strong grasp. She shook it slightly: a hollow echo answered back.
Entrance was impossible; and even as she lingered irresolute, the
sound of approaching steps was borne to her listening ears by the
night wind. What should she do? Without a moment's hesitation she
glided swiftly to a cluster of chapperal, and crouched low among its
thorny branches. Inez had scarcely secreted herself, when the figure
of a man, directing his steps to the house she had just left, warned
her to keep quiet. He stood still a moment, then knocked. Drearily the
knock resounded through the empty building. Again was the signal for
admission given, but no response greeted the anxious tympanums.

"Why in the name of twenty devils don't you open the door?" and he
shook it violently: still no answer.

"I swear I'll batter it down, and stretch you on it to boot, if you
don't let me in. Why do you keep me waiting? I am too late already."

"Nay, nay; restrain your impatience," said a voice behind him.

"By the saints, you are come in good time, Padre. I had well-nigh made
a soldier's entrance."

"No need of violence, Señor. Why could not you wait in Christian
patience?"

"Look here, my good friend. I came not all the way from Mexico to
listen to a lecture; and you will do well to save your canting for a
better time and a worse man. So, Mazzolin, just open the door of this
cursed den."