They entered the apartment of the sufferer, and Inez started at the change which had taken place during her temporary absence.  Manuel feebly turned his head as the door opened, and his eyes brightened as they rested on Inez.  He motioned her to sit beside him, and she complied, lifting his head and carefully leaning it upon her bosom.  Dr. Bryant examined the wound, felt the pulse, and stooping over him, asked: 

“Nevarro, do you suffer much?”

Manuel laid his hand on the bleeding side, and feebly inclined his head.

“Inez, I can only use one hand, will you assist me in binding this wound?”

She attempted to rise, but Nevarro clutched her hand and gasped—­“Too late—­too late!”

Resolved to do something, if possible, for his relief, Frank beckoned to the Don, who stood near, and with some difficulty they succeeded in passing a bandage round the mouth of the wound.  The groans of the dying man caused even the cheek of the fearless Inez to blanch.  She who scorned danger, and knew not fear, could not witness with out a pang the sufferings of another.  She moaned in very sympathy, and stroked gently back the straight raven hair, now clotted with blood.  The exertion necessarily made proved fatal; the breathing grew short and painful, the pulse slow and feeble.  Appealing was the look which the wounded one bent on Inez:  he strove to utter his wishes, but, alas, it was indeed too late.  The blood gushed anew from his side, crimsoning bandage and couch, and dyeing Inez’s dress.  Dr. Bryant took one of the cold hands and pressed it kindly.  Manuel opened his eyes, and looked gratefully on one who had at least endeavored to relieve him.  Convulsively the fingers closed over his physician’s hand; again he turned his face to Inez, and with a groan expired.

Frank took the lifeless form from her arms, and laying it gently back upon the pillow, closed the eyes forever, and covered the face.

No words, save “Holy Mary!” escaped the Don’s lips, as he quitted the room of death.

Inez’s lips Quivered, and the convulsive twitching of her features plainly indicated her grief at this mournful parting with the playmate of her youth—­with her affianced husband.  Yet the large dark eyes were undimmed:  and her tone calm, as though the “King of Terrors” were not there in all his gloom.

“Inez, I sympathize with you in this affliction, and sincerely regret that the fatal wound was inflicted by one of my nation.  Yet the past is irretrievable, though painful, and many are, like you, bereft of friends and relatives.  Inez, in your hours of gloom and sadness can you not think of your reunion with Manuel, where death and parting are unknown!”

She had averted her head, and a look of unutterable bitterness rested on the pale, stern face.

“I thank you for coming; though you could not give Manuel relief.  It was good and kind in you to try, and none but Frank Bryant would have done it:  again I thank you.  I shall not forget this night, and you, Senor, shall be requited.  I trust you are not suffering with your arm; why is it bound up?” And she laid her hand softly on it.