ou are ever at hand when I have need of
you. You are indeed my one true friend--the one true friend that never
fails me."

"Are you feeling stronger, Madonna?" I asked abruptly, roughly almost.

"Yes, I am stronger." She stood up as if to test her strength. "Indeed
little ails me saving the horror of this thing. The thought of it seems
to turn me sick and dizzy."

"Sit then and rest," said I. "Presently, when you are more recovered, we
will set out."

"Whither shall we go?" she asked.

"Why, to the Palace, to your brother."

"Why, yes," she answered, as though it were the last suggestion that
she had been expecting, "And to-morrow--it will be to-morrow, will it
not?--comes the Lord Ignacio to claim his bride. He will owe you no mean
thanks, Lazzaro."

There was a pause. I paced the chamber, a hundred thoughts crowding my
mind, but overriding them all the conjecture of how far it might be from
matins, and how soon we might be discovered by the monks. Presently she
spoke again.

"Lazzaro," she inquired very gently, "what was it brought you to the
church?"

"I came with the others, Madonna, to the burial service," answered I,
and fearing such questions as might follow--questions that I had been
dreading ever since I had brought her to the sacristy--"If you are
recovered we had best be going," I told her gruffly.

"Nay, I am not yet enough recovered," answered she. "And before we go,
there are some points in this strange adventure that I would have you
make clear to me. Meanwhile, we are very well here. If the good fathers
come upon us, what shall it signify?"

I groaned inwardly, and I grew, I think, more afraid than when Ramiro
and his men had broken into the church an hour ago.

"What kept you here after all were gone?"

"I remained to pray, Madonna," I answered brusquely. "Is aught else to
be done in a church?"

"To pray for me, Lazzaro?" she asked.

"Assuredly, Madonna."

"Faithful heart," she murmured. "And I had used you so cruelly for
the deception you practised. But you merited my cruelty, did you not,
Lazzaro? Say that you did, else must I perish of remorse."

"Perhaps I deserved it, Madonna. But perhaps not so much as you
bestowed, had you but understood my motives," I said unguardedly.

"If I had understood your motives?" she mused. "Aye, there is much I do
not understand. Even in this night's transactions there are not wanting
things that remain mysterious despite the explanations you ha