offence, and the sentence that had been passed upon her,
which doomed her, 'to be left alone with God and the child of your sin,
that He may deal with you as He sees fit.'* To all of this she seemed to
pay no heed, nor to the exhortation that followed. At length he ceased
with a sigh, and turning to me said:

'Draw near to this sinner, brother, and speak with her before it is too
late.'

* Lest such cruelty should seem impossible and
unprecedented, the writer may mention that in the museum of
the city of Mexico, he has seen the desiccated body of a
young woman, which was found immured in the walls of a
religious building. With it is the body of an infant.
Although the exact cause of her execution remains a matter
of conjecture, there can be no doubt as to the manner of her
death, for in addition to other evidences, the marks of the
rope with which her limbs were bound in life are still
distinctly visible. Such in those days were the mercies of
religion!

Then he bade all present gather themselves at the far end of the vault
that our talk might not be overheard, and they did so without wonder,
thinking doubtless that I was a monk sent to confess the doomed woman.

So I drew near with a beating heart, and bending over her I spoke in her
ear.

'Listen to me, Isabella de Siguenza!' I said; and as I uttered the name
she started wildly. 'Where is that de Garcia who deceived and deserted
you?'

'How have you learnt his true name?' she answered. 'Not even torture
would have wrung it from me as you know.'

'I am no monk and I know nothing. I am that man who fought with de
Garcia on the night when you were taken, and who would have killed him
had you not seized me.'

'At the least I saved him, that is my comfort now.'

'Isabella de Siguenza,' I said, 'I am your friend, the best you ever had
and the last, as you shall learn presently. Tell me where this man is,
for there is that between us which must be settled.'

'If you are my friend, weary me no more. I do not know where he is.
Months ago he went whither you will scarcely follow, to the furthest
Indies; but you will never find him there.'

'It may still be that I shall, and if it should so chance, say have you
any message for this man?'

'None--yes, this. Tell him how we died, his child and his wife--tell him
that I did my best to hide his name from the priests lest some like fate
should befall him.'

'I