her mind, under the deep tiled roof of the corridor,
readjusting itself to tragedy. "I beg that you will
take her at once. Padre Landaeta can give us
chocolate and we will tell our terrible news to him
and receive advice and consolation."

Father Abella, not without a glimmering of the
truth, for better than any one he understood the
girl he had confessed many times, besides himself
having succumbed to the Russian, led the way to
the confessional in some perturbation of spirit. He
walked slowly, hoping that the long, cool church,
its narrow high windows admitting so scant a meed
of sunlight that no one of its worshippers had ever
read the legends on the walls, and even the stations
were but deeper bits of shade, would attune her
mind to holy things, and throw a mantle of un-
reality over those of the world.

He covered his face with his hand as she told her
story. This she did in a few words, disjointed, for
she was both tired and seething. For a few mo-
ments afterward there was a silence; the good priest
was increasingly disturbed and by no means certain
of his course. He was astonished to feel a tug at
his sleeve. Before he could reprove this impenitent
child for audacity she had raised herself that she
might approach her lips more closely to his ear.

"Mi padre!" she whispered hoarsely, "you will