ace amid the infinite glories of God; of God,
whom we always represent surrounded with the fires of love and seistrons
of gold--music and light and harmony. Is not He the Cause and the End of
all our strivings?

The French General guessed rightly that here in the desert, on this bare
rock in the sea, the nun had seized upon music as an outpouring of the
passion that still consumed her. Was this her manner of offering up her
love as a sacrifice to God? Or was it Love exultant in triumph over God?
The questions were hard to answer. But one thing at least the General
could not mistake--in this heart, dead to the world, the fire of passion
burned as fiercely as in his own.

Vespers over, he went back to the alcalde with whom he was staying.
In the all-absorbing joy which comes in such full measure when a
satisfaction sought long and painfully is attained at last, he could see
nothing beyond this--he was still loved! In her heart love had grown
in loneliness, even as his love had grown stronger as he surmounted one
barrier after another which this woman had set between them! The glow of
soul came to its natural end. There followed a longing to see her again,
to contend with God for her, to snatch her away--a rash scheme, which
appealed to a daring nature. He went to bed, when the meal was over, to
avoid questions; to be alone and think at his ease; and he lay absorbed
by deep thought till day broke.

He rose only to go to mass. He went to the church and knelt close to
the screen, with his forehead touching the curtain; he would have torn
a hole in it if he had been alone, but his host had come with him out of
politeness, and the least imprudence might compromise the whole future
of his love, and ruin the new hopes.

The organ sounded, but it was another player, and not the nun of the
last two days whose hands touched the keys. It was all colorless and
cold for the General. Was the woman he loved prostrated by emotion which
well-nigh overcame a strong man's heart? Had she so fully realised and
shared an unchanged, longed-for love, that now she lay dying on her bed
in her cell? While innumerable thoughts of this kind perplexed his mind,
the voice of the woman he worshipped rang out close beside him; he knew
its clear resonant soprano. It was her voice, with that faint tremor in
it which gave it all the charm that shyness and diffidence gives to a
young girl; her voice, distinct from the mass of singing as a _prima
donna's_