In the dimness I had a glimpse of the face of my conductor--a thin, wonderfully hollow-cheeked lay brother. He began, with great gentleness, to assist me out of my black robes, and then he said: “The senorita will be here very soon with the Señor Tomas,” and then added, with an infinitely sad and tender, dim smile: “Will not the Señor Caballero, if it is not repugnant, say a prayer for the repose of...” He pointed gently upwards to the great flagstone above which was the coffin of Don Balthasar and Carlos. The priest himself was one of those very holy, very touching---perhaps, very stupid--men that one finds in such places. With his dim, wistful face he is very present in my memory. He added: “And that the good God of us all may keep it in the Señor Caballero’s heart to care well for the soul of the dear senorita.” “I am a very old man,” he whispered, after a pause. He was indeed an old man, quite worn out, quite without hope on earth. “I have loved the senorita since she was a child. The Señor Caballero takes her from us. I would have him pray--to be made worthy.” Whilst I was doing it, the place began to be alive with whispers of garments, of hushed footsteps, a small exclamation in a gruff voice. Then the stone above moved out of its place, and a blaze of light fell down from the choir above. I saw beside me Seraphina’s face, brilliantly lit, looking upwards. Tomas Castro said: “Come quickly... come quickly... the prayers are ending; there will be people in the street.” And from above an enormous voice intoned: “_Tu.. u.. ba mi.. i.. i..rum..._” And the serpent groaned discordantly. The end of a great box covered with black velvet glided forward above our heads; ropes were fastened round it. The priest had opened a door in the shadowy distance, beside a white marble tablet in the thick walls. The coffin up above moved forward a little again; the ropes were readjusted with a rattling, wooden sound. A dry, formal voice intoned from above: “_Èrit... Justus Ab auditione..._” From the open door the priest rattled his keys, and said, “Come, come,” impatiently. I was horribly afraid that Seraphina would shriek or faint, or refuse to move. There was very little time. The pirates might stream out of the front of the cathedral as we came from the back; the bishop had promised to accentuate the length of the service. But Seraphina glided towards the open door; a breath of fresh air reached us. She looked back once. The coffin was swinging right over the hole, shutting out the light. Tomas Castro took her hand and said, “Come... come,” with infinite tenderness. He had been sobbing convulsedly. We went up some steps, and the door shut behind us with a sound like a sigh of relief.