 
 and leading him to Marie, introduced his 
 daughter. He stood for a moment, with the 
 hand of each in his own, unmindful of the 
 singularity of his manner. He gazed from 
 Henri to Marie, and then again his eyes were 
 rivetted upon the young man's face while 
 an expression of strange bewilderment cross 
 ed his features. 
 
 Henri dared not raise his eyes, but turned 
 away fearful of betraying his agitation. Sud 
 
 denly the doctor dropped the hands he had 
 hitherto held firmly and commenced pacing 
 the room rapidly. 
 
 Henri took a seat by Marie, and trieJ t) 
 converse with her, but he was agitated in spite 
 of himself, and his eyes continually wander 
 ed to his father he longed to kneel at his 
 feet, and ask his blessing. 
 
 Marie following his wandering glances, 
 said : ' My dear father seems strangely af 
 fected from meeting you to night.' 
 
 Henri raised his eyes at the moment, and 
 met those of his father, fastened upon his 
 face. 
 
 The doctor darted forward, and seizing 
 the other's hand, cried in a voice hoarse 
 with emotion, ' Who are you '? What are 
 you 1 Those eyes ! O ! once they looked 
 into mine with love and tenderness. Whose 
 are they -tell me?' He seemed almost wild 
 in his eagerness. 
 
 Henri, no longer able to control his emo 
 tion, cast himself at his father's feet. ' Those 
 eyes,' he cried, ' will ever look with the 
 warmest affection upon Monsieur De la 
 Croisy.' 
 
 The doctor sunk upon his knees. ' Henri.' 
 
 ' My father.' . 
 
 They were in each other's arms sobbing 
 like children. 
 
 Marie threw her arms around her recover 
 ed brother's neck and her ever bright face 
 was bedewed with warm tears. Not an eye 
 in the room but was humid from sympathy. 
 Header, allow us to drop the curtain ! 
 
 The next morning, a small but happy com 
 pany were assembled in one of the parlors of 
 the hotel The party* of the evening before 
 was increased by two or three American of 
 ficers, and as many ladies of the town. The 
 young people were gay, and in vivid spirits. 
 The elder gentlemen were happy in the re 
 membrance of their own youthful days. The 
 whole countenance of M. De la Croisy beam 
 ed with joyful emotion, as he gazed on his 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 97 
 
 new found sou and lively daughter; and he 
 looked forward to a serene decline of life, 
 spent iii the society of his children. 
 
 There was a momentary hush a door 
 opened a lady and gentleman advanced to 
 the centre of the room. Stanley led Miss 
 Hereford to the lady's side, and himself re 
 treated to his friend's right hand. The cler 
 gyman in his robes approached to join two 
 loving hearts, in the secret bonds of everlast 
 ing union. Don Carlos gave the bride away 
 with a swelling heart and Clifton, as he 
 pressed the golden circlet upon her finger, 
 and clasped her to his bosom, softly whis 
 pered 
 
 4 Thus let me hold thee to my heart, 
 
 And every care resign ; 
 And shall we never never part, 
 
 O ! tliou my all that's mine !' 
 
 The ceremony and congratulaAns over, 
 they repaired to another room, where by di 
 rection of the bridegroom, an elegant repast 
 was laid out. Rare exotics, shed a grateful 
 fragrance through the room ; while soft 
 strains of melting harmony, from unseen 
 minstrels, stole over them, seeming to enchain 
 the soul, and ' wrap it in elysiurn.' 
 
 The bridal party remained several days in 
 Vera Cruz, and then came the parting. 
 
 The idea of saying adieu to his daughter 
 was very bitter to Don Carlos, but he check 
 ed his regrets. He saw she had given her 
 young heart in all its freshness and purity, to 
 one every way worthy of her and who re 
 turned her affection, by an ardent devotion 
 which could not fail to make her happy. As 
 she clung weeping to his bosom, though 
 scarcely able to control his own feelings, he 
 endeavored to cheer her. She at last raised 
 her head, and said in a trembling voice : ' My 
 dearest father, though I leave you now, 1 
 shall very often visit you, in your own lonely 
 home; and I do not leave you entirely alone. 
 You have dear grandfather with you; and 
 Alphonso, with his bride, will soon meet 
 you in Mexico. 
 
 Clifton now advanced, and received his 
 trembling bride in his arms, while Don Car 
 los turned to say farewell to his son. He 
 granted Alphonso a willing consent to the 
 completion of his wishes and obtained a 
 promise, that as soon as the affairs in Mexico 
 had become settled, he would take his bride 
 home. 
 
 Monsieur De la Croisy repeatedly express 
 ed his heart-felt gratitude to Senor De Mon- 
 taldo, for the parental care and attention he 
 had bestowed upon his child and at parting, 
 pressed upon his acceptance, the sum of 
 100,000 dollars. Don Carlos for a long time 
 refused to accept it. 
 
 ' Do not grieve me by a refusal,' cried De 
 Croisy. ' I do not offer this merely in pay 
 ment for what you have expended upon Hen 
 ri ; but I trust you will accept it as a token 
 of gratitude and esteem, for the parental af 
 fection you have extended to my son, when 
 his father was debarred the privilege ever of 
 knowing that he lived.' 
 
 Don Carlos now turned to Henri. ' My 
 I young friend,' he said, 'believe me, I sin- 
 i cerely rejoice in your prospects of future hap 
 piness. You have found an affectionate 
 parent, and lovely sister, who meet even 
 your most exalted hopes. 1 trust, in your 
 accession to rank and wealth, the friends of 
 your youth will not be forgotten.' 
 
