siesta; or, perhaps, an attack of the gout, or a stroke of apoplexy.
Such, after all, are the chances of human felicity, the pivots on which
turns the solemn wheel of human life."

Fonseca made no reply for some moments; he traversed the room with hasty
and disordered strides, and at last stopped abruptly.

"Calderon, there is no option; I must throw myself on your generosity,
your faith, your friendship. I will write to Beatriz; I will tell her,
for my sake, to confide in you."

As he spoke, Don Martin turned to the table, and wrote a hasty and
impassioned note, in which he implored the novice to trust herself to the
directions of Don Roderigo Calderon, his best, his only friend; and, as
he placed this letter in the hands of the courtier he turned aside to
conceal his emotions. Calderon himself was deeply moved: his cheek was
flushed, and his hand seemed tremulous as it took the letter.

"Remember," said Fonseca, "that I trust to you my life of life. As you
are true to me, may Heaven be merciful to you!"

Calderon made no answer, but turned to the door. "Stay," said Fonseca;
"I had forgot this--here is the master key."

"True; how dull I was! And the porter--will he attend to thy proxy?"

"Doubt it not. Accost him with the word, 'Grenada.' But he expects to
share the flight."

"That can be arranged. To-morrow you will hear of my success.