“No time was now to be lost in bringing the girl home to her father, and in such a storm my presence was necessary for her protection.  She had been riding alone, as usual, and on the return home her horse had taken the wrong road.  The storm became more and more violent; the lightning nearly blinded us, and terrified our horses.  The rain now began to pour down in torrents, and it was impossible for Inez to retain her seat in the saddle.  She remembered a little deserted negro cabin in the neighborhood, under a grove of magnolias, and thither we fled.  There was no light in the hut; the wind bent the trees down on its roof and dashed the rain against its sides, so that we expected every moment to be killed.  Inez drew closer to me and trembled violently, as I supported her quivering form with my arm.  I spoke soothingly to her, as I would have done to a timid child; and as I bent over to comfort her, a flash of lightning lit up the place, so that I could look into her eyes dilated with fear, and she into mine.  Then—­she kissed me again and again.  Carmen, your mother was one of the most innocent, the purest beings on earth; in her heart was no impure thought, in her life was no action which could not bear the light of day.  But there, under the glowing, tropical skies, blood flies quicker through the veins than here in our cool Germany; and from childhood to womanhood is but one, sudden leap.  When I felt her kisses on my lips, I was taken aback; I had thought of her only as a beautiful child, but now I recognized the woman in her, and—­I was a married man.

“A sound of anxious hallooing reached our ears.  It was made by the negroes which Don Manuel had sent out in search of his child; and as the first fury of the storm had now spent itself, we parted from each other.

“When I reached home, my unfortunate wife seemed more repulsive than ever; in fact, her disagreeable ways, added to her natural homeliness, had rendered her almost intolerable.  The memory of Inez’s lovely form and face, her graceful manner and silvery voice, was ever present with me.  I repeatedly told myself how wicked this was, and resolved not to call again on Don Manuel, lest I should see her.  But it was impossible to banish her image, and day after day the struggle within my soul grew more severe.  Thus the rainy months passed away; during which I scarcely left home at all, and saw no one but my wife.  One day she was taken sick, and soon became so ill that Brother Jonathan, who was the physician of the mission, and for whom I sent at once, became very anxious.  It was on the fifth day of her illness, and Jonathan had been to see her in the afternoon; but in the evening she became much worse.  She complained so much that about ten o’clock I concluded to ride out to the doctor’s.  Jonathan was much sought after as a physician, and when I reached his house about eleven o’clock, he had already been roused up from his sleep by a man who wanted some medicine for a child, and who was waiting to have it prepared.  Ah, how I remember every trifle, exactly as if it all had occurred only yesterday!