was sent
to us. I called her Mariquita, of course, and thought no more of
leaving our happy home in the mountains. For five years we remained
here, and the little Mariquita grew to be an angel of light and beauty--
like her mother in all respects, except that she was very fair, with
curly golden hair.

"About that time war broke out--doubly accursed war! One night a band
of deserters came and attacked my cottage. It had always been well
prepared for anything of the sort with bolts, and bars and shutters, and
even flanking loop-holes, as well as plenty of fire-arms and ammunition.
But the party was too numerous. The villains forced the door in spite
of me, and fired a volley before making a rush. From that moment I
remembered nothing more until I recovered and found my head supported on
the knee of an old man. I knew him at once to be a poor lonely old
hunter who ranged about in the mountains here, and had paid us
occasional visits. When he saw I was able to understand him, he told me
that he had come suddenly on the villains and shot two of them, and that
the others, perhaps thinking him the advance-guard of a larger party,
had taken fright and made off. `But,' he said, in a low, hesitating
tone, `Mariquita is dead!'

"I sprang up as if I had been shot, but instantly fell again, for my leg
had been broken. I had seen enough, however. My beloved one lay dead
on the floor, not far from me, with a bullet through her brain. And
now," added Pedro, pointing in deep despondency to the little mound at
their feet--"she lies there!"

"Not so, my friend," said Lawrence, in a low but earnest tone, as he
grasped the man's hand, "it is only her dust that lies there, and even
_that_ is precious in the sight of her Lord."

"Thank you, senhor, for reminding me," returned Pedro; "but when the
memory of that awful night is strong upon me, my faith almost fails."

"No wonder," rejoined Lawrence, "but what of the child?"

"Ah! that is what I asked the old hunter," returned Pedro. "He started
up, and searched high and low, but could not find her. Then he went
out, calling her by name loudly, and searched the bushes. Then he
returned with a wild look and said the robbers must have taken her
away--he would pursue! I knew it would be useless, for the scoundrels
were mounted and the old hunter was on foot; but I let him go, and was
not surprised when, two hours later, he returned quite exhausted. `It
is in vain,' he said