you. All you have to do is to
speak fairly to Father Vicente and curtsey to the Reverend Mother
whenever you see her. Above all, no tantrums. Leave the others alone,
and they'll let you alone. There's not one of them but has her scheme
for getting away, or her friend outside. That's occupation enough for
her. It will be the same with you. Your friends will find you out.
You'll have a _novio_ spending the night in the street before
to-morrow's over unless I am very much mistaken." She patted her
cheek. "I'll do what I can for you, my dear."

Manuela curtseyed, and thanked the good nun. "All I have to do," she
said, "is to repent of my sin--which has become very horrible to me."

"La-la-la!" cried Sister Chucha. "Keep that for Father Vicente, if
you please, my dear. That is his affair. Our patroness led a jolly
life before she was a saint. No doubt, you should not have stabbed Don
Bartolome, and of course the Ramonez would never overlook such a thing.
But we all understand that you must save your own skin if you
could--that's very reasonable. And I hear that there was another
reason." Here she chucked her chin. "I don't wonder at it," she said
with a meaning smile.

The girl coloured and hung her head. She was still quivering with the
shame of her public torture. She could still see Manvers' eyes stare
chilly at the wall before them, and believe them to grow colder with
each stave of her admissions. Her one consolation lay in the thought
that she could please him by amendment and save him by a conviction; so
it was hard to be petted by Sister Chucha. She would have welcomed the
whip, would have hugged it to her bosom--the rod of Salvation, she
would have called it; but compliments on her beauty, caresses of cheek
and chin--was she not to be allowed to be good? As for escape, she had
no desire for that. She could love her Don Osmundo best from a
distance. What was to be gained, but shame, by seeing him?

Her shining hair was cut off; the cap, the straight prison garb were
put on. She stood up, slim-necked, an arrowy maid, with her burning
face and sea-green eyes chastened by real humility. She made a good
confession to Father Vicente, and took her place among her mates.

It was true, what Sister Chucha had told her. Every penitent in that
great and gaunt building was thrilled with one persistent hope, worked
patiently with that in view, and under its spell refrained from
violence or clamou