nd you do not want to do that?"

"No, I never want to do it. Not even when I have been a long time in
Retreat and we have been happy and quiet, here, inside the walls. And the
life they lead here seems so little trouble; and one can lay aside that
nightmare of the world to come. I do not even want it then. But when I go
into the world, like last Sunday, Marcos, and see the shops, and Uncle
Ramon and you, then I hate the thought of it. And when I touched the dear
old Moor's soft nose just now, I felt I couldn't do it at any cost; but
that I must go into the world and have dogs and horses, and see the
mountains and enjoy myself, and leave the rest to chance and the kindness
of the Virgin, Marcos."

He did not answer at once, and she thrust her hand through the woodbine
again.

"Where are you?" she asked. "Why do you not answer?"

He took her hand and held it for a moment.

"You are thinking," she said, with a little laugh. "I know. I have seen
you think like that by the side of the river, when one of the trout would
not come out of the Wolf and you were wondering what more you could do to
try and make him. What are you thinking about?"

"About you."

"Oh!" she laughed. "You must not take it so seriously as that. Everybody
is very kind, you know. And I am quite happy here. At least, I think I
am. Where are the chocolates? I believe you have eaten them on the
way--you and the Moor. I always said you were the same sort of people,
you two, didn't I?"

By way of reply he handed the little neat packets, tied with ribbon.

"Thank you," she said. "You are kind, Marcos. Somehow you never say
things, but you do them--which is better, is it not?"

"I will get you out of here," he answered, "if you want it."

"How?" she asked, with a startled ring in her voice. "Can you really do
it? Tell me how."

"No," answered Marcos. "I will not tell you how. Not now. But I can do it
if you are in real danger of going into religion against your will; if
there is real necessity."

"How?" she asked again, with a deeper note in her voice.

"I will not tell you," he answered, "until the necessity arises. It is a
secret, and you might have to tell it... in confession."

"Yes," she admitted. "Perhaps you are right. But you will come again next
Thursday, Marcos?"

"Yes," he answered, "next Thursday." "By the way, I forgot. I wrote you a
note, in case there should have been no time to speak to you. Where is
it, in my pocket? No, here,