ng
shrewdly at him as she walked by his side.

"Nothing," he answered, for the first time, and very conscientiously
telling her an untruth. For he was keeping back the crux of the whole
affair which he thought she was too young to be told or to understand.

The carriage was waiting on the high road just across the old Roman
bridge. Sarrion came forward in the moonlight to meet them. Juanita ran
towards him, kissed him and clung to his arm with a little movement of
affection.

"I am so glad to see you," she said. "It feels safer. They almost made me
a nun, you know. And that horrid old Sor Teresa--oh, I beg your pardon! I
forgot she was your sister."

"She is hardly my sister," answered Sarrion with a cynical laugh. "It is
against the rules you know to permit oneself any family affection when
one is in religion."

"You mustn't blame her for that," said Juanita. "One never knows. You
cannot tell why she went into religion. Perhaps she never meant to. You
do not understand."

"Oh, yes I do," answered Sarrion bitterly.

They were hurrying towards the carriage and a man waiting at the open
door took a step forward and raised his hat, showing in the moonlight a
high bald forehead and a clean shaven face. He was slight and neat.

"This is an old school friend of mine," said Sarrion by way of
introduction. "He is a bishop," he added.

And Juanita knelt on the road while he laid his hand on her hair with a
smile half amused and half pathetic. He looked twenty years younger than
Sarrion, and laying aside his sacerdotal manner as suddenly as he had
assumed it on Juanita's instinctive initiation, he helped her into the
carriage with a grave and ceremonious courtesy.

"This is your own carriage," she said when they were all seated.

"Yes--from Torre Garda," answered Sarrion. "And it is Pietro who is
driving. So you are among friends."

"And dear old Perro running at the side," exclaimed Juanita, jumping up
and putting her head out of the window to encourage Perro with a
greeting. Her mantilla flying in the wind blew across the bishop's face
which that youthful-looking dignitary endured with patience.

"And there is a hot-water tin for our feet. I feel it through my
slippers; for my feet are wet with the snow. How delightful!"

And Juanita stooped down to warm her hands.

"You have thought of everything--you and Marcos," she said. "You are so
kind to me. I am sure I am very grateful ... to every one."

She turned