t and a pair of
skinny, Aragonese horses such as may be hired on the road.

The driver seemed to recognise Marcos, for he smiled and raised his hand
to his hat as he drew up at the inn, a recognised halting-place before
the last stage of the journey.

Marcos caught sight of a white cap inside the carriage. He leant down on
his horse's neck and perceived Sor Teresa, who had not seen him looking
out of the carriage window towards the inn. He rode round to the other
door and dropped out of the saddle. Then he turned the handle and opened
the door. But Sor Teresa had no intention of descending. She leant
forward to say as much and recognised her nephew.

"You!" she exclaimed. And her pale face flushed suddenly. She had been a
nun for many years and was no doubt a conscientious one, but she had
never yet learnt to remove all her love from earth to fix it on heaven.

"Yes."

"How did you know that I should be here?"

"I guessed it," answered Marcos, who was always practical. "You will like
some coffee. It is ordered. Come in and warm yourself while the horses
rest."

He led the way towards the inn.

"What did you say?" he asked, turning on the threshold; for he had heard
her mutter something.

"I said, 'Thank God'!"

"What for?"

"For your brains, my dear," she answered. "And your strong heart."

Sarrion was making up the fire when they entered the room--lithe and
young in his riding costume--and he turned, smiling, to meet her. She
kissed him gravely. There was always something unexplained between these
two, something to be said which made them both silent.

"There is the coffee," said Marcos, "on the table. We have no time to
spare."

"Marcos means," explained Sarrion significantly, "that we have no time to
waste."

"I think he is right," said Sor Teresa.

"Then if that is the case, let us at least speak plainly," said Sarrion,
"with a due regard," he allowed, with a shrug of the shoulder, "to your
vows and your position, and all that. We must not embroil you with your
confessor; nor Juanita with hers."

"You need not think of that so far as Juanita is concerned," said Sor
Teresa. "It is I who have chosen her confessor."

"Where is she?" asked Marcos.

"She is here, in Saragossa!"

"Why?" asked the man of few words.

"I don't know."

"Where is she in Saragossa?"

"I don't know. I have not seen her for a fortnight. I only learnt by
accident yesterday afternoon that she had been brought to Sara