was but dimly visible through the shadows around it. And then there
emerged timidly a female form; and a soft voice whispered "It is thou,
Fonseca!"

"Hist!" was the answer; "he waits without. Be quick; speak not--come."

Beatriz recoiled in surprise and alarm at the voice of a stranger; but
the man, seizing her by the hand, drew her hastily from the chapel, and
hurried her across the garden, through a small postern door, which stood
ajar, into an obscure street bordering the convent wall. Here stood the
expectant porter, with a bundle in his hand, which he opened, and took
thence a long cloak, such as the women of middling rank in Madrid wore in
the winter season, with the customary mantilla or veil. With these,
still without speaking, the stranger hastily shrouded the form of the
novice, and once more hurried her on till about a hundred yards from the
garden gate he came to a carriage, into which he lifted Beatriz,
whispered a few words to the porter, seated himself by the side of the
novice, and the vehicle drove rapidly away.

It was some moments before Beatriz could sufficiently recover from her
first agitation and terror, to feel alive to all the strangeness of her
situation. She was alone with a stranger; where was Fonseca? She turned
towards her companion.

"Who art thou?" she said, "whither art thou leading me-and why--"

"Why is not Don Martin by thy side? Pardon me, senora: I have a billet
for thee from Fonseca; in a few minutes thou wilt know all."

At this time the vehicle came suddenly in the midst of a train of footmen