y a hand across his lips.

"Hush, Monsieur, have you forgotten? The driver knows, he is one of
us. Come with me; and I pray you, I beseech you, don't speak, don't
make a sound; step softly and follow."

In a moment the girl was out of the carriage and Velasco behind. Her
veil fluttered back; her cloak brushed his shoulder. The storm and the
wind beat against them. He ran blindly forward, battling with the
gale; but fast as he went she went faster. He could scarcely keep up.
In the distance behind them, the carriage and horses were lost in a
white mist, a whirl.

"Here," she cried, "Bow your head, quick, the arch--and then through
the gate--run! Take my hand in the court--let me lead you. I know
every step. Run--run! You waited so long; we shall be late. There is
barely time before the train. Ah, run, Monsieur--run!"

The two figures dashed through the alley and into an open cloister,
running with their heads bowed against the wind, struggling with the
snow in their eyes, in their throats; blinded, panting.

"Stop!" gasped Velasco, "I can't run like this. Stop! You mad thing,
you witch! Where, where are you going? Stop, I tell you!"

She dragged at his hand. "Come--a moment further. Come, Monsieur.
Ah, it is death--don't falter. Run!"

She caught at a little door under the wall and pushed it madly. It
yielded. He sprang in behind her; and then he stood blinking, amazed.

They were alone in the dark, ghostly nave of a huge Church. The long
rows of columns stretched out in the distance, tall and stately like
pines in a forest; the aisles were broad and shadowy, leading far off
in a distant perspective to the outline of an altar and a high cross
suspended. They were dim, barely visible.

"Where are we?" he murmured, faltering. "Kaya, speak--tell me."

She put up her face close to his and he saw that her lips were
quivering, her eyes blurred with tears. Her veil was white with the
snow, like a bride's. She dragged at his hand, and he followed her
dumbly, their footsteps echoing, a soft patter across the marble of the
church.

It was absolutely dark; only on the far distant altar three candles
were lighted, three sparks, red and restless, like fireflies gleaming.
Otherwise the nave, the chancel, the transepts were as one vast
blackness stretching before them. They fled on in silence; their goal
was the candles.

At first the space before the altar seemed empty, deserted, like the
rest