in a whisper. "We need not disturb the
service."

"But, my friend," protested Mon, still smiling, "by what right?"

"That you must ask of Marcos."

Mon turned to Marcos in silent inquiry and he received a wordless answer;
for Marcos held under his eyes in the half light the certificate of
marriage signed by that political bishop who was no Carlist, and was ever
a thorn in the side of the Churchmen striving for an absolute monarchy.

Mon shook his head still smiling, more in sorrow than in anger, at the
misfortune which his duty compelled him to point out.

"It is not legal, my dear Marcos; it is not legal."

He glanced round into Marcos' still face and perceived perhaps that he
might as well try the effect of words upon the stone pillar behind him.
He reflected again for a moment, while the service proceeded and the
voices of the choir rose and fell like the waves of the sea in a deep
cave. It was a simple enough ceremonial denuded of many of the mediaeval
mummeries which have been revived by a newer emotional Church for the
edification of the weak-minded.

Juanita glanced back again and saw Mon kneeling between the two
motionless upright men, who were grave while he smiled ... and smiled.

Then at length he rose to his feet and stood for a moment. If he ever
hesitated in his life it was at that instant. And Marcos' hand came
forward beneath his eyes pointing inexorably at Juanita. There was a
pause in the service, a momentary silence only broken by the smothered
sobs of the novice who knelt next to Juanita.

The organ rolled out its deep voice again, and under cover of the sound
Mon stepped forward and touched Juanita on the shoulder. She turned
instantly, and he beckoned to her to follow him. If the priests at the
altar perceived anything they made no sign. Sor Teresa, absorbed in
prayer, never turned her head. The service went on uninterruptedly.

Sarrion led the way and Mon followed. Juanita glanced at Marcos,
indicated with a nod Evasio Mon's back, and made a gay little grimace,
suggestive of that schemer's discomfiture. Then she followed Mon, and
Marcos came noiselessly behind her.

They passed out through the dark passage behind the organ into the old
cloister.

There Mon turned to look at Juanita and from her to Marcos. He was
distressed for them.

"It is illegal," he repeated, gently. "Without a dispensation."

And by way of reply Marcos handed him a second paper, bearing at its foot
the oval