bitter strife of man with fellow-man be ended?  And oh! when shall desolating war forever cease, and the bloody records of the past be viewed as monster distortions of a maddened brain?  These things shall be when the polity of the world is changed.  When statesmen cease their political, and prelates their ecclesiastical intrigues; when monarch, and noble, and peasant, alike cast selfishness and dissimulation far from them; when the Bible is the text-book of the world, and the golden rule observed from pole to pole.

The 11th of December is marked with a white stone in the calendar of the Texans.  During the fortnight which elapsed from the engagement of Conception, the Alamo had been closely invested by General Burleson, and brief though bloody struggles almost daily occurred.  The besiegers numbered only eight hundred, while the fortress was garrisoned by twenty-five hundred Mexican troops.  Yet well-directed valor has ever proved more than a match for numerical superiority.  On the morning of the 11th a desperate assault was made, a violent struggle ensued, and ere long victory declared for the “Lone Star.”  With unutterable chagrin General Cos was forced to dispatch a messenger bearing the white banner of submission to the Texan commander, and night saw the Alamo again in Texan hands, and General Cos and his disheartened band prisoners of war.

Dr. Bryant had received, during the engagement, a wound in the arm, which he caused to be dressed, and, placing the injured member in a sling, strove to soothe the dying and relieve the wounded.  Early he dispatched tidings of his safety to his anxious sister, and now devoted himself to the suffering soldiery.  Midnight found him beside the couch of pain, and even as he bent to administer a sedative, a hand was lightly laid on his shoulder.  Looking up, Frank perceived the muffled form of a female, though unable to determine who stood beside him, for the face was entirely concealed by the mantilla.

“Can I do anything for you, Senora?”

“Dr. Bryant, will you leave your people here to see a dying Mexican—­one who fell fighting against you?”

“Most assuredly, if I can render relief; but, Inez, you should not have ventured here on such an errand; could no messenger be found?  It was imprudent in you to come at this hour.”

“No matter; I felt no fear of your people, and mine would not molest me.  But I have little time to wait.  Manuel is sorely wounded:  we bore him from the Alamo, and he lies at my father’s.  Can you do nothing for him?”

“I hope it is not too late to render assistance; we will go immediately.”  And drawing his cloak over the wounded arm, he followed her to Don Garcia’s.  Neither spoke till they reached the threshold; then Frank said: 

“Inez, does Manuel know you came for me?”

“Yes; he objected at first, but as the pain grew more acute, he begged us to do something for him.  I told him there was none to help save you.  He frowned a little, but nodded his head, and then I lost no time.”