Remember the Alamo [87]
little speech of thanks,
and he raised it to his lips. It was an act of homage
that he might have offered to a saint, but in it Lopez
unconsciously revealed to Antonia the secret love in his
heart. For he stood in the glow of light from the open door,
and his handsome face showed, as in a glass darkly, the
tenderness and hopelessness of his great affection. She was
touched by the discovery, and though she had a nature faithful
as sunrising she could not help a feeling of kindly interest
in a lover so reticent, so watchful, so forgetful of himself.
The log cabin in which they found shelter was at least a
resting-place. A fire of cedar logs burned upon the hearth,
and there was a bed in the room, and a few rude chairs covered
with raw hide. But the Senora had a happy smile on her weary
face. She ignored the poverty of her surroundings. She had
her Roberto, and, for this hour at least, had forgiven fate.
Presently the coffee-pot was boiling, and Doctor Worth and
Luis brought out their small store of corn-bread and their tin
camp-cups, and the weary women ate and drank, and comforted
themselves in the love and protection at their side.
Doctor Worth sat by his wife, and gave Antonia his hand.
Isabel leaned her pretty head against Luis, and listened with
happy smiles to his low words:
"Charming little one, your lips are two crimson curtains.
Between curtain and curtain my kiss is waiting. Give it to
me."
"Eyes of my soul, to-night the world begins again for me."
"At this blessed hour of God, I am the happiest man he has
made."
"As for me, here in this dear, white hand I put my heart."
Is there any woman who cannot imagine Isabel's shy glances,
and the low, sweet words in which she answered such delightful
protestations? And soon, to add a keener zest to his
happiness, Luis began to be a little jealous.
"With us is Dias de Bonilla. Do you remember, my beloved one.
that you danced with him once?"
"How can you say a thing so offensive?"
"Yes, dear, at the Senora Valdez's."
"It may be. I have forgotten."
"Too well he remembers. He has dared to sing a serenade
to your memory--well, truly, he did not finish it, and but for
the Senor Doctor, I should have taught him that Isabel is not
a name for his lips to utter. Here, he may presume to come
into your presence. Will you receive him with extreme
haughtiness? It would be a great satisfaction to me."
"The poor fellow! Why should I make him miserable? You
should not be jealous, Luis."
"If you smile on him--the least little smile--he will think
you are in love with him. He is such a fool, I assure you.
I am very distressed about this matter, my angel."
"I will tell you Luis--when the myrtle-tree grows figs, and
the fig-tree is pink with myrtle flowers, then I may fall in
love with Dias de Bonilla--if I can take the trouble."
No one heeded this pretty, extravagant talk. It was a thing
apart from the more serious interests discussed by Doctor
Worth and his wife and eldest daughter. And when Ortiz and
Navarro joined the circle, the story of the fall of the Alamo
was told again, and Luis forgot his own happiness, and wept
tears of anger and pity for the dead heroes.
"This brutal massacre was on the morning of the sixth, you
say, Navarro?"
"Last Sabbath morning, Senor. Mass was being offered in the
churches, and Te Deums sung while it went on."
"A mass to the devil it was," said Ortiz.
"Now, I will tell you something. On the morning of the
second, Thomas was in Washington. A convention sitting there
declared, on that day, the independence of Texas, and fifty-
five out of fifty-six votes elected General Houston Commander-
in-Chief."
"Houston! That is the name of victory! Gracias a Dios!"
cried Navarro.
"It is probable that the news of this movement influenced
Santa Anna to such barbarity."
"It is his nature to be brutal."
"True, Ortiz; yet I can imagine how this proclamation would
incense him. On the morning of the sixth, the convention
received
and he raised it to his lips. It was an act of homage
that he might have offered to a saint, but in it Lopez
unconsciously revealed to Antonia the secret love in his
heart. For he stood in the glow of light from the open door,
and his handsome face showed, as in a glass darkly, the
tenderness and hopelessness of his great affection. She was
touched by the discovery, and though she had a nature faithful
as sunrising she could not help a feeling of kindly interest
in a lover so reticent, so watchful, so forgetful of himself.
The log cabin in which they found shelter was at least a
resting-place. A fire of cedar logs burned upon the hearth,
and there was a bed in the room, and a few rude chairs covered
with raw hide. But the Senora had a happy smile on her weary
face. She ignored the poverty of her surroundings. She had
her Roberto, and, for this hour at least, had forgiven fate.
Presently the coffee-pot was boiling, and Doctor Worth and
Luis brought out their small store of corn-bread and their tin
camp-cups, and the weary women ate and drank, and comforted
themselves in the love and protection at their side.
Doctor Worth sat by his wife, and gave Antonia his hand.
Isabel leaned her pretty head against Luis, and listened with
happy smiles to his low words:
"Charming little one, your lips are two crimson curtains.
Between curtain and curtain my kiss is waiting. Give it to
me."
"Eyes of my soul, to-night the world begins again for me."
"At this blessed hour of God, I am the happiest man he has
made."
"As for me, here in this dear, white hand I put my heart."
Is there any woman who cannot imagine Isabel's shy glances,
and the low, sweet words in which she answered such delightful
protestations? And soon, to add a keener zest to his
happiness, Luis began to be a little jealous.
"With us is Dias de Bonilla. Do you remember, my beloved one.
that you danced with him once?"
"How can you say a thing so offensive?"
"Yes, dear, at the Senora Valdez's."
"It may be. I have forgotten."
"Too well he remembers. He has dared to sing a serenade
to your memory--well, truly, he did not finish it, and but for
the Senor Doctor, I should have taught him that Isabel is not
a name for his lips to utter. Here, he may presume to come
into your presence. Will you receive him with extreme
haughtiness? It would be a great satisfaction to me."
"The poor fellow! Why should I make him miserable? You
should not be jealous, Luis."
"If you smile on him--the least little smile--he will think
you are in love with him. He is such a fool, I assure you.
I am very distressed about this matter, my angel."
"I will tell you Luis--when the myrtle-tree grows figs, and
the fig-tree is pink with myrtle flowers, then I may fall in
love with Dias de Bonilla--if I can take the trouble."
No one heeded this pretty, extravagant talk. It was a thing
apart from the more serious interests discussed by Doctor
Worth and his wife and eldest daughter. And when Ortiz and
Navarro joined the circle, the story of the fall of the Alamo
was told again, and Luis forgot his own happiness, and wept
tears of anger and pity for the dead heroes.
"This brutal massacre was on the morning of the sixth, you
say, Navarro?"
"Last Sabbath morning, Senor. Mass was being offered in the
churches, and Te Deums sung while it went on."
"A mass to the devil it was," said Ortiz.
"Now, I will tell you something. On the morning of the
second, Thomas was in Washington. A convention sitting there
declared, on that day, the independence of Texas, and fifty-
five out of fifty-six votes elected General Houston Commander-
in-Chief."
"Houston! That is the name of victory! Gracias a Dios!"
cried Navarro.
"It is probable that the news of this movement influenced
Santa Anna to such barbarity."
"It is his nature to be brutal."
"True, Ortiz; yet I can imagine how this proclamation would
incense him. On the morning of the sixth, the convention
received