John before going to the convent--she might not even be able to tell him
whither they were sending her, and Mendoza might keep the secret for
years--and she would never be allowed to write, of course.

She heard the further door opened again, the bolt running back with a
sharp noise. Then she heard her father's footsteps and his voice calling
to Inez, as he went from room to room. But there was no answer, and
presently he went away, bolting the door a second time. There could be
no more doubt about it now. Dolores was quite alone. Her heart beat
heavily and slowly. But it was not over yet. Again the bolt slipped in
the outer hall, and again she heard the heavy steps. They came straight
towards the door. He had perhaps changed his mind, or he had something
more to say; she held her breath, but he did not come in. As if to make
doubly sure, he bolted her into the little room, crossed the hall a last
time, and bolted it for the night, perfectly certain that Dolores was
safely shut off from the outer world.

For some minutes she sat quite still, profoundly disturbed, and utterly
unable to find any way out of her difficulty, which was, indeed, that
she was in a very secure prison.

Then again there was a sound at the door, but very soft this time, not
half as loud in her ears as the beating of her own heart. There was
something ghostly in it, for she had heard no footsteps. The bolt moved
very slowly and gently--she had to strain her ears to hear it move. The
sound ceased, and another followed it--that of the door being cautiously
opened. A moment later Inez was in the room--turning her head anxiously
from side to side to hear Dolores' breathing, and so to find out where
she was. Then as Dolores rose, the blind girl put her finger to her
lips, and felt for her sister's hand.