Pilar threw out her hands wildly.  It was her turn to stare; and her eyes were full of horror and disgust.

“What?” she cried.  “You are a coward?  A traitor?  You not only dare not acknowledge that you love me, but you would betray me—­and to my mother?  Ah, Madre de Dios!”

“I do not love you.  How dare you use such a word to me,—­to me, an anointed priest!  I shall denounce—­and to-night.”

“And I loved you!”

He shrank a little under the furious contempt of her eyes.  Her whole body quivered with passion.  Then, suddenly, she sprang forward and struck him so violent a blow on his cheek that he reeled and clutched the table.  But his foot slipped, and he went down with the table on top of him.  She laughed into his red unmasked face.  “You look what you are down there,” she said,—­“less than a man, and only fit to be a priest.  I hate you!  Do your worst.”

She rushed out of the chapel and across the hall, flinging open the door of the sala.  As she stood there with blazing eyes and cheeks, shaking from head to foot, the girls gave little cries of amazement, and Dona Concepcion, shaking, came forward hastily; but she reached the door too late.

“Go to the priest,” cried Pilar.  “You will find him on his back squirming under a table, with the mark of my hand on his cheek.  He has a tale to tell you.”  And she flung off the hand of the nun and ran through the halls, striking herself against the walls.

Dona Concepcion did not leave her sala that night.  The indignant young aspirant for honours in Mexico had vowed that he would tell Dona Brigida and the clergy before dawn, and all her arguments had entered smarting ears.  She had finally ordered him to leave the convent and never darken its doors again.  “And the self-righteous shall not enter the Kingdom of Heaven,” she had exclaimed in conclusion.  “Who are you that you should judge and punish this helpless girl and ruin a brilliant future?  And why?  Because she was so inexperienced in men as to trust you.”

“She has committed a deadly sin, and shall suffer,” cried the young man, violently.  It was evident that his outraged virtue as well as his face was in flames.  “Women were born to be good and meek and virtuous, to teach and to rear children.  Such creatures as Pilar de la Torre should be kept under lock and key until they are old and hideous.”

“And men were made strong, that they might protect women.  But I have said enough.  Go.”

Pilar appeared at the refectory table in the morning, but she exchanged a glance with no one, and ate little.  She looked haggard, and it was plain that she had not slept; but her manner was as composed as ever.  When Dona Concepcion sent for her to come to the little sala, she went at once.

“Sit down, my child,” said the nun.  “I said all I could to dissuade him, but he would not listen.  I will protect thee if I can.  Thou hast made a terrible mistake; but it is too late for reproaches.  We must think of the future.”