"_Madre di Dios!_" cried the nun, her face lighting up with a smile of astonished delight, "can it be possible! How did you come here?" "In one of my father's ships," I replied. "I am a seaman on board of her." "What, the Cabot?" asked Sister Agatha, suddenly, with a color in her cheeks. "No, a new ship--the Gentile." The nun made many inquiries about my father and mother, and her cousins in Boston; and we chatted away quite merrily for some minutes. "You seem to take an interest in the world, after all," said I, striving to lead the conversation so that I might introduce the matter which was my business. "Not much, generally," sighed Sister Agatha. "I sometimes think of past times with regret, but I am for the most part very happy." This was a stumper. I determined to see if all this composure was real. "Can any one hear us?" I whispered. "No," answered the nun, opening her great eyes. "Well, then, I've a great deal to tell you. Let me ask you, in the first place, if you know where your brother Pedro is." I was frightened at the expression which my cousin's face assumed. "Yes!" she said, in a hoarse voice, "he is in the _Guarda-Costa_. My God! Frank! I saw him a year ago in the streets, toiling as a scavenger." I saw that there was yet deep feeling under the cold, melancholy exterior. I had but little time to work, and hastened to proceed. "Cousin Clara," I resumed, "you are mistaken; your brother has escaped from confinement, and is now on board my ship, the Gentile." "Thank God!" cried the nun, clasping her hands, "now am I willing to die." "And further," said I, immediately continuing my revelations, "can you repress your feelings?" "What more can you have to tell me?" whispered Sister Agatha. "Go on, I am not so nearly stone as I thought myself; but I can hear without any dangerous outbreak of emotion whatever you have to say." "Well," I resumed, "you were mistaken about Mr. Stewart's death--" I had been too abrupt. The nun turned deadly pale, and clung to the bars of the grate for support; but the emotion was momentary. "Go on," said she, in a hoarse whisper. "Can you bear it?" I asked, anxiously. "Yes, no matter what it may be." "Command yourself, then; Mr. Stewart is not only alive, but well; he loves you yet most ardently, but without hope; he is now on board of the Gentile, he and Pedro--not three miles from you." While thus by piecemeal I doled out my information, I watched the effect on my auditor. There was no more fainting. Her lips parted, and displayed her white teeth firmly set against each other, and her little hands grasped the bars of the grate convulsively. Quickly and concisely I stated my plan for her escape; but still she maintained the same attitude; she did not even seem to hear me. "Clara, do you consent?" I cried, in despair, for I heard the steps of the Superior and Mr. Stowe. Suddenly she extended her hand through the grate and grasped mine. "I do," she said, "if I'm damned for it."