rom God. He leaves me with
my sins upon my soul, unconfessed, unabsolved; and, thus burdened and
rebuked, I must enter upon the course which I dare not refuse. But this
voice within me which bids me go--whence and what is it? Whence is it
but from God? And how can I therefore say that I am alone? There is no
man that I can rely on--not even one of Christ's anointed priests; but
is there not He who redeemed men? and will He reject me if, in my
obedience, I come to Him? I will try--I will dare. I am alone; and He
will hear and help me."

Without priest, without voice, without form of words, he confessed and
prayed, and no longer felt that he was alone. He arose, clear in mind
and strong in heart: wrote and sealed up his resignation of his
commission, stepped into the next tent to rouse the three boys, desiring
them to dress for early mass, and prepare for their return to their
homes immediately afterwards. He then entered his own inner apartment,
where Papalier was sleeping so soundly that it was probable the early
movements of saint's-day festivities in the camp would not awaken him.
As he could not show himself abroad till the General's protection was
secured, his host let him sleep on; opening and shutting his clothes'
chest, and going through the whole preparation for appearance on the
parade in full uniform, without disturbing his wearied guest, who hardly
moved even at the roll of the drum, and the stir of morning in the camp.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

THE ACT.

Papalier was probably the only person in the valley who did not attend
mass on this saint's-day morning. The Spanish general was early seen,
surrounded by his staff, moving towards the rising ground, outside the
camp, on which stood the church, erected for the use of the troops when
the encampment was formed. The soldiers, both Spanish and negro, had
some time before filed out of their tents, and been formed for their
short march; and they now came up in order, the whites approaching on
the right, and the blacks on the left, till their forces joined before
the church. The sun had not yet shone down into the valley, and the dew
lay on the grass, and dropped like rain from the broad eaves of the
church-roof--from the points of the palm-leaves with which it was
thatched.

This church was little more than a covered enclosure. It was well
shaded from the heat of the sun by its broad and low roof; but, between
the corner posts, the sides could hardly