It will not, can not: Travis holds the fort,
And Texan patriots are its garrison.
Unless they yield, their doom is certain death.
What if it is? So let us die with them!
Heroic child!—But let us bide our time.
Ere we select this last of remedies.
I will fulfill my mission; if it fails,
Thy way proposed lies open still to us,
[In profound despair.]
Alas ! 't will be too late.
Farewell, my child.
[Bradburn turns to go. Then Elsie, overcome by the presentiment of an impending danger, flinigs her arms around his neck, and after a long embrace disappears into an adjoining part of the tent. When Bradburn and Elsie have gone, José Prado, crawlinig from beneath the canvas and slyly peeping around, speaks with exultation, while rubbing his hands.]