So died my
benefactor and best friend.

When he was made ready for burial I went in to see him and he looked
calm and beautiful in his death sleep. Then it was that she who had
arrayed him for the grave handed to me two portraits most delicately
painted on ivory and set in gold, which had been found about his neck.
I have them yet. One is of the head of a lady with a sweet and wistful
countenance, and the other the face of a dead youth also beautiful, but
very sad. Doubtless they were mother and son, but I know no more about
them.

On the morrow I buried Andres de Fonseca, but with no pomp, for he had
said that he wished as little money as possible spent upon his dead
body, and returned to the house to meet the notaries. Then the seals
were broken and the parchments read and I was put in full possession of
the dead man's wealth, and having deducted such sums as were payable for
dues, legacies, and fees, the notaries left me bowing humbly, for was I
not rich? Yes, I was rich, wealth had come to me without effort, and
I had reason to desire it, yet this was the saddest night that I had
passed since I set foot in Spain, for my mind was filled with doubts and
sorrow, and moreover my loneliness got a hold of me. But sad as it might
be, it was destined to seem yet more sorrowful before the morning. For
as I sat making pretence to eat, a servant came to me saying that a
woman waited in the outer room who had asked to see his late master.
Guessing that this was some client who had not heard of Fonseca's death
I was about to order that she should be dismissed, then bethought me
that I might be of service to her or at the least forget some of my own
trouble in listening to hers. So I bade him bring her in. Presently she
came, a tall woman wrapped in a dark cloak that hid her face. I bowed
and motioned to her to be seated, when suddenly she started and spoke.

'I asked to see Don Andres de Fonseca,' she said in a low quick voice.
'You are not he, senor.'

'Andres de Fonseca was buried to-day,' I answered. 'I was his assistant
in his business and am his heir. If I can serve you in any way I am at
your disposal.'

'You are young--very young,' she murmured confusedly, 'and the matter is
terrible and urgent. How can I trust you?'

'It is for you to judge, senora.'

She thought a while, then drew off her cloak, displaying the robes of a
nun.

'Listen,' she said. 'I must do many a penance for this night's work, and
very hardl