“Santa Dios!” she said in a passionate whisper; “it is not a mortal sin to think differently from Santa Anna”--and then more tenderly--“those who love each other are of the same faith.” And if Fray Ignatius had seen at that moment the savage whiteness of her small teeth behind the petulant pout of her parted lips, he might have understood that this woman of small intelligence had also the unreasoning partisanship and the implacable sense of anger which generally accompanies small intelligence, and which indicates a nature governed by feeling, and utterly irresponsive to reasoning which feeling does not endorse. CHAPTER VIII. MOTHER AND PRIEST. . . . . “witness, When the dark-stoled priestly crew, Came swift trooping where the trumpet Of foul Santa Anna blew.” * * * * * “Rouse thee, Wrath, and be a giant; People’s Will, that hath been pliant, Long, too long; Up, and snap the rusty chaining, Brittle bond for thy restraining, Know the hour, the weak are reigning Thou art strong. * * * * * “Rise and right the wrongs of ages; Balance Time’s unequal pages With the sword.” It was nearly two o’clock when Don Luis mounted his horse and left the Worth residencia. The storm still raged, the night was dark, the cold intense, but the home of Lopez Navarro was scarce a quarter of a mile away; and he found him waiting his return. “You have still an hour, Luis. Come in and sit with me.” “As you say; and I wish to show you that I am capable of a great thing. You do not believe me? Well, then give me again my own clothes. I will resign these.” “You are most welcome to them, Luis.” “But no; I am in earnest. The fight is at hand--they are too fine.” “Yes, but I will tell you--I can say anything to you--there is to be a grand day for freedom; well, then, for a festa one puts on the best that is to be got. I will even lend you my Cross of Saint James, if you wish. A young hero should be dressed like a hero. Honor my poor clothes so far as to wear them in the fight.” “Thank you, Lopez. I will not disgrace them”; and he bent forward and looked into his friend’s eyes. His glance prolonged his words--went further than speech--went where speech could not reach. “Listen to me, Luis. As a matter of precision, where now are the Americans?” “At the mission of Espada.” “La Espada?--the sword--the name is ominous.” “Of success, Lopez.” “Is Houston, then, with you?” “Until a few days ago. He and General Austin have gone to San Felipe.” “For what? Is not San Antonio the most important point?”