My stream of bitterness is inexhaustible; daily I am forced to quaff the black, burning waters.
Ha! I know my lot--I swallow and murmur not.

Mary, I am sorry to make you drink so much that is bitter to-night; but you must, for your own good; better a friend should hold the cup and let you taste, than have it rudely forced upon you." "Why have you told me this, Inez?
I never did you harm, or gave you pain." "Poor pale face! I want to save you from worse than death--yea, from a living death.

Go from this place; for if you are here a month hence, you will be lost.

Your people here will be defeated, and then the Mexicans will hand you all over to the Padre, who says he means to put you where you will be protected.

Mark me: you will be sent where no cry for succor will ever be heard.