as it been long? I heard it
only now. Can we get out before it's over?"

"Of course we can--though not quite as easily, perhaps, as if the crowd
were moving with us. However, we can't afford to wait."

"What wonderful music!" Monica whispered. "I wish I dared to feel it were
blessing us."

"Yes, feel it so," I said, and involuntarily was silent to listen for an
instant to the melodious flood which swept from aisle to aisle in golden
billows. Out from the wave of organ music and men's voices, boyish soprano
notes sprayed high, flinging their bright crystals up, up, until they
fell, shattered, from the vaulted ceiling of stone.

From each dimly seen column shot forth one of those slender-stemmed,
flaming white lilies of light, such as had bloomed in Our Lady's garden,
as the _pasos_ moved blossoming through the streets. It seemed as if they
might have been gathered and replanted here, to lighten the darkness; and
as the music soared and sank, its waves set the lily-flames flickering.

I peered out, and saw my man hovering near. In the gloom he did not catch
the signal I gave him with my hand, but when I shook a handkerchief
between the gratings he came quickly. As he unlocked the doors I slid the
promised bribe into his palm; and having glanced about to make sure as far
as possible that we were not watched, I called Monica.

"Take us out by the nearest way," I said; and the man began to hurry us
officiously through the crowd.

Monica clung to me tightly, and I could feel the tremblings that ran
through her body. My heart was pounding too; for it is when the ship is
nearest home, after a stormy voyage, that the captain remembers he has
nerves. It seemed too marvellous to be true, that the girl was mine at
last, and yet--what could separate us, now that I held her close against my
side, and she was ready to go with me, out of her world into mine?

"This way, this way, senorito," our guide warned me, plucking at my arm as
I steered ahead, confused by a thousand moving shadows. I followed,
brushing sharply against a tall man in conical _capucha_ and trailing robe
of blue. He turned, his masked face close to mine, so close that even in
the dusk I caught a flash of glittering eyes. Then, giving me a sudden
push, he cried out, "Help--murder! An anarchist--a free-thinker! To the
rescue!"

It was Carmona's voice, and I knew instantly that he must have borrowed
this dress from some friend in the cathedral--perhaps a member