University of Virginia Library

32. CHAPTER XXXII.

A bright day in April drew near its close, and the
golden rays of the spring sun poured joyously through the
open casement into the chamber of death. Yes, the “King
of Terrors” drew nigh, and the cold damp, which his black
pinions swept on, settled upon the brow of Inez. A few
days after the massacre at Goliad, a raging fever crimsoned
her cheeks, and lent unwonted brilliance to the large black
eyes. Delirium ensued, and wildly the unfortunate girl
raved of the past—of her former love, her hopelessness,
her utter desolation. The dreamless sleep of exhaustion
followed this temporary madness: long she lay in the stupor
so near akin to death, and now, consciousness restored, she
awaited in silence her hour! In vain the kind-hearted
Señora entreated her to see a priest—steadfastly she refused.

At length Madame Berara assumed the responsibility
of calling in her own confessor, and silently quitting
the room, went in quest of him. Inez suspected the cause
of her unusual absence, and too feeble to concentrate her
thoughts, turned her face to the wall, and wearily closed
her eyes. Yet one hand felt along the cover and beneath
the pillow. For what was she searching on the bed of
death? The thin fingers rested on a small and well-worn
Bible, and a tiny package, wrapped in paper and carefully
tied. The sacred volume was feebly pushed beneath her
head, and mechanically she undid the knot, and drew forth
a glossy lock of black hair. Wearily she pressed it to her
lips several times, and again folding it away, her hands
sank powerless upon her bosom.

Inez, Inez! are there none near to clasp thy cold hand,
and tenderly lift thy weary head? Alas, thou desolate
one! Thou art left alone in the bitter hour of thy trial!
When all things seem shrouded in impenetrable gloom, and
thy darkened soul turns from the tortured past to the dim,
uncertain future, no loved one is nigh to dash away the
gathering mists, and point to that celestial home “of which
it hath not entered into the heart of man to conceive.”

Oh, Inez! thy short life has been dark and tempestuous;
it is hard that a calm and peaceful end is denied to
thee, thou suffering one, longing for rest, oblivion of the
past, utter unconsciousness! Struggle on proud maiden!
but a few moments, and thy tones will vibrate no longer,
thy firm step cease forever, and thy memory pass away
like the shadows of night!

Señora Berara re-entered the silent chamber, accompanied

by a priest, clad in the vestments of his order. They
approached the bed, and the aged dame, bending over Inez,
whispered audibly:

“I could not find my own Padre, but I bring one who
will confess and absolve thee! Make haste to prepare for
heaven.”

“I want neither confession nor absolution! Begone!
and let me die in peace,” she answered, without unclosing
the lids, which lay so heavily upon the sunken eyes.

“Leave us together! I will call thee when thou art
wanted,” whispered he of the Order of Jesus. The matron
immediately withdrew, repeating an Ave Maria; and
they were left alone.

“Inez!”

A shudder crept through the wasted form, and, with a
start, she looked upon the face of the intruder. Even in
death, hatred was strong; the dim eye flashed, and the
cold, damp lips wreathed into a smile of utter scorn:

“Well, Padre! you have tracked me at last. It is a
pity, though, you had not set out one day later; you
would have altogether missed your prey! But I am content,
for I am far beyond your reach!” She gasped for
breath, yet ghastly was the mocking smile which lit up
the face.

“Not so, Inez! you escaped me once; I have you now!
You have defied me in health; but in death I conquer.
You can not die in peace without my blessing. Remember,
remember, one sin unconfessed will sink you into everlasting
perdition! Think you I will absolve you? Never!
Never!”

“What brings you here? Think you the approach of
death will terrify me?—that I shall claim your intercession
and absolution? Have you come hoping to make a
bargain, and receive my order for a hundred sheep, or as
many cattle, on condition that you pray me out of purgatory?
I tell you now, if there be such a place, you will
surely follow me ere long. We shall not be separated
long, my godly Padre!”

Large drops rolled from her brow, and, gasping, she continued
more indistinctly:

“There is one to stand between us now, even black-browed
Death! and now, as I speak, I see his shadow
flung over me. I am dying, and if I am lost, you are to
blame! you, and you only! You a man of God! You
forgive my sins, and give me a passport to heaven! Padre,
I know you, in all your hypocrisy, and I know that, if there
be a God, you have outraged his every law! You have
led me astray! You have brought me to this! Padre, I
am sinful, full well I know it; for this is an hour when the
barrier which hides the secret soul is thrown down, and
every deed and thought stands up boldly for itself. I have
not served God! But oh! I would not change places
with you, leader, teacher, guide, consecrated priest, as you
are—for you have mocked him! Yes, mocked him! set
aside his written word, and instead of Bible truths you
told me of Saints, and Relics, and Miracles! You bade me
worship the cross, and never once mentioned Him who
consecrated it with his agony and blood! In my childhood
I believed your legends and miracles, and trusted to such as
you to save me. A dreadful curse will rest upon your head,

for you came in sheep's clothing, and devoured many precious
souls! Padre, I—I—” In vain she strove to articulate,
further utterance was denied her. The ghastly hue
of death settled upon her face. She lifted her eyes to
heaven as in prayer; vacantly they wandered to the face
of the Padre, now well-nigh as pale as her own; then
slowly closed forever. A slight quiver passed over the
lips, a faint moan, and Inez was at rest. For long her
wearied spirit had cried “Peace! peace!” and now she
laid herself down and slept the long, unbroken sleep of
death.

As she had died without the pale of the church, they
refused the lifeless form a narrow bed in consecrated ground.
Even the ordinary service for the dead was entirely omitted;
and, without a prayer, they committed her to the silent
tomb. The kind old dame, remembering her grief at
the secret burial of her noble friend, obtained permission
to lay her by his side, and, with the fierce howlings of the
tempest for her funereal dirge, they consigned Inez—the
proud, beautiful, gifted, yet unfortunate Inez—to rest.
Peace, Inez, to thy memory, and may the sod lie lightly
on thy early grave!