Remember the Alamo | Page 5

He could see among the thick flowering shrubs her tall slim
figure clothed in white. As she came swiftly down the dim aisles to
meet him, he felt a sentiment of worship for her. She concentrated in
herself his memory of home, mother, and country. She embodied, in
the perfectness of their mental companionship, that rarest and sweetest
of ties--a beloved child, who is also a wise friend and a sympathetic
comrade. As he entered the garden she slipped her hand into his. He
clasped it tightly. His smile answered her smile. There was no need for
any words of salutation.
The full moon had risen. The white house stood clearly out in its
radiance. The lattices were wide open and the parlor lighted. They
walked slowly towards it, between hedges of white camelias and scarlet
japonicas. Vanilla, patchuli, verbena, wild wandering honeysuckle--a
hundred other scents-- perfumed the light, warm air. As they came near
the house there was a sound of music, soft and tinkling, with a
rhythmic accent as pulsating as a beating heart.
"It is Don Luis, father."
"Ah! He plays well--and he looks well."

They had advanced to where Don Luis was distinctly visible. He was
within the room, but leaning against the open door, playing upon a
mandolin. Robert Worth smiled as he offered his hand to him. It was
impossible not to smile at a youth so handsome, and so charming--a
youth who had all the romance of the past in his name, his home, his
picturesque costume; and all the enchantments of hope and great
enthusiasms in his future.
"Luis, I am glad to see you; and I felt your music as soon as I heard it."
He was glancing inquiringly around the room as he spoke; and Antonia
answered the look:
"Mother and Isabel are supping with Dona Valdez. There is to be a
dance. I am waiting for you, father. You must put on your velvet vest."
"And you, Luis?"
"I do not go. I asked the judge for the appointment. He refused me.
Very well! I care not to drink chocolate and dance in his house. One
hand washes the other, and one cousin should help another."
"Why did he refuse you?"
"Who can tell?" but Luis shrugged his shoulders expressively, and
added, "He gave the office to Blas-Sangre."
"Ah!"
"Yes, it is so--naturally;--Blas-Sangre is rich, and when the devil of
money condescends to appear, every little devil rises up to do him
homage."
"Let it pass, Luis. Suppose you sing me that last verse again. It had a
taking charm. The music was like a boat rocking on the water."
"So it ought to be. I learned the words in New Orleans. The music came
from the heart of my mandolin. Listen, Senor!

"`Row young oarsman, row, young oarsman, Into the crypt of the night
we float: Fair, faint moonbeams wash and wander, Wash and wander
about the boat. Not a fetter is here to bind us, Love and memory lose
their spell; Friends that we have left behind us, Prisoners of
content,--farewell!'"
"You are a wizard, Luis, and I have had a sail with you. Now, come
with us, and show those dandy soldiers from the Alamo how to dance."
"Pardon! I have not yet ceased to cross myself at the affront of this
morning. And the Senora Valdez is in the same mind as her husband. I
should be received by her like a dog at mass. I am going to-morrow to
the American colony on the Colorado."
"Be careful, Luis. These Austin colonists are giving great trouble--there
have been whispers of very strong measures. I speak as a friend."
"My heart to yours! But let me tell you this about the Americans--their
drum is in the hands of one who knows how to beat it."
"As a matter of hearsay, are you aware that three detachments of troops
are on their way from Mexico?"
"For Texas?"
"For Texas."
"What are three detachments? Can a few thousand men put Texas
under lock and key? I assure you not, Senor; but now I must say adieu!
He took the doctor's hand, and, as he held it, turned his luminous face
and splendid eyes upon Antonia. A sympathetic smile brightened her
own face like a flame. Then he went silently away, and Antonia
watched him disappear among the shrubbery.
"Come, Antonia! I am ready. We must not keep the Senora waiting too
long."
"I am ready also, father." Her voice was almost sad, and yet it had a

tone of annoyance in it--"Don Luis is so imprudent," she said. "He is
always in trouble. He is full of enthusiasms; he is as impossible as his
favorite, Don Quixote."
"And I thank God, Antonia, that I can yet feel with him. Woe to