But when she awoke at the gray dawn of
the next day, she awoke with a different spirit. She had
regained herself. She rose quietly, and looked out towards
the city. The black flag from the Alamo and the Missions hung
above it. She looked at the ominous standards, and then the
tears sprang to her eyes; she lifted her face and her hands to
heaven, and a few words, swifter than light, sprang from her
soul into the ear of the Eternal Father of Spirits.
The answer came with the petition--came with the crack of
rifle shots; precise, regular, unceasing.
"Oh God! I thank Thee! Lord of Hosts, Thou art a great
multitude! Isabel! Isabel! The Americans are attacking the
city! Our father will fight his way back to his home! Fray
Ignatius can not come to-day. Oh, I am so happy! So happy!
Listen! How the Mexicans are shouting! They are cheering on
the men! What a turmoil!"
"Jesu, Maria, have mercy!" cried Isabel, clasping her crucifix
and falling upon her knees.
"Oh, Isabel, pray for our father, that his angel may
overshadow him with strong wings."
"And Luis?"
"And Luis, and Thomas, and Jack, and Dare. There are prayers
for them all, and love enough to make them. Hark! there are
the drums, and the trumpets, and the gallop of the cavalry.
Come, dearest, let us go to our mother. To day, no one will
remember Fray Ignatius.
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