d 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?"

For some seconds the Condesa let the question remain unanswered. Once
more her hand had gone up to her head, the jewelled fingers met and
clasped upon her brow--this time to quicken reflection; some scheme,
already half conceived, needing further elaboration.

Whatever the plan, it was soon worked out complete, as evinced by her
words following.

"_Amiga mia_; is there in your service one we can implicitly trust?"

"Jose. You know we can trust him."

"True. But he won't do for the first step to be taken: which is,
indeed, only to deliver a letter. But it needs being adroitly done, and
a woman will be the better for that. Besides, Jose will be wanted for
something else, at the same time. There are two or three of my own
female following could be relied on, so far as fidelity is concerned;
but, unluckily, they're all known on the Calle de Plateros, as well as
the street itself; and there isn't any of them particularly intelligent
or dexterous. What we stand in need of now is one possessed of both
these qualities--either woman or girl."

"Would Pepita do?"

"You mean the little _mestizo_, who was with you at New Orleans?"

"The same. She's all that; and, besides, devoted to me."

Don Ignacio's daughter had reason to know this, from experience in the