dank masses
round her face, and her fragile form was unable to maintain its upright
position. Micaela, the waiting-maid, yawned incessantly, and audibly
groaned at each rough stumble or uncomfortable movement of her mule.
Several times during the drowsy morning hours, she had nearly fallen
from her saddle, and had to thank Paco, who had taken his station beside
her, for saving her from more than one tumble. Paco, either out of
respect to the presence of Rita, or concern for the Count's misfortune,
rode along, contrary to his custom, in profound silence, and without
indulging in any of those snatches of muleteers' songs with which it was
his wont to beguile the tedium of a march.

Upon nearing the place where she expected to find her father, Rita's
impatience to behold him, and to ascertain for herself the exact extent
of the injury he had received, increased to a feverish degree, and on
reaching the convent gate, already open for her reception, she sprang
from her mule without assistance. But she had over-rated her strength;
her limbs, stiffened by the long ride and the cold night air, refused
their service, and she would have fallen to the ground had not Paco, who
was already off his horse, given her the support of his arm. The
portress and another old lay sister were the only persons visible in the
court, and the last of these invited Rita to accompany her into the
convent. Paco held out his horse's bridle and those of the mules to
Jaime, intending to follow his young mistress, but the gipsy hesitated
to take them, and the lay sister, perceiving Paco's intention,
interposed to prevent its execution.

"You must remain here," said she; "I have no orders to admit men into
the convent, nor can I, without express orders from the lady abbess."

Paco obeyed the injunction, and the three women disappeared through a
door of the right wing of the building. They had been gone less than a
minute, when the lay sister again came forth, and, approaching the
gipsy, desired him to follow her. He did so, and Paco remained alone
with the horses.

With eager step, and a heart palpitating with anxiety, Rita followed her
guide into the convent, making, as she went, anxious enquiries
concerning her father's health. To her first question the old woman
replied by an inarticulate mumble; and upon its repetition, a brief "I
do not know; the lady abbess will see you,"--checked any further attempt
upon a person who either could not or would