down from the altar before him,
and had fallen, broken into a thousand fragments at his feet, the
reverend vicar could not have felt greater consternation than he did. He
still looked at Pepita with incredulity, as if doubting whether what she
had said were true, or only a delusion of feminine vanity, so firmly
did he believe in the holiness of Don Luis, and in his
spiritual-mindedness.

"He loves me," Pepita repeated, in answer to his incredulous glance.

"Women are worse than the very devil!" said the vicar. "You would set a
snare for the old boy himself."

"Did I not tell you already that I was very wicked?"

"Come, come! calm yourself. The mercy of God is infinite. Tell me all
that has happened."

"What should have happened? That he is dear to me; that I love him; that
I adore him; that he loves me, too, although he strives to conquer his
love, and, in the end, may succeed in doing so; and that you, without
knowing it, are very much to blame for it all!"

"Well, this caps the climax! What do you mean by saying I am very much
to blame?"

"With the extreme goodness that is characteristic of you, you have done
nothing but praise Don Luis to me; and I am sure that you have
pronounced still greater eulogies on me to him, although very much less
deserved. What is the natural consequence? Am I of bronze? Have I not
the passions of youth?"

"You are more than right; I am a dolt: I have contributed, in great
part, to this work of Lucifer."

The reverend vicar was so truly good, and so full of humility, that,
while pronouncing the preceding words, he showed as much confusion and
remorse as if he were the culprit and Pepita the judge.

Pepita, conscious of her injustice and want of generosity in thus making
the reverend vicar the accomplice, and scarcely less than the chief
author of her fault, spoke to him thus:

"Don't torment yourself, father; for God's sake, don't torment yourself!
You see now how perverse I am. I commit the greatest sins, and I want to
throw the responsibility of them on the best and the most virtuous of
men. It is not the praises you have recited to me of Don Luis that have
been my ruin, but my own eyes, and my want of circumspection. Even
though you had never spoken to me of the good qualities of Don Luis, I
should still have discovered them all by hearing him speak; for, after
all, I am not so ignorant, nor so great a fool. And, in any case, I
myself have seen the grace of his person, th