"And who told you I wished it to be saved?"
"In doing so, I only consulted my own heart."
"Oh, yes, I understand," the Gazelle said, ironically. "You are one of those women called in your country Quakeresses, who spend their life in preaching."
"I am nothing of the sort," Ellen said, softly. "I am a woman who suffers like yourself, and whom your misfortunes affect."
"Yes, yes," the Spaniard shrieked, as she writhed her hands despairingly, and burst into tears—"I suffer all the torments of hell."
Ellen regarded her for a moment with compassion, and walked towards her. "Do not cry, poor girl!" she said to her, mistaking the cause that made her shed tears. "You are in safety here. No one will do you any harm."
The Spaniard threw up her head haughtily.
"Nay!" she said, impetuously. "Do you fancy, then, that I am not in a condition to defend myself, were I insulted? What need have I of your protection?"
And, roughly seizing Ellen's arm, she shook her passionately as she said:—
"Who are you? What are you doing here? Answer!"