At this moment Juanita turned round and perceiving them gave a little start which Mon saw.  He turned his head to the left; Sarrion was standing in the semi-darkness at his shoulder.  Then he turned to the right and there was Marcos, motionless, with a handkerchief held to his lips.

Evasio Mon reflected for a moment; then he turned to Sarrion with his ready smile.

“Do you come here to see me?” he whispered.

“I want you to get Juanita de Mogente away from this as quickly as possible,” returned Sarrion 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.”