necessary for thy full conception.

General Harero had judged Isabella Gonzales well when he said that
there was no danger of her loving Lorenzo Bezan-she had too much
pride!

But let us look once more into the sick room we so lately left,
where the wounded soldier lies suffering from his wounds. A volante
has just stopped at the barracks' doors, and a girl, whose dress
betokens her to be a servant, steps out, and telling her errand to
the corporal of the guard, is permitted to pass the sentinel, and is
conducted to the sick man's room. She brings some cooling draughts
for his parched lips, and fragrant waters with which to battle his
fevered temples and burning forehead.

"Who sends these welcome gifts to Captain Bezan?" asked the
assistant-surgeon.

"My lady, sir."

"And who is your lady, my good girl, if you please?" he asked.

"The Senorita Isabella Gonzales, sir," was the modest reply of the
maid.

"Ah, yes; her brother has been here this afternoon, I remember,"
said the surgeon; "the sick man fell asleep then, and has not since
awakened."

"Heaven grant the sleep may refresh him and restore his strength,"