It is all arranged. My father is with Sor Teresa."

"What, all the way?" she asked in a delighted voice.

"Yes."

"And can we go through the streets and see the shops?"

"Yes, if you like; if you keep your mantilla close."

"Marcos, you are a dear! But I have no money; you must lend me some."

"Yes, if you like. What do you want to buy?"

"Oh, chocolates," she answered. "Those brown ones, all soft inside. How
much money have you?"

And she held out her hand in the dim light of the street lamps.

"I will give you the chocolates," he answered. "As many as you like."

"How kind of you. You are a dear. I am so glad to see your solemn old
face again. I am very hard up. I don't really know where all my
pocket-money has gone to this term."

She laughed gaily, and turned to look up at him. And in a moment her
manner changed.

"Oh, Marcos," she said, "I am so miserable. And I have no one to talk to.
You know--papa is dead."

"Yes," he answered, "know."

"For three days," she went on, "I thought I should die. And then, but I
am afraid it wasn't prayer, Marcos, I began to feel--better, you know.
Was it very wicked? Of course I had never seen him. It would have been
quite different if it had been my dear, darling old Uncle Ramon--or even
you, Marcos."

"Thank you," said Marcos.

"But I had only his letters, you know, and they were so political! Then I
felt most extremely angry with Leon for being such a muff. He did nothing
to try and find out who had killed papa, and go and kill him in return. I
felt so disgusted that I was not a man. I feel so still, Marcos. This is
the shop, and those are the chocolates stuck on that sheet of white
paper. Let us buy the whole sheet. I will pay you back next term."

They entered the shop and there Marcos bought her as many chocolates as
she could hope to conceal beneath the long ends of her mantilla.

"I will bring you more," he said, "if you will tell me how to get them to
you."

She assured him that there was nothing simpler; and made him a
participant in a dead secret only known to a few, of the hole in the
convent wall, large enough to pass the hand through, down by the
frog-pond at the bottom of the garden and near the old door which was
never opened.

"If you wait there on Thursday evening between seven and eight I will
come, if I can, and will poke my hand through the hole in the wall. But
how shall I know that it is you?"

"I will kiss your hand when it comes th