The interview between the general and his niece was most touching.
The old soldier, so roughly treated for some time past, was delighted to press to his bosom the innocent child who constituted his whole family, and who, by a miracle, had escaped the misfortunes that had assailed her.
For a long time they forgot themselves in a delightful interchange of ideas; the general anxiously inquiring how she had lived while he was a prisoner—the young girl questioning him upon the perils he had run, and the ill-treatment he had suffered.
"Now, uncle," she said at length, "what is your intention?"
"Alas! my child," he replied, in a tone of sadness, and stifling a sigh; "we must without delay leave these terrible countries, and return to Mexico."
The heart of the young girl throbbed painfully, although she inwardly confessed the necessity for a prompt return. To leave the prairies would be to leave him she loved—to separate herself, without hope of a reunion, from a man whose admirable character every minute passed in sweet intercourse had made her more duly appreciate, and who had now become indispensable to her life and her happiness.
"What ails thee, my child? You are sad, and your eyes are full of tears," her uncle asked, pressing her hand affectionately.
"Alas! dear uncle," she replied, in a plaintive tone; "how can I be otherwise than sad after all that has happened within the last few days? My heart is oppressed."
"That is true. The frightful events of which we have been the witnesses and the victims are more than enough to make you sad; but you are still very young, my child. In a short time these events will only remain in your thoughts as the remembrance of facts which, thanks to Heaven! you will not have to dread in future."