you cannot get rid of me so
readily."

"Nor shall we try, Senhor," said the girl, passionately, but with a
foreign accent in her words, as she took my hands and pressed them to
her lips.

The Friar said something hastily in Spanish, which seemed a rebuke, for
she drew back at once, and buried her face in her mantle.

"Donna Maria is my niece, Senhor, and has only just left the convent of
the 'Sacred Heart.' She knows nothing of the world, nor what beseems her
as a young maiden."

This the Friar spoke harshly, and with a manner that to me sounded far
more in need of an apology than did the young girl's grateful emotion.

What was to be done became now the question. We were at least thirty
miles from Bexar, and not a village, nor even a log-hut, between us and
that city. To go back was impossible; so that, like practical people, we
at once addressed ourselves to the available alternative.

"Picket your beast, and let us light a fire," said Fra Miguel, with the
air of a man who would not waste life in vain regrets. "Thank Providence,
we have both grass and water; and although the one always brings snakes,
and the other alligators, it is better than to bivouac on the Red River,
with iron ore in the stream, and hard flints to sleep on."

Fastening my beast to a tree, I unstrapped my saddlebags and removed my
saddle; disposing which most artistically in the fashion of an arm-chair
for Donna Maria at the foot of a stupendous beech, I set about the
preparation of a fire. The Friar, however, had almost anticipated me,
and, with both arms loaded with dead wood, sat himself down to construct
a species of hearth, placing a little circle of stones around in such a
way as to give a draught to the blaze.

"We must fast to-night, Senhor," said he; "but it will count to us
hereafter. Fan the fire with your hat, it will soon blaze briskly."

"If it were not for that young lady," said I, "whose sufferings are far
greater than ours--"

"Speak not of her, Senhor; Donna Maria de los Dolores was called after
our Mother of Sorrows, and she may as well begin her apprenticeship
to grief. She is the only child of my brother, who had sent her to be
educated at New Orleans, and is now returning home to see her father,
before she takes the veil of her novitiate."

A very low sigh--so low as only to be audible to myself--came from
beneath the beech-tree; and I threw a handful of dry chips upon
the fire, hoping to catch a glimpse of the f