then opened
the door, lifted Beatriz in both his arms, and fled precipitately down
the stairs. He could no longer trust to chance and delay against the
dangers of that abode.

CHAPTER XI. HOWSOEVER THE RIVERS WIND, THE OCEAN RECEIVES THEM ALL.

Meanwhile Fonseca had reached the convent; had found the porter gone;
and, with a mind convulsed with apprehension and doubt, had flown on the
wings of love and fear to the house indicated by Calderon. The grim and
solitary mansion came just in sight--the moon streaming sadly over
its gray and antique walls--when he heard his name pronounced; and the
convent porter emerged from the shadow of a wall beside which he had
ensconced himself.

"Don Martin! it is thou indeed; blessed be the saints! I began to
fear--nay, I fear now, that we were deceived."

"Speak, man, but stop me not! Speak! what horrors hast thou to utter?"

"I knew the cavalier whom thou didst send in thy place! Who knows not
Roderigo Calderon? I trembled when I saw him lift the novice into the
carriage; but I thought I should, as agreed, be companion in the flight.
Not so. Don Roderigo briefly told me to hide where I could this night;
and that to-morrow he would arrange preparations for my flight from
Madrid. My mind misgave me, for Calderon's name is blackened by many
curses. I resolved to follow the carriage. I did so; but my breath and
speed nearly failed, when, fortunately, the carriage was stopped and
entangled by a crowd in the street. No lackeys were behind; I mounted
the footboard unobserved, and descended and hid myself when the carriage
stopped. I knew not the house, but I knew the neighbourhood, a brother
of mine lives at hand. I sought my relative for a night's shelter. I
learned that dark stories had given to that house an evil name. It was
one of those which the Prince of Spain had consecrated to the pursuits
that had dishonoured so many families in Madrid. I resolved again to
go forth and watch. Scarce had I reached this very spot when I saw a
carriage approach rapidly. I secreted myself behind a buttress, and saw
the carriage halt; and a man descended, and walked to the house. See
there--there, by yon crossing, the carriage still waits. The man was
wrapped in a mantle. I know not whom he may be; but--"

"Heavens!" cried Fonseca, as they were now close before the door of
the house at which Calderon's carriage still stood; "I hear a noise, a
shriek, within."

Scarce had he spoken when the