"No matter; Fortune might favor me, and make me rich, and then,--and then,--who is to tell what changes might follow? The Caballero might bid adieu to the 'Placer,' and the fair 'Donna Maria' wave a good-bye to the nunnery--and, by the way, that is a very cruel destiny they intend for you." "Who knows? I was very happy in the 'Sacred Heart.'" "Possibly, Maria; but you were a child, and would have been happy anywhere. But think of the future; think of the time when you will be loved, and will love in turn; think of that bright world of which the convent-window does not admit one passing glance. Think of the glorious freedom to enjoy whatever is beautiful in Nature, and to feel sympathies with all that is great and good; and reflect upon the sad monotony of the cloister,--its cold and cheerless existence, uncared for, almost unfelt." "And when the Superior is cross!" cried she, holding up her hands. "And she is always cross, Maria. That austere habit repels every generous emotion, as it defies every expansion of the heart. No, no; you must not be a nun." "Well, I will not," said she. "You promise me this, Maria?" "Yes, upon one condition,--that you will come to the 'Placer,' and tell my father all that you have told to me. He is so good and so kind, he 'll never force me." "But will he receive me? Will your father permit me so to speak?" "You saved my life, Señhor," said she, half-proudly; "and little as you reckon such a service, it is one upon which Don Estavan Olares will set some store." "Ah!" said I, sighing, "how little merit had I in the feat! It did not even cause me the slightest injury." "I am just as gratified as though you had been eaten by an alligator, Señhor," said she, laughing with a sly malice that made me half suspect that some, at least, of her innocence was assumed. From this we wandered on to speak of the journey for the morrow, which I proposed she should make upon "Charry," while Fra Miguel and myself accompanied her on foot. It was also agreed between us that we should preserve the most rigid reserve and distance of manner in the Friar's presence, rarely noticing or speaking with each other. One only difficulty existed, which was by what pretence I should direct my steps to Aguaverde. But here again Donna Maria's ready wit suggested the expedient, as she said, laughing, "Are you not making a pilgrimage to the shrine of Our Lady 'des los Dolores '?" "So I am," said I. "Shame on me that I should have forgotten it till now!" "Did you never tell me," said she, archly, "that you intended to enter 'an order'?" "Certainly," said I, joining the merry humor; "and so will I, on the very same day you take the veil." "And now, holy man," said she, with difficulty repressing a fresh burst of laughter, "let us say, 'Good night.' Fra Miguel will awake at daybreak, and I see that is already near."