Having placed the half-lifeless girl on the sward, I hastened to see after the poor Mexican. Alas! of him and the horse we never saw trace afterwards. We called aloud, we shouted, and even continued along the stream for a considerable space; but to no purpose, the poor fellow had evidently perished,--perhaps by a death too horrible to think of. The Friar wrung his hands in agony, and mingled his thanksgiving for his own safety with lamentations for his lost companion; and so intent was he on these themes that he never recognized me, nor, indeed, seemed conscious of my presence. At last, as we turned our steps towards where the girl lay, he said, "Is it possible that you are the caballero we parted with before sunset?" "Yes," said I, "the same. You were loth to accept of my company, but you see there is a fate in it, after all; you cannot get rid of me so readily." "Nor shall we try, Señhor," 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, Señhor, 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--"