y upon them! I would shield even your rebellious daughter Antonia
from such a fate. I open the doors of the convent to you all. There you
will find safety and peace."

Isabel sat with white, parted lips and clasped hands, listening. Antonia
had not moved or spoken. But with the last words the priest half-turned
to her, and she came swiftly to her mother's side, and kissing her,
whispered:

"Remember your promise to my father! Oh, mi madre, do not leave Isabel
and me alone!"

"You, too, dear ones! We will all go together, till these dreadful days
are past."

"No, no, no! Isabel and I will not go. We will die rather."

"The Senorita talks like a foolish one. Listen again! When Santa Anna
comes for judgment, it will be swift and terrible. This house and estate
will be forfeited. The faithful Church may hope righteously to obtain
it. The sisters have long needed a good home. The convent will then come
to you. You will have no shelter but the Church. Come to her arms ere
her entreaties are turned to commands."

"My husband told me--"

"Saints of God! you have no husband. He has forfeited every right to
advise you. Consider that, daughter; and if you trust not my advice,
there is yet living your honorable uncle, the Marquis de Gonzaga."

Antonia caught eagerly at this suggestion. It at least offered some
delay, in which the Senora might be strengthened to resist the coercion
of Fray Ignatius.

"Mother, it is a good thought. My great-uncle will tell you what to do;
and my father will not blame you for following his advice. Perhaps even
he may offer his home. You are the child of his sister."

Fray Ignatius walked towards the fire-place and stood rubbing slowly his
long, thin hands before the blaze, while the Senora and her daughters
discussed this proposal. The half-frantic mother was little inclined
to make any further effort to resist the determined will of her old
confessor; but the tears of Isabel won from her a promise to see her
uncle.

"Then, my daughter, lose no time. I cannot promise you many days in
which choice will be left you. Go this afternoon, and to-morrow I will
call for your decision."

It was not a visit that the Senora liked to make. She had deeply
offended her uncle by her marriage, and their intercourse had since been
of the most ceremonious and infrequent kind. But surely, at this hour,
when she was left without any one to advise her steps, he would remember
the tie of blood between them.