"Almost every one," said L'Isle, as they turned to ride on their way, "here and throughout the Peninsula, is buried in a religious habit--the men in the uniform of friars, the women dressed like pilgrims, and the girls like nuns. They are loaded with a freight of rosaries, _agni dei_, and other saintly jewelry, fastened to the neck, hands and feet, and stuffed into the clothes. Convents have often a warehouse appropriated to this posthumous wardrobe, in the sale of which they drive a profitable trade. It was a most natural mistake made by a stranger, who, after being a few weeks at Madrid, and seeing so many Franciscans interred, expressed his astonishment at the prodigious number of them in the city, and asked if their order was not entirely carried off by this violent epidemic." "I suppose," said Lady Mabel, "the custom originated in the propensity so strong in us all, to live sinners and die saints." "Exactly so," L'Isle answered; "it is a fraudulent custom, old as the fifth century, and common in popish countries. It is nothing less than an attempt to cheat St. Peter, who, you know, keeps the keys of heaven, by knocking at the gate in the disguise of a monk or a friar." "I have too much faith in St. Peter's vigilance and penetration," said Mrs. Shortridge, "to think he has ever been so taken in." They presently got out of the city; but, to Moodie's displeasure, by a gate opposite to that by which they had entered it. He was still more annoyed, when, on coming to a place where the road branched into two, the commissary took a brief though kindly leave of his wife and friends, and, followed by his man, galloped off to the right, on a professional chase after grain and bullocks. L'Isle was surprised to find himself regretting the loss of their fellow-traveler. He had found him, always remembering that he was a commissary, a very good fellow; for we can find some good in every man, if we take the trouble to look for it; and Shortridge was one who, after taking care of himself, was quite willing to take care of other people. But L'Isle's regret was nothing to Moodie's, whose habits of life led him to appreciate the nature and importance of the commissary's official duties. He valued him as a practical, responsible man of business, with no foolish fancies about him. He admired the summary way in which he had disposed of the extortionate inn-keeper, and now looked after him almost in despair; for he did not think the party left behind by any means fit to take care of themselves or each other. L'Isle he did not understand and mistrusted, doubting whether he were merely idly rambling about the country, or harbored some covert design, the object of which was Lady Mabel, of course. "My Lady," said he, riding up beside her, and speaking in an under tone, "this is not the road we traveled coming from Elvas. Where are you going to now?"