Certainly, she had stood by her daughter in the presence of
the priest; but in her room she withdrew herself from the poor girl as
if she were a spiritual leper.

Antonia at a distance watched the self-abasement of her mother. She
could not weep, but she was white as clay, and her heart was swollen
with a sense of wrong and injustice, until breathing was almost
suffocation. She looked with a piteous entreaty at Isabel. Her little
sister had taken a seat at the extremity of the room away from her. She
watched Antonia with eyes full of terror. But there was no sympathy in
her face, only an uncertainty which seemed to speak to her--to touch
her--and her mother was broken-hearted with shame and grief.

The anxiety was also a dumb one. Until the Senora rose from her knees,
there was not a movement made, not a word uttered. The girls waited
shivering with cold, sick with fear, until she spoke. Even then her
words were cold as the wind outside:

"Go to your room, Antonia. You have not only sinned; you have made me
sin also. Alas! Alas! Miserable mother! Holy Maria! pray for me."

"Mi madre, I am innocent of wrong. I have committed no sin. Is it a sin
to obey my father? Isabel, darling, speak for me."

"But, then, what have you done, Antonia?"

"Fray Ignatius wants us to go to the convent. I refused. My father made
me promise to do so. Is not our first duty to our father? Mother, is it
not?

"No, no; to God--and to Fray Ignatius, as the priest of God. He says we
ought to go to the convent. He knows best. We have been disobedient and
wicked."

"Isabel, speak, my dear one. Tell mi madre if you think we should go."

There was a moment's wavering, and then Isabel went to her mother and
caressed her as only Isabel could caress her, and with the kisses, she
said boldly: "Mi madre, we will not go to the convent. Not any of us. It
is a dreadful place, even for a happy child. Oh, how cold and still are
the Sisters! They are like stone figures that move about."

"Hush, child! I cannot listen to you! Go away! I must be alone. I must
think. I must pray. Only the Mother of Sorrows can help me."

It was a miserable sequence to the happy night, and Antonia was really
terrified at the position in which she found herself. If the Americans
should fall, nothing but flight, or uncompromising submission to Fray
Ignatius, remained for her. She knew only too well how miserable
her life could be made; what moral torture could be inflicted;