in thing would be to get a
long start if possible--that you should not be missed--to get away just
at the beginning of the longest time during which the nuns would not
expect to see you. Where is your own room? Is it near this?"

Maria Addolorata told him, and explained the position of the balcony
with the steps leading down into the garden. He asked her who kept the
key of the postern. It was in the possession of the gardener, who took
it away with him at night, but the lock was on the inside, and
uncovered, as old Italian locks are. By raising the curved spring one
could push back the bolt. There was a handle on the latter, for that
purpose. There would be no difficulty about getting out, nor about
letting Dalrymple in, provided that the night were dark.

"The moon is almost full," said Dalrymple, thoughtfully, and he began to
walk up and down again. "Never mind. It must be to-morrow night. In your
dark dress, when the sisters are asleep, if you keep in the shadow along
the wall, there is not the slightest risk. I will be waiting for you on
the other side of the gate with my cloak and plaid. I will have the
horses ready, a little higher up. There is a good mule path which goes
down into the valley on that side. You have only to reach the gate and
let yourself out. It is very easy. Tell me at what time to be waiting."

Maria leaned heavily upon the chair, with bent head.

"I cannot do it--oh, I cannot!" she said despairingly. "The shame of it!
To be the talk of Rome--the scandal of the day--a disgrace to my father
and mother!"

Dalrymple frowned, and biting his lip, he struck his clenched fist
softly with the palm of his hand, making a few quick steps backward and
forward. He stopped suddenly and looked at her with dangerous eyes.

"I have told you," he said. "I will not repeat it. You must choose."

"Oh, you cannot be in earnest--"

"You shall see. It is plain enough," he added, with an accent of scorn.
"You are more afraid of a little talk and gossip in Rome, than of being
told to-morrow morning that I died in the night. That is Italian
courage, I suppose."

She hung her head for a moment. Then, as she heard his footsteps, she
threw her veil back and saw that he was going towards the door without a
word.

"You are cruel," she said, half catching her breath. "You know that you
make me suffer--that I cannot live without you."

"I shall certainly not live without you," he answered. "I mean to have
you at an