And weariness it was, but not of the body. Their souls were a-wearied through being unable to give utterance to the thoughts and passions that for hours had been convulsing them. Ever since passing the chain-gang they had been forced to keep up faces, seem as they felt not, smile when they could have wept. This the Condesa had counselled for reasons already hinted at; and now back home, with no one to see or hear, they were giving way to the wild tumult of emotion so long pent up. For a time the Condesa made no rejoinder, herself as much affected as her friend. Both sat in despairing attitudes, heads drooped, and hands clasping them as though they ached; bosoms rising and falling in laboured undulation, the hearts within them painfully pulsing. All so unlike themselves, in such discordance with their great beauty, and the rich robes they wore. Looking at two such women, one could ill believe it possible for them to be otherwise than happy; yet, at that moment, both were miserable as misery itself. "Ah, yes!" sighed the Countess, at length, and like as if awakening from some weird dream, its impress still upon her face. "To think of it; and fearful it is to think of. I understand things better now. My Ruperto is indeed in danger--more than I this morning believed. And your Florencio too. I could read his death in the eyes of Don Carlos Santander; and one told me the Tejanos are all to be shot!" "O Ysabel, say not that! If they kill him, they may kill me! The man I love! Santa Guadalupe--Blessed Virgin! Save, oh, save him from such a fate!" Against the wall was a picture of this, the patroness Saint of Mexico-- for there is one in every Mexican house--and, while speaking, the young girl had risen from her chair, glided across the room, and fallen upon her knees before it. In this attitude she remained for some moments, her hands crossed over her breast, her lips moving as though she muttered a prayer. Altogether differently acted the Condesa. She was not of the devotional sort, where it seemed unlikely to be of practical service. Good Catholic enough, and observant of all the ceremonies, but no believer in miracles; and therefore distrustful of what Santa Guadalupe, or any other saint, could do for them. She had more belief in the Cromwellian doctrine of keeping the powder dry; and that she meant to practise it, not with powder, but with her purse, was soon made evident by her speech. "It's no use kneeling there," she said, starting to her feet, and again showing spirit. "Let us pray in our hearts. I've been doing that already, and I'm sure so have you. Something else should be done now-- another effort made--this time with money; no matter how much it takes. Yes, Luisa, we must act." "I want to act," rejoined the other, as she forsook the kneeling posture, with an abruptness not common to devotees; "only tell me how. Can you?"