“Peace, peace!” she murmured, in a weary tone, and sunk her head upon her bosom.  The door opened behind her, and raising herself proudly, she drew the scarf closer about her, and entered.

A basin of holy water was placed near, and hastily she signed the figure of the cross and proceeded down the aisle to a side door leading to one of the wings.  She pushed it noiselessly ajar and passed in.

A solitary tin sconce dimly lighted the small confessional, dark and gloomy as night, at that early hour.  A wooden cross suspended from the wall, a stone bench, and table, on which lay a rosary and crucifix, and a small vessel of holy water, formed the entire furniture.  Before this table sat Father Mazzolin, his face buried in his hands.  Her step, light as it was, startled him; yet without rising, he murmured, “Benedicit.”

“Bueno dios, Padre.”

He motioned to her to kneel, and she did so, on the damp floor at his feet, drawing the scarf over her face, so as to conceal the features.

“Bless me, my Father, because I have sinned.”

He laid his hands on her bowed head, and muttered indistinctly a Latin phrase.  “I confess to Almighty God, to blessed Mary, ever Virgin, to blessed Michael the Archangel, to blessed John the Baptist, to the holy apostles Peter and Paul, and to all the saints, that I have sinned exceedingly in thought, word, and deed, through my most grievous fault.  Therefore I beseech the blessed Mary, ever Virgin, the blessed Michael the Archangel, the blessed John the Baptist, the holy apostles Peter and Paul, and all the saints, to pray to the Lord our God for me.

“Since my last confession, I accuse myself of many sins.  I have missed mass, vespers and many holy ordinances of our most holy church.  Have borne hatred, and given most provoking language.

“I have broken the engagement thou did’st command me to keep; have angered Manuel, and enraged my father greatly.  I neglected fasting on the day of our most holy Saint ——.

“I have entered this church, this holy sanctuary, without crossing myself; and passed the image of the Blessed Virgin without kneeling.”  She paused, and bent her head lower.

’The Padre then said, “My daughter, thy sins are grievous; my heart bleeds over thy manifold transgressions.”

“Even so, my Father; even so.”

“Dost thou still bear enmity to Manuel Nevarro, who loves thee truly, and is thy promised husband?”

“No, my Father; I desire to be speedily reconciled to him whom I have offended.”

“Wilt thou promise to offer no objection, but become his wife?”

“My Father, I do not wish to be his wife; yet thy will, not mine.”

A smile of triumph glittered in the Padre’s eye at this confession; yet his low tone was unchanged.

“Inez, I will not force thee to marry Manuel, yet thou shalt never be another’s wife.  In infancy thou wast promised, and thy hand can never be joined to another.  Choose you, my daughter, and choose quickly.”