ladies prove
unsuccessful, and Cachita persist in following the inclinations of her
heart, the term of her incarceration will be protracted another six
months, when, in accordance with conventual discipline, she will be
required to commence her duties as a novice.

Desirous of ascertaining how far monastic confinement has affected my
Cachita's sentiments, I propose to sound her on the subject by private
communication. Tunicu, whom I consult, tells me that this is not easily
accomplished, and I soon find that his statement is correct. The convent
is a strong building. At fixed hours the outer doors are thrown open,
and disclose a small stone ante-chamber, furnished with wooden benches
like a prison. Here may a pilgrim enter, but no further. There is
another and a stronger door, communicating with the interior, and
accessible only to a favoured few. Near it is a panelled or blind
window, forming part of a 'torno' or turnstile--a mechanical contrivance
by means of which articles for the convent use are secretly admitted.

On more than one occasion have I visited the torno, in the vain hope of
persuading the invisible door-keeper behind to receive some love-tokens
for my captive mistress. Tapping three times on the hollow window, I
pause until a voice murmurs 'Ave Maria!' to which I respond, being well
versed in conventual watchwords, 'Por mis pecados!' The voice inquires
my pleasure. If it be my pleasure to have a missive conveyed to an
immured 'sister,' and I can satisfy my unseen interlocutor by
representing myself as a relative of the captive lady in whom I am
interested, the turnstile rotates with magic velocity, the flat panel
vanishes, and, behold, a species of cupboard with many shelves, upon
which anything of a moderate size may be placed. Having deposited my
letter on one of the shelves, it disappears, with the cupboard, like a
pantomime trick, and the panelled window resumes its original dull
aspect. But whether my document will reach the rightful owner, I can
never ascertain, for days elapse, and no reply is forthcoming. Varying
my proceedings at the torno, I sometimes express a desire to exchange a
few greetings with my cloistered love, by meeting her in a certain
chamber appointed for such a purpose, and conversing with her through a
double grating. But the door-keeper informs me that such a privilege is
accorded to parents only of the immured, who can prove their identity;
so my effort in that direction is a