ordeal of the trial. The hour came, but only to crush their hearts
within them. The guilt was fixed by circumstantial evidence on the
unfortunate Magdalena. Poor Juanita was forced to testify to the facts
of a quarrel between her cousin and the hapless duenna, and to violent
language used by the former to the latter. A paper which had contained
poison had been found in the apartment of the accused. Her own hasty
confession of guilt, the dying declaration of the victim added

"--confirmation strong
As proofs of Holy Writ."

Magdalena was condemned to die. In that supreme hour, when her
protestations of innocence had proved of no avail, the film fell from
the organs of her mental vision. Knowing herself guilty of
premeditated suicide, she saw in the established charge of murder a
dreadful retribution. To make her peace with Heaven in the solitude of
the prison cell, was now all that she desired. She had proved the
worthlessness of life, and now she prepared herself to die. But her
tortures were not ended. Julio, her lost lover, demanded an interview
with her, and when, after listening to her sad tale, he renewed his
vows of love, and expressed his firm belief in her innocence, earth
once more bloomed attractive to her eyes; life became again dear to
her at the very moment she was condemned to surrender it. Her
execution was fixed for the next day, at the hour of noon. At that
hour, she was to take her last look of her father, her cousin, her
lover--the last look of God's blessed earth.

The morning came. She had passed the night in prayer, and it found her
firm and resigned. In the heart of a true woman there lies a reserve
of courage that shames the prouder boast of man. She may not face
death on the battle-field with the same defying front; but when it
comes in a more appalling form and scene, she shrinks not from the
dread ordeal. When man's foot trembles on the scaffold, woman stands
there serene, unwavering, and self-sustained.

One hour before the appointed time, the door of Magdalena's cell
opened, and a tall figure, wrapped in a dark cloak, with a slouched
hat and sable plume, stood before her. It was the same who had gazed
on her so often in the church of San Ildefonso, the same who had
encountered Julio in the narrow street with proofs of her alleged
falsity.

"Is the hour arrived?" asked Magdalena, calmly.

"Nay," replied the stranger, in a deep tone. "Can you not see the
prison clock thr