"Fling off that hideous garment which becomes you not at all, and fly with me to my father in the City of Mexico. I hear from him constantly, and he is wealthy and will protect us. The barque, _Joven Guipuzcoanoa,_ leaves Monterey within a week after the convent closes for vacation." The priest raised his clasped hands to heaven. "She is mad! She is mad!" he said. Then he turned on her fiercely. "Go! Go!" he cried. "I hate you!" "Ay, you love me! you love me!" The priest slowly set his face. There was no gleam of expression to indicate whether the words that issued through his lips came from his soul or from that section of his brain instinct with self-protection. He spoke slowly:-- "I am a priest, and a priest I shall die. What is more, I shall denounce you to Doña Concepción, the clergy, and--to your mother. The words that have just violated this chapel were not said under the seal of the confessional, and I shall deal with them as I have said. You shall be punished, that no other man's soul may be imperilled." Pilar threw out her hands wildly. It was her turn to stare; and her eyes were full of horror and disgust. "What?" she cried. "You are a coward? A traitor? You not only dare not acknowledge that you love me, but you would betray me--and to my mother? Ah, Madre de Dios!" "I do not love you. How dare you use such a word to me,--to me, an anointed priest! I shall denounce--and to-night." "_And I loved you_!" He shrank a little under the furious contempt of her eyes. Her whole body quivered with passion. Then, suddenly, she sprang forward and struck him so violent a blow on his cheek that he reeled and clutched the table. But his foot slipped, and he went down with the table on top of him. She laughed into his red unmasked face. "You look what you are down there," she said,--"less than a man, and only fit to be a priest. I hate you! Do your worst." She rushed out of the chapel and across the hall, flinging open the door of the sala. As she stood there with blazing eyes and cheeks, shaking from head to foot, the girls gave little cries of amazement, and Doña Concepción, shaking, came forward hastily; but she reached the door too late. "Go to the priest," cried Pilar. "You will find him on his back squirming under a table, with the mark of my hand on his cheek. He has a tale to tell you." And she flung off the hand of the nun and ran through the halls, striking herself against the walls.