“I had not remained long in this state of agitation, when I heard a step approach,--it was that of him I expected. “Rise,” said he, for I was on my knees; “rise,--we have no time to lose. You have but an hour to remain in the church, and I have much to tell you in that hour.” I rose. “To-morrow night is fixed for your escape.”--“To-morrow night,--merciful God!”--“Yes; in desperate steps there is always more danger from delay than from precipitation. A thousand eyes and ears are on the watch already,--a single sinister or ambiguous movement would render it impossible to escape their vigilance. There may be some danger in hastening matters thus, but it is unavoidable. To-morrow night, after midnight, descend to the church, it is probable no one will then be here. If any one should, (engaged in recollection or in penance), retire to avoid suspicion. Return as soon as the church is empty,--I will be here. Do you observe that door?” and he pointed to a low door which I had often observed before, but never remembered to have seen opened; “I have obtained the key of that door,--no matter by what means. It formerly led to the vaults of the convent, but, for some extraordinary reasons, which I have not time to relate, another passage has been opened, and the former has not been employed or frequented for many years. From thence branches another passage, which, I have heard, opens by a trap-door into the garden.”--“Heard,” I repeated; “Good God! is it on report, then, you depend in a matter so momentous? If you are not certain that such a passage exists, and that you will be able to trace its windings, may we not be wandering amid them all night? Or perhaps----” “Interrupt me no more with those faint objections; I have no time to listen to fears which I can neither sympathise with or obviate. When we get through the trap-door into the garden, (if ever we do), another danger awaits us.” He paused, I thought, like a man who is watching the effect of the terrors he excites, not from malignity but vanity, merely to magnify his own courage in encountering them. I was silent; and, as he heard neither flattery nor fear, he went on. “Two fierce dogs are let loose in the garden every night,--but they must be taken care of. The wall is sixteen feet high,--but your brother has provided a ladder of ropes, which he will fling over, and by which you may descend on the other side in safety.”--“Safety! but then Juan will be in danger.”--“Interrupt me no more,--the danger within the walls is the least you have to dread, beyond them, where can you seek for refuge or secrecy? Your brother’s money will enable you possibly to escape from Madrid. He will bribe high, and every inch of your way must be paved with his gold. But, after that, so many dangers present themselves, that the enterprise and the danger seem but just begun. How will you cross the Pyrennees? How----” and he passed his hand over his forehead, with