“Herrara, she has broken her promise—­she refuses to enter a convent, and she defies me, and scorns our holy church.  I somehow expected this; and I charge you now, suffer her not to pass the threshold of her own room; guard well the door, there is no window.  See you, Inez, you cannot escape me?” He whispered in the intruder’s ear, and, promising to come again the ensuing day, left the house, carefully closing the door after him.  Lighting his cigarrita, Herrara requested Inez to seek her own apartment, that he might secure the door outside, and then return to the fire.  Without a word she ascended the stairs to her own room.  A chain was passed about the door, and then the retreating steps of the soldier died away.

What should she do?  Inez sat down to collect her thoughts, and looked round the apartment.  The walls were of solid rock, and in one corner was a small grating of four iron bars, which admitted light and air, but precluded all hope of escape in that quarter.  The door was secured, and no means of egress presented itself.  Her eye rested on her lamp, and a smile lit up the dark countenance of the prisoner.  She threw herself on her bed:  slowly the hours rolled—­midnight came at last.  She rose and listened—­no stir, no sound of life reached her:  she glanced at her lamp, now dim—­the light was waning, and softly stepping across the room, she drew from a basket several bundles of paper.  These she tore in pieces, and placing them beside the door, drew the lamp near.  Inez carefully twisted up her long black hair, and placed on her head a broad sombrero, which the Don had worn of late; then taking his Mexican blanket, she slipped her head through the opening, and suffered it to fall to her feet.  Something seemed forgotten, and after some little search, she found a small cotton bag, into which she dropped a polonce, then secured it beneath the blanket.  Queerly enough she looked, thus accoutered; but apparently the oddity of her appearance never once crossed her mind, for, stepping across the floor, she held the pieces of paper over the lamp till ignited, then quickly thrust them one by one between the small crack or chink in the center of the door.  It was of wood, old and dry, and caught like tinder.  She watched it burn; the door was narrow, and the devouring element soon consumed all save the top and bottom pieces which extended across.  These quivered as their support crumbled beneath them, and soon would fall with a crash.  She watched her time, and gathering dress and blanket closely about her, sprang through, and though almost suffocated with smoke, hurried down to a small door at the rear of the house.  She stood without and listened:  Inez fancied she heard the crackling of the fire, yet there was no time to lose.  Just before her sat a large stone vessel, containing the soaking corn for the morning tortillos; drawing forth her bag, she filled it with the swollen grain, and hastened on to where a small black horse