The only token of remembrance which I was capable
of returning, I made up into a package. It was composed
of neat stereotype editions, in duodecimo, of our first
poets, the same which I brought with me from New
England. On the package, was the following letter.

“Doña Martha,

“I have none of that cruel pride, which would incline
me to refuse what has been so kindly sent me. The
articles derive a value from the feeling with which they
were sent, superior even to their intrinsic utility and
beauty. I am possessor of too little, to make you any
adequate return. You have loved our poets, and I
have aided you to understand them. When you look
into these volumes, besides opening to you their magnificent
and delightful creations, they may remind you,
that before I knew you, they were all my treasure, the
only thing I cared for. Much as you are used to homage,
and much as you even merit, even you can receive
but all. You say, that I have said to you `but
few words of distinguished kindness.' Surely you
know, dear Martha, that strong and deep emotions are
apt to be silent. Those brilliant eyes look too deeply
into the heart, not to have seen what was at the bottom
of mine. If I have not given utterance to my feelings
i is because words were too poor to do it, or because
timidity, or respect, or honor, or all of them united

[figure description] Page 235.[end figure description]

forbade the use of them. While on the contrary, all
your expressions of gratitude for my poor services, all
the considerate kindness of your generous nature,
might be uttered to me without hazarding self-respect
or dignity. They were always viewed by me as
the condescensions of a mind, intrinsically as elevated,
as your rank and condition. What in me would have
been arrogance, or violation of confidence, in you was but
the expression of benevolence, that wished to satisfy me
with myself. I shall look on the watch, without needing
the bright tress on its back, to remind me of the
lovely head from which it was shorn. I am sure, too,
that I shall be sufficiently aware of the heaviness of the
hours, without watching the progress of the secondhand.
But it shall impress one useful lesson. I will
ask, How would Martha wish me to employ the hours?
Time, in this view, will become a consecrated thing.
You will beneficent from your own nature, and you
will be beneficent in exalting my aims, and causing me
to be so. The continual, tender, and mournful remembrance
of you, will be to me, as an invisible and guardian
spirit, ever present to render me such as I should
be.”

I sent the letter and package, made my little arrangements
for the morrow's journey, threw myself on
my couch, and would gladly have quieted the tumultuous
tide of my feelings, and the feverish throbbings of
my heart, in repose, as deep as that of the honest Bryan,
who snored on a mattress at my side, in tones, that
would not have discredited a bassoon. But the pensive

[figure description] Page 236.[end figure description]

Young, knew the character of the “sweet restorer,”
and how readily on her “downy pinions, she flies from
wo.” I made a painful effort to detach my mind from
present objects. I applied a remedy, which I had seldom
found to fail. I took up a dull book, and began
to read. I repeated the pater noster, again and again.
But my ear still caught the heavy palpitations of my
own heart. I arose and dressed myself, determined to
spend the night in wakefulness, since sleep fled from
me. The madness, if not the inspiration of the muse,
came over me. The following copy of verses, which
had at least the advantage of being beautifully transcribed,
were the fruit of my vigils, and were left with
the dueña for her mistress. Many a young lady in
love, I dare say, has admired poorer verses.

[figure description] Page 237.[end figure description]

A cart had been ordered by the Conde, to carry my
little baggage to Durango. I had arranged with Bryan
to have my own horse, and that which I had won from
the young savage, saddled, and my portmanteau ready,
before the stars should have disappeared from the sky
in the morning. I had taken a civil congé of the Conde
the preceding night. I hoped to be off in the morning,
without being seen by any of the family. The cool
and invigorating air of the early morning, counsels decision
and firmness of heart. It is the time for a lover

