oulder he would
inquire of Dolores if all was well.

"All is well, beloved," the voice, weak and feeble, would reply. "You
are here--you are not angry with me. Yes, all is well."

They moved slowly through the darkness, La Giralda, with many crooning
encouragements, waiting upon Dolores, now lifting up the corner of a
cover-lid and now anxiously adjusting a pillow.

It was done at last, and with no more adventure than that once when they
were resting the carrying couch under a wall, a muleteer passed, and
cried, "Good-night to you, folk of peace!" To which El Sarria grunted a
reply, and the man passed on, humming a gay Aragonese ditty, and puffing
his cigarette, the red point of which glowed like a fire-fly long after
both man and beast had been merged in the general darkness of the
valley.

They were soon passing under the eastern side of the convent.

"Ah, I can smell them," murmured John Mortimer, exstatically, "a hundred
tons, if not more. I wonder if I could not tackle the old lady to-night
about them?"

He spoke meditatively, but no one of the party took the least notice.
For Rollo was busy with the future conduct of the expedition. Etienne
was thinking of the girl behind the green lattices, while the others did
not understand a word of what he said.

John Mortimer sighed a deep and genuine sigh.

"Spain is very well," he muttered; "but give me Chorley for doing
business in!"

At last they were at the little white cowl of the porter's lodge, out of
which the black bars of the wicket grinned with a semblance of ghastly
mirth.

Rollo knocked gently. The panel slid back noiselessly, and there was the
face of Concha Cabezos dimly revealed. No longer mischievous or even
piquant, but drawn and pale with anxiety.

"There are bad people here," she whispered, "who have persuaded the Lady
Superior that you are impostors. She will not receive or keep Dolores
Garcia unless she is satisfied----"

"What?" came from the rear in a thunderous growl.

"Hush, I bid you!" commanded Rollo, sternly, "remember you have put this
in my hands." And the outlaw fell back silenced for the moment--his
heart, however, revolving death and burnings.

"Trust me with your papers--your credentials," said Concha, quickly.
"These will convince her. I will bring them to you at the mill-house
to-morrow morning!"

Rollo ran his knife round the stitching of his coat where he carried
these sacredest possessions.

"There," he said, "re