't know how it is with you; but I know that
_I_ have, one way and another, rolled up quite an account of sins in my
life. When I was tramping up and down with my old man through the
country,--now in this castle and then in that camp, and now and then in at
the sacking of a city or village, or something of the kind,--the saints
forgive us!--it does seem as if one got into things that were not of the
best sort, in such times. It's true, it's been wiped out over and over by
the priest; but then a pilgrimage is a good thing to make all sure, in
case one's good works should fall short of one's sins at last. I can tell
you, a pilgrimage is a good round weight to throw into the scale; and when
it comes to heaven and hell, you know, my dear, why, one cannot be too
careful."

"Well, that may be true enough," said Elsie,--"though, as to my sins, I
have tried to keep them regularly squared up and balanced as I went along.
I have always been regular at confession, and never failed a jot or tittle
in what the holy father told me. But there may be something in what you
say; one can't be too sure; and so I'll e'en school my old bones into
taking this tramp."

That evening, as Agnes was sitting in the garden at sunset, her
grandmother bustling in and out, talking, groaning, and, hurrying in her
preparations for the anticipated undertaking, suddenly there was a
rustling in the branches overhead, and a bouquet of rose-buds fell at her
feet. Agnes picked it up, and saw a scrip of paper coiled among the
flowers. In a moment remembering the apparition of the cavalier in the
church in the morning, she doubted not from whom it came. So dreadful had
been the effect of the scene at the confessional, that the thought of the
near presence of her lover brought only terror. She turned pale; her hands
shook. She shut her eyes, and prayed that she might not be left to read
the paper; and then, summoning all her resolution, she threw the bouquet
with force over the wall. It dropped down, down, down the gloomy, shadowy
abyss, and was lost in the damp caverns below.

The cavalier stood without the wall, waiting for some responsive signal in
reply to his missive. It had never occurred to him that Agnes would not
even read it, and he stood confounded when he saw it thrown back with such
apparent rudeness. He remembered her pale, terrified look on seeing him in
the morning. It was not indifference or dislike, but mortal fear, that had
been shown in that