[figure description] Page 238.[end figure description]

to take his flight. I would be away before the matinsong
of the red-bird, and the nightingale-sparrow uttered
notes in accordance with my feelings, and breathed the
melting strains of tenderness and love. We were not
as early as we hoped to be, and as I descended amidst
the dews, under the shade of those noble sycamores,
where I had so often seen the light figure of Martha in
her morning promenades, the birds were already
twittering on every branch. I looked up to the open
windows of my peaceful apartment, and sighed my
adieu. We rode slowly and silently down the lawn,
and the ruddy streak of advancing morning was
broadening towards the zenith. I was just beginning
to congratulate myself, that we were likely to clear the
vicinity, without any of those last words and parting
recognitions, that in such cases are to me exquisitely
painful. Another pang was still in reserve for me.
Just on the margin of the stream at the ford, and precisely
at the point where I had rescued them both from
the water, I saw the Condesa leaning on her daughter's
arm. I was obliged to pass them, and of course could not
do it without a salutation. I gave my horse to Bryan,
and went to meet them. Martha was dressed with more
richness and brilliance than I had ever seen her affect
before. A blaze of diamonds in her head-dress, only
served to render the contrast of unwonted paleness and
anxiety spread over her countenance more striking. The
general spirit of her eye, amounting, as I have remarked,
almost to haughtiness, had given place to languor,
almost resembling disease. The usual salutations on

[figure description] Page 239.[end figure description]

all sides were heavy and embarrassing, and Martha
seemed to have slept the preceding night, no more than
myself. The Condesa regretted, that any circumstances
should have rendered it expedient that we
should take so early a start; “but,” she said, “Bryan
had told us, that you intended to be off by the light of
the stars. Martha took a severe cold, when you rescued
us from the water here, and has been ill from
that time. Having been restless through the past night,
she thought the cool air of the morning might refresh
her, and our morning walk naturally brought us to this
place, so associated with the remembrance of you; and
we are here to witness your final departure from us.”

I observed, in reply, that my eagerness to be off so
early, could not be construed to arise from any wish to
leave friends so dear, and that she must put it to the
right motive, a desire to avoid the pain of another parting.
“It is wrong, now,” interrupted Martha, “that two
good persons, who feel towards each other as you do,
should occupy this sad moment, and in this place too,
with mere words of cold ceremony, that mean nothing.
I wish to detain you, Sir, but one moment, with a simple
question. Affirm, or deny, and I will believe all
you say, as though it came straight from Heaven. I
blush to admit, that I listen to the idle prattle of servants.
But it is circulated in our family, that, in resentment
to my father, or from other motives, you are going
to reside in Durango, and are to marry either Dorothea
or the elder Miss Benvelt. I have already sufficiently
the credit of being love-lorn and woe-begone. I am

[figure description] Page 240.[end figure description]

weak, or selfish, or whatever you please to call it, to such
a degree, as to hope it may not be so. Just say is it so,
or not, and I will not detain you another moment?”
“Certainly, I have no such thought,” answered I. “I
should have supposed, that Doña Martha would have
done more justice to the efforts, which she must have
seen me making to suppress my feelings, than to suppose
me capable of such a rapid transition, as either of
these suppositions must take for granted. I have thought
of staying a couple of days in Durango, in the house,
and at the invitation of M. de Benvelt, in order, if possible,
to obtain a little more tranquillity, and to arrange my
plans for the future. The thought has not occurred to
me, of marrying either of the parties, even if their own
consent were first obtained. “See now,” said she;
“that slanderer, Don Pedro affirmed that you were
offered the hand and fortune of Dorothea; that you
had, as a mere fortune-hunter, accepted it; that no
young man from your country would ever suffer such
an opportunity to make a fortune, escape him. Besides,
it was confidently reported by all the domestics. I
thank you. You have removed a weight from my
mind.” As she said these words, I remarked, that her
voice became faint, and that her lips and her cheek
were blanched to the whiteness of her muslin robe.
She leaned on her mother's arm, and I involuntarily
advanced towards her. She put her hand to her head,
as if for recollection, and feebly added, “I had a word
more to say to you, but, mother, I must sit.” I saw that
she was fainting, and I received her unconscious in my

[figure description] Page 241.[end figure description]

arms. I instantly bore her to the stream, filled the
crown of my hat with its limpid and cold water, and
poured it on her face. My first efforts to recover her
produced only spasms, and not restoration. The
shrieks of her mother soon summoned a host of the
Conde's people, and among them himself and Don
Pedro, to the spot. The daughter had begun to recover,
and was sitting on the sward, smelling to the volatile
salts, which her mother was holding to her, and I
was rubbing her temples.

