ial
opportunities for prayer and reflection had perhaps had the effect that
such opportunities may be expected to have, and she was a little weary of
all this to-do about the world to come; for she was young and this
present world seemed worthy of consideration. She glanced backwards over
her shoulder as the Archbishop passed with his following of candles, and
gave a little start. Marcos was kneeling on the pavement behind her. Sor
Teresa was looking straight in front of her between the wings of her
great cap. It was hard to say whether she saw Juanita, or was aware that
a man was kneeling immediately behind herself, almost on the hem of her
flowing black robes--her own brother, Sarrion.

The procession moved away down the length of the great building and left
darkness behind it. Already there was a stir among the people, for it was
late and many had come from a distance.

The great doors, rarely used, were slowly cast open and in the darkness
the crowd surged forward. Juanita was nearest to the door. She looked
round and Sor Teresa made a motion with her head telling her to lead the
way. Marcos was at her side. A few men in cloaks, and some in
shirt-sleeves, seemed to be grouped by chance around him. He looked back
and made a little movement of the head towards his father.

Juanita felt herself pushed from behind. Before her, singularly enough,
was a clear pathway between the crowds. Behind her a thousand people
pressed forward towards the exit. She hurried out and glancing back on
the steps saw that she had become separated from the school and from the
nuns by a number of men. But Marcos' hand was already on her arm.

"Come," he said, "I want to speak to you. It is all right. My father is
beside Sor Teresa."

"What fun!" she answered in a whisper. "Let us be quick."

And a moment later they were running side by side down a narrow street,
where a single lamp swung from a gibbet at the corner and flickered in
the wind of Saragossa.

It was Juanita who stopped suddenly.

"Oh, Marcos," she cried, "I forgot; we are not to walk home. There is an
omnibus to meet us as usual at these late services."

"It will not come," replied Marcos. "The driver is waiting to tell Sor
Teresa that his horses are lame and he cannot come."

"And why have you done this?" asked Juanita, looking at him with bright
eyes beneath her mantilla flying in the wind.

"Because I want to speak to you. We can walk home to the school together.