"Two of them have fallen in—the only two who ventured to follow me!" said she. "I stepped aside, thinking that they would stop when they lost sight of me, but I suppose the gleam on the water deceived them. Poor wretches!" There was an interval of silence, during which we all softly recited the prayer for souls in extremis. "What are they doing now?" asked one of our number. "They are setting fire to the buildings. Do you not smell the smoke?" said the priest. "But we have little to fear, even in that case. A storm has been gathering all day and is about to burst. Do you not hear the thunder? 'The Lord shall fight for us, and we will hold our peace.'" I had heard what sounded like thunder two or three times, but there were so many noises that I had taken little heed to it. Now, however, came a tremendous crash, and a faint gleam of lightning showed what I had before suspected—that we were near some place which opened to the air—perhaps to the old well in the court, which would account for our hearing so plainly. The rush of rain which followed must have at once extinguished the fires, and no doubt drove our enemies into the buildings for shelter. For a time, we heard nothing but the tremendous thunder and the rain. Then I began to be sensible of another sound, unlike anything, unless it be the rushing of a stream swollen by a torrent. "What is that?" asked some one. "Hush!" said the priest, imperatively. We all listened. The sounds grew louder. "They have digged a pit, and fallen into the midst of it themselves!" said the priest exultingly. "'In the snare that they laid privily is their foot taken.' Our friends have arrived, and we are saved." In effect, we heard in a moment, a tremendous outcry, many shots fired, and other sounds which told us that a combat was going on. The tumult died away by degrees, but was renewed once or twice, as though the robbers were making a desperate defense. There was an interval of silence, and then a manly, cheerful voice called aloud, as it seemed, from the stairs: "The reverend mothers and sisters may now come from their hiding places without fear. Their enemies are all prisoners in the hands of the king's troops. Laudate dominium." I suppose this Latin phrase was a kind of watchword to let our superiors know that all was right. Anxious as we all were to escape from our prison, there was no haste. We arranged our dresses as decently as possible, for in a convent one learns to dress without the help of a mirror; the priest took up the Host, and, in procession as we descended, we emerged to the light of day—for it was now morning, and the sky was brightening toward sunrise. We found the court occupied by a company of soldiers, with a young officer in command, keeping guard over a number of prisoners. Several dead bodies were stretched out on the stones, and two or three wounded wretches were groaning among them.