windows fell athwart the nave in rich prismatic streams. Beautiful as
the interior had been yesterday, it was yet more so this morning. These
shafts of light piercing the semi-darkness created a marvellous effect
of contrast, adding infinitely to the charm of the lovely building.

There was no mistaking the tall slender figure that approached us with
its quiet grace. It was Anselmo, his face lighted up with its rare
smile.

"We meet again," he said, in tones subdued to the sacred spot on which
we stood. "And yesterday I know that you met and conversed with Rosalie.
As we went together this morning to the bedside of a dear maiden whose
days are numbered, she told me of your encounter. I am glad. Now you
know us both and will keep us together in your memory. You must have
seen that she is more angel than woman walking the earth. I often
wonder how all her deep affection, purified and exalted, can be given to
one so unworthy. You smile! You think ours a strange history, we a
singular pair. I suppose it is so. Ours must be almost a unique
experience; and I believe that to few in this world is given the peace
and happiness we enjoy."

Talking, we passed on to the cloisters, lovelier than ever in their
brilliant light and shade. Once more we went through the north doorway
and gazed down upon San Pedro, the desecrated church, the ancient town
walls, and ruined citadel crowning the slopes. Sunshine everywhere; hope
upon all; the gloomy skies of yesterday forgotten; earth seemed many
degrees nearer heaven. We climbed down into the narrow streets and found
Miguel at his door waiting to give us a morning salutation.

"The photograph, senor. Is it a success?"

We told him that still lay in the uncertain future.

Again we found ourselves seated upon the ruined citadel. It was
difficult to realise all the horrors of that long past invasion under
the influence of these glorious skies, the gladness of this laughing
sunshine. The air was scented with wild thyme. The outlines of the
towers stood out wonderfully; the blue of heaven shone through the open
work of San Filiu's lovely steeple. All the sunshine glinted upon the
leaves of the trees in the hollow and traced patterns in the hanging
gardens.

"How beautiful it all is," said Anselmo. "On such days how thin the veil
separating the seen from the unseen. Our vision seems only just
withholden. What an awakening it will be to the higher life!"

With him, also, we had to part; a