And again, upon her wedding-morning, Dolores went to pray. She was interrupted by a visit from the Archbishop. Some presentiment made her rise in apprehension; and as she stood erect, she saw, through the priest, the man. And she saw that he, too, had her secret; first the lover, then the priest, had found it out.
“This marriage must not be,” said he.
“Holy Father, I have confessed yesterday.”
“This marriage must not be. You loved Don Ramon.”
Dolores’s lips curled. “I confessed, yesterday. I see you have been told.”
“Yesterday ’twas a duty—to-day it is a sin. Thou lovest Ramon.”
Then Dolores rose to her full height and her blue eyes flamed like ice. “Sebastian, the Liberador, him I love, in this life and the next; God knows it, and Ramon knows it, and now may you, and soon, please God, shall he!”
All forewarned that he was, the priest started at her vehemence. Fool that he had been!
“He has murdered his nephew—and thou art the cause.”
The Countess was silent. All Catholic that she was, she had resolved to appeal from his judgment to God’s.