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 through the bars of your cell door? Look; it lacks yet an hour of noon."
"Then, sir, you come to announce the arrival of the holy father,—of my friends."
"They will be here anon," said the stranger.
"I do not," said Magdalena, in the same calm tone she had before employed, "see you now for the first time."
"Beautiful girl!" cried the stranger; "no! I have for months haunted you like your shadow. Your fair face threw the first gleams of sunshine into my heart that have visited it from early manhood. I love you, Magdalena!"
"This is no hour and no place for words like these," replied the captive, coldly.
"Nay!" cried the stranger, with sudden energy. "Beautiful girl, I come to save you!"