to the gorge outside, talking with Father Antonio, who was returning.

Both started, and Agnes looked alarmed.

"Fear nothing, sweet lamb," said the cavalier; "I am gone."

He kneeled and kissed the hand of Agnes, and disappeared at one bound
over the parapet on the side opposite that which they were approaching.

Agnes hastily composed herself, struggling with that half-guilty
feeling which is apt to weigh on a conscientious nature that has been
unwittingly drawn to act a part which would be disapproved by those
whose good opinion it habitually seeks. The interview had but the more
increased her curiosity to know the history of this handsome stranger.
Who, then, could he be? What were his troubles? She wished the interview
could have been long enough to satisfy her mind on these points. From
the richness of his dress, from his air and manner, from the poetry and
the jewel that accompanied it, she felt satisfied, that, if not what she
supposed, he was at least nobly born, and had shone in some splendid
sphere whose habits and ways were far beyond her simple experiences. She
felt towards him somewhat of the awe which a person of her condition in
life naturally felt toward that brilliant aristocracy which in those
days assumed the state of princes, and the members of which were
supposed to look down on common mortals from as great a height as the
stars regard the humblest flowers of the field.

"How strange," she thought, "that he should think so much of me! What
can he see in me? And how can it be that a great lord, who speaks so
gently and is so reverential to a poor girl, and asks prayers so humbly,
can be so wicked and unbelieving as he says he is? Dear God, it cannot