 'O, never, my more than parent!' cried 
 Henri, with emotion, 'never will I forget 
 those who have supplied the place of my 
 natural protectors never cease to remember 
 them with prayers for their safety and hap 
 piness.' 
 
 The hour is past ! the vessel has left the 
 shore and the sad Don Carlos is left to re 
 turn to his lonely home. 
 
 Soon our little party reached New Orleans 
 and were received wiih a rapturous wel 
 come, by their affectionate friends. Clifton 
 presented his lovely bride to his mother, who, 
 as she enfolded her in a warm embrace, 
 whispered, ' Receive in me a second moth 
 er, one to replace her you have lost, and who 
 
SENORA INES. 
 
 will endeavor to make her Arthur's treasure 
 happy in her new home. Ines now turned to 
 Helen, who had just given Clifton a tender 
 embrace. My dear, sweet sister,' exclaim 
 ed Helen, ' your return with our truant 
 Arthur, will make us completely happy, and 
 we shall take good care, that you do not v leave 
 us soon again.' 
 
 4 But may we not soon lose you ?' replied 
 Ines, with an arch smile. 
 
 A soft blush suffused Helen's cheek. 
 
 'O no! not lose me,' she said, 'we shall 
 be connected by a tie still nearer and dearer 
 than at present.' 
 
 In the course of a few days, Stanley not 
 only received his own fortune, but was ac 
 knowledged heir of aH Mr. Melmoth's vast 
 
 possessions, and received the congratulations 
 of his friends. The same day, he visited 
 Clifton. His eyes beamed more brightly than 
 usual a sweet smile played over his lips 
 and his whole countenance sparkled with ani 
 mation. He pressed Arthur's hand in his 
 own. ' Now,' he cried, ' I hope to be as 
 happy as my friend ; the lovely Alice has 
 consented to secure my felicity, by uniting 
 her fate with mine. After regarding her so 
 long with a hopeless worship, I am soon to 
 be elevated with perfect bliss. Do you not 
 wish me joy V 
 
 ' 1 do indeed, Edward,' replied his friend, 
 ' I wish you as much felicity as I enjoy ; more 
 I could not ask for you.' 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Happiness triumphant. Winding up of the plot, and kavc*taking of the reader, 
 
 1 1 stood by the towers of Ardenville, 
 And the bells rang out a merry peal ; 
 There was a priest in his robes of white, 
 There was a maiden lovely and bright ; 
 A gallant knight stood by her side, 
 And the shout of joy sounded far and wiJe.' 
 
 The first day of the new year has come. 
 The city is a scene of gay confusion the 
 streets are thronged with light-hearted beings 
 on the wing for pleasure. 
 
 Stanley and Alice were first united in the 
 holiest of all relations ; Mr. Hereford giving 
 the bride away. Then Clifton advanced, and 
 taking the hand of the rich heiress of Doug- 
 
 The bells ofGrace Church rang forth their ! lass, placed it in that of Montaldo, and the 
 merriest peala upon the clear air. A gay ! sacred words were pronounced which made 
 throng magnificently dressed, were pouring! them one. 
 
 into the church by the various avenues. The 
 city clock tolled the hour of two there was 
 a hush over the brilliant assembly, as the cler 
 gyman in his surplice entered the chancel, 
 and knelt for a moment in silent prayer. The 
 deep toned organ. sent forth peals of exquis 
 ite harmony, as a bridal pafty ascended the 
 broad aisle, and knelt at the altar. The two 
 lovely brides were richly dressed in lace and 
 pearly satin. Their heads were uncovered, 
 save a snowy veil of rich Brussels, fastened 
 in their flowing tresses, and floating back 
 ovor their graceful shoulders. 
 
 Again the organ poured forth its notes of 
 celestial melody, and the party moved slowly 
 away. The assemblage present were invited 
 guests -and all now repaired to Mr. Stan 
 ley's elegant mansion, to partake of a nuptial 
 feast everything relating to it was so ex 
 quisitely arranged, as to please the most 
 fastidious taste. The rich the gay the 
 talented manly beauty, and female loveli 
 ness, mingled in one stream of delighted en 
 joyment. 
 
 Dear reader, we have followed our friends 
 through many scenes have been present ai 
 
100 
 
 SENORA INES. 
 
 their nuptials and have pronounced them 
 happy ; and now we will clos.e, by a brief 
 mention of some of our principal characters. 
 
 Arthur Clifton remains in the city through 
 the winter months, where his young bride 
 attracts universal admiration, and then 
 will return to spend his summers at La 
 Grange Villa, where in the society of his 
 mother, and his sweet Ines, he MB confident 
 of enjoying the purest felicity. 
 
 Alphonso and Helen will remain with 
 Clifton, till peace is proclaimed in Mexico, 
 when they will depart for his distant home, 
 with the promise, however, of spending part 
 of every year, with their friends here. 
 
 Stanley's fascinating bride reigns one of 
 the brightest stars in the galaxy of fashion ; 
 but her most absolute dominion is in her 
 husband's heart. 
 
 The Marquis De la Croisy, with his re 
 covered son, and the interesting Marie, re 
 mained to see their friends united in the 
 bonds of matrimony and then, with an af 
 fectionate adieu, set sail for ' La belle 
 France,' to resume their rank and station, so 
 long thrown aside. 
 
 Having now brought our friends to the 
 acme of earthly felicity, we will leave them 
 to pursue their course through the world, 
 grateful for the blessings of the past, and 
 hopefully trusting for the future. 
 
 THE END.