Another hour brought him a good four miles farther on, and still he kept up the same pace. He now reached a place where the road took a somewhat sudden turn, and wound around a rocky projection on the lull-side. Here, as he turned, he came full upon a figure that was walking in the opposite direction. It was the figure of a woman; and in that bright moonshine it was easy to see that she was young, and graceful, and light, and elastic. Coming suddenly upon the priest as she did, at the turn in the road, she was evidently quite terrified. Her attitude was that of a stealthy fugitive; and as she met him there was, in her sudden involuntary gesture, the appearance of one who has been captured by a pursuer. For an instant she recoiled in an agony of terror, but then one glance at the costume of the priest seemed to reassure her; and then, clasping her hands, she came nearer, and said, in tremulous tones: "_Padre! padre! per l'amor de Dios soccorre me_!" The priest looked at her for a few moments in silence. Then he spoke. "_Etez vous Francaise, mademoiselle_?" The woman shook her head. "_E ella Italiana_?" Again she shook her head. "_Sind sie Deutsch_?" Another shake of the head, and then she said: "_Yo soy Inglesa_." The priest gave a long whistle. "English!" he cried; "English! Then in future please be kind enough to speak English, for your Spanish--is--well, declined, with thanks." At these words the woman started, and then, with an uncontrollable impulse, seized the hand of the priest in a convulsive grasp. "Oh!" she cried, "are you really--really an Englishman? Oh, thank Heaven! thank Heaven! Then you will help me!" "English?" said the priest; "well, for the matter of that, I'm anything you please just now, in this infernal country. I certainly do speak English, but at the same time I prefer calling myself what I am--namely, an American." This loquacity of the priest made no impression upon the woman, who was absorbed now by her one idea of escape, of obtaining help, of flight. "Oh, sir," she continued, "can you help me? Can I go on by this road? Do you know what I can do? Will you tell me?" "Oh yes," said the priest, "I'll tell you. I do not know what you can do. What can you do? You can read, perhaps, and I suppose you can play the piano, and crochet; but I know what you cannot do--you cannot speak Spanish." These words were spoken with the indifferent air of one who is thinking of something else. "Ah, sir," said the woman, in a tone of anguish, "don't mock at me! I'm in distress unspeakable. I've--I've lost my way." She could scarcely speak from agitation. The priest was silent for a moment. Then he drew a long breath. "Lost your way?" said he. "Well, that is queer too. Your way--and what way can that be in times like these, and here in this country, and, above all, in this part of the country? Are you walking for a wager? Are you going round the world in a bee-line? Do you carry a portable canoe?"