ey habitually indulge, and from
the animus of the words they habitually use; and Antonia felt and
understood the antagonistic atmosphere. For the things which we know
best of all are precisely the things which no one has ever told us.

The Senora, in a plain black serge gown, and black rebozo over her head,
spent her time in prayers and penances. The care of her household had
always been delegated to her steward, and to Rachela; while the duties
that more especially belonged to her, had been fulfilled by her husband
and by Antonia. In many respects she was but a grown-up baby. And so, in
this great extremity, the only duty which pressed upon her was the idea
of supplicating the saints to take charge of her unhappy affairs.

And Fray Ignatius was daily more hard with her. Antonia even suspected
from his growing intolerance and bitterness, that the Americans
were gaining unexpected advantages. But she knew nothing of what was
happening. She could hear from afar off the marching and movements of
soldiers; the blare of military music; the faint echoes of hurrahing
multitudes; but there was no one to give her any certain information.
Still, she guessed something from the anger of the priest and the
reticence of the Mexican servants. If good fortune had been with
Santa Anna, she was sure she would have heard of "The glorious! The
invincible! The magnificent Presidente de la Republica Mexicana! The
Napoleon of the West!"

It was not permitted her to go into the city. A proposal to do so had
been met with a storm of angry amazement. And steam and electricity
had not then annihilated distance and abolished suspense. She could but
wonder and hope, and try to read the truth from a covert inspection of
the face and words of Fray Ignatius.

Between this monk and herself the breach was hourly widening. With angry
pain she saw her mother tortured between the fact that she loved her
husband, and the horrible doubt that to love him was a mortal sin. She
understood the underlying motive which prompted the priest to urge upon
the Senora the removal of herself and her daughters to the convent.
His offer to take charge of the Worth residencia and estate was in her
conviction a proposal to rob them of all rights in it. She felt certain
that whatever the Church once grasped in its iron hand, it would ever
retain. And both to Isabel and herself the thought of a convent was now
horrible. "They will force me to be a nun," said Isabel; "and th