is still hope."

This was poor comfort. All my joyous anticipations dashed, I tried to
think of some way of finding out whether Monica had read my letter, and
whether there were any way of smuggling another to her.

The note had been written in such haste, that I scarcely knew what I had
said. No name had been signed; nevertheless, if Lady Vale-Avon read what I
had written, she would say to herself, "It is not Cristobal O'Donnel who
says these things, but a more dangerous man." If she had the letter, she
could show it to Carmona; but, as I thought the matter over, I decided
that it was unlikely she would do this.

Spaniards, especially Spaniards with Moorish blood in their veins, do not
like to think girls they love capable of carrying on secret correspondence
with other men; and I imagined that Lady Vale-Avon was a woman to guess
this. Already Carmona knew that Lady Monica was interested in someone
else, or had a girlish fancy for him, which might or might not have been
frightened away. But his desire for her would not be whetted by the fact
that she was receiving letters from that someone else, perhaps sending
them to him; and it struck me that Lady Vale-Avon would conceal the
correspondence, rather than flaunt it in Carmona's face. If I were right,
then I was as safe as before from the Duke's jealousy; but, had Monica
read my letter?

On the alert as her mother would be now, I should find it more difficult
than ever to communicate with the girl. Yet I could not bear to leave
Manzanares in fear of a misunderstanding.

Nothing more could be done at the moment, however; and I hurried Ropes off
that we might finish our errand and get back by the time that Monica was
down.

It appeared that the man who had volunteered information about
moto-naphtha was waiting to act as guide. He was still at the chemist's,
and from there led us to the Casa Consistorial. At the Casa Consistorial
were two policemen in the hall, warming themselves over a hole in the
ground, where glowed charcoal embers. But the Mayor had not arrived.
Without him nothing could be arranged. Besides, even if he were present
and willing to consent, the key of the cemetery was with the _cura_, who
might be anywhere.

Off we dashed to the _cura's_ house, and just in time. Five minutes later,
and we might have had to wait hours for him. But there he was, a
delightful, white-haired old man, who would be charmed to open the
cemetery for our worships, since