attracted her, and a shudder ran through
her. She closed the gate, and stood with her hand on the lock.

It seemed to her that he was gone an interminable time. Though the moon
was now high, the clouds were so black that the garden was almost quite
dark. Suddenly she heard his step, and he was nearer than she thought.

"It is burning well," he said with grim brevity.

He stooped and looked closely in the dimness at the old-fashioned lock.
It was made as he supposed and could be easily slipped from without. He
found a pebble under his foot, raised the spring, and placed the small
stone under it, after examining the position of the cracks in the wood,
which were many.

"There is plenty of time, now," he said, and he gently pushed her out
upon the narrow walk, drawing the door after him.

With his big knife, working through the widest crack he teazed the bolt
into the socket. Then with his shoulder he softly shook the whole door.
He heard the spring fall into its place, as the pebble dropped upon the
dry ground.

"No human being can suspect that the door has been opened," he said.

He wrapped her in his long cloak, standing beside her under the wall.
Very gently he pushed the veil and bands away from her golden hair. She
helped him, and he kissed the soft locks. Then about her head he laid
his plaid in folds and drew it forward over her shoulders. She let him
do it, not realizing what service the shawl had but lately done.

They walked forward. The boy was fast asleep and did not move. The mule
stamped a little as they came up. Dalrymple lifted Maria upon the
pack-saddle, sideways, and stretched the packing-cords behind her back.

"Hold on," he said. "I will lead the mule."

[Illustration: "An evil death on you!"--Vol. I., p. 218.]

So it was all over, and the deed was done, for good or evil. But it was
for evil, for it was a bad deed.

To the last, fortune favoured Dalrymple and Maria, and everything took
place after their flight just as the strong man had anticipated. Not a
trace of the truth was left behind. Early in the morning the abbess was
found dead, and in the little cell near by, upon the still smouldering
remains of the mattress, lay the charred and burned form of a woman. In
Stefanone's house, the little bundle of clothes in the locked laboratory
was all that was left of Annetta. All Subiaco said that the Englishman
had carried off the peasant girl to his own country.

Up at the convent the nuns