“No, no, it was no dream; he is here—the stranger, I mean, who looks so much like papa’s portrait. And see, here is the letter he gave you!” exclaimed Luisa, placing the note in her mother’s hand.
“Call—but no, I must have been mistaken; he is dead long, long since! My daughter, read what it says, to me; my eyes are blurred, and I can not see.”
Luisa opened the note with intense curiosity, but then looked up in surprise.
“Why, mother, it is from Uncle Augustin!”
“Yes, go on—read, quick!”
“My deeply-wronged sister:” it began, “when you read this, I shall be no more. I am dying, and the padre tells me that, before the sun goes down, I shall be dead. How this occurred, the bearer of this, my dying confession, will tell you. I have deeply wronged you and yours, and stained my soul with a horrible crime; but now make reparation as far as lies in my power. Listen, and, in God’s mercy, do not curse me after I am dead! I hired the men who, disguised as Comanches, attacked the hacienda nineteen years ago, and by my hand, my brother—your husband—died! I was mad, crazy, but I loved you, and thought that, if he was out of the way, in time you would listen to my suit. Then I caused your son, Felipe, to be stolen, and at the time meant to kill him, for I was poor, and he stood between me and wealth. But my heart failed me, and he yet lives, a noble, brave boy, who looks at me with your eyes and his father’s face. I can not tell you all I would of my reasons for the crimes I confess, for my strength is fast failing. But I will send this by YOUR SON, although he knows not who his parents are. I inclose the jewels and a scarf that he wore when he was first abducted, so that you may have no doubt. And now listen to my prayer, the last I shall ever make. I know I have been fearfully guilty, yet I do not think I could rest in my grave if you should curse me as the murderer of your husband. I do not ask for forgiveness, but that you will strive to forget me; as though I had never been born. May the holy Virgin ever smile upon and guard you, and cause the son I return to your heart to be a joy and a blessing. As I hope for mercy hereafter, he is your only son, Felipe.
“Augustin Canelo.”
The mother did not speak while this strange letter was being read, but pressed both hands tightly upon her bosom, as if to still the painful throbbings of her heart, while the breath came in gasps from between her pallid lips. When the last word was pronounced, she essayed in vain to arise; then, as she sunk back, feebly whispered to Luisa, who was scarcely less agitated than herself:
“Go, Luisa; go bring YOUR BROTHER to me!”
The sister needed no further prompting, but sped away like a startled fawn to the room where her brother had been so unceremoniously consigned by Josefa. He was pacing rapidly to and fro, his handsome countenance expressing no small degree of wonder and perplexity.
“Felipe, my brother, don’t you know your little sister, Luisa?” she cried, and throwing her arms around his broad shoulders, stood on tip-toe to press her lips to his.