The Conde approached me, and with a voice of furious
sternness, bade me be gone, while he ordered the
servants to convey his daughter to the house. “This
is too much, Sir,” said he, turning to me. “You are
determined to make a scene of every thing. My weak
wife, and weaker daughter, may have consented to
this interview, after you had taken a formal leave of us
all. But you are watching your chances to kill my
daughter, forsooth, because you have saved her life.
You seem to wish, that your triumph over her understanding
may become conspicuous to every member of
my establishment. Go, Sir, and know, that by this
deportment, you have relieved me from the load of
obligation, and cancelled the debt. We learn, that you
have an appointment with M. de Benvelt. Know, Sir,
that he is proscribed as a traitor. A traitor he has
been all along. For we learn, that he has long since
transferred his property to Great Britain, and thus he
has avoided confiscation. He escaped yesterday, to
join the rebels in their den of treason on Mixtpal mountain.
If he should be overtaken, he dies an honorable,

[figure description] Page 242.[end figure description]

but immediate death, by the spear. Certain considerations
prevent your arrest, and had you left me without
this last interview with my wife and daughter, I might
still have retained confidence in you. But it is too
evident, that you seek these opportunities. He who can
be treacherous in one instance, can in another. I am
now perfectly aware, that I have been the dupe of your
artifices too long.”

“And I, too,” cried Don Pedro, “have my grievances,
and I would cancel all my obligations to you on
the spot. But it is more humane, to allow you to fly.
The Conde allows you twenty days, within which to
escape from the provincias internas. If you are afterwards
found in them, you will be considered as any
other traitor and rebel, and be treated accordingly.”
“Go,” added the Conde, catching the rage of the
furious young man. “Your associates from the Commanches
have joined the rebels. A horde of assassins
from your country are pouring in upon the frontiers.
It is fitting that you should be among them. Treason
is the sport of the people from the States. You ought
to be among them. But warn them, Sir, that they will
have a reekoning with me and Colonel Arredondo.
I will promulgate the law for rebels and traitors at the
point of the spear. I will read them lectures upon their
newfangled patriotism in letters of blood.” I waited
until he had come to a stop, in perfect coolness. The
foolish transports of these two men, who seemed willing
to avenge in me the crimes of the insurgents, restored
to me perfect self-possession. Said I, “Gentlemen, it
is the business of soldiers to fight, and not to fret, and

[figure description] Page 243.[end figure description]

scold, and call names, like old women. I feel somewhat
superior to you both. I explained to you one
meeting with the Doña Martha, when I fished you out
of the water. I saw her yesterday, in consequence of
a special invitation from the Condesa. I have the
card yet. Here it is, Sir. Madam will inform you,
that I started very early this morning, in order to
preclude, if possible, any chance of meeting any member
of your family. The meeting was accidental, unexpected,
undesired. Your daughter fainted. I aided
her, and should do it again in the same case. I have
thought of the cause of the Patriots before. The only
impression that has hindered me from studying their
motives, and if I found them pure, from joining them,
has been, that I was unwilling to be in arms against
the government of Doña Martha's father. Your outrages
have severed that tie. I am a patriot from principle.
If there be such a rising as you describe, and
headed by honest men, I will join it. Should I ever
meet with you in hostile array, my hand would only be
raised to defend you. But for you, Don Pedro, nothing
would please me more, than to meet you face to face
in the high places of the field, and where no compunctious
visitings would hold back my arm. I hope we
shall meet again. A Dios, to you both.” I mounted,
and Bryan moved to do the same. “Stop, there,”
cried the Conde. “Go back, sir. You belong to me.
There is no reason why I should send another traitor
to the rebels. Dismount, and go back to the house.
And you, Sir,” added he, turning to me, “would be
arrested, and in the mines, without a passport. There

[figure description] Page 244.[end figure description]

is one, made out for you in full form. It will last you
to the frontier, and for twenty days, and no more.
Within that time you can join the rebels at Mixtpal,
or leave the country, as you please. There is your
other horse, Sir; the time is precious, and I wish you
a good day.”