In another moment she was kneeling in front of the altar, repeating her orisons and telling over the beads of her rosary.
She was not the last to enter the church; still another devotee came later. About the time that she was leaving the portal a carreta drove into the plaza, and halted in a remote corner. A young girl leaped out of the carreta, tripped nimbly across the square, in the direction of the church, and passed within the portal. The dress of this new-comer—a flaming red “nagua,” broidered chemisette, and reboso—showed that she belonged to the poorer class of citizens. She was a poblana.
She entered the church, but before kneeling she threw an inquiring glance along the array of backs. Her eye became fixed upon one that was covered with a manta. It was that of the lady of whom we have spoken. This seemed to satisfy the poblana, who, gliding over the floor, knelt down in such a position that her elbow almost rested against that of the lady.
So silently had this movement been executed that the lady did not perceive her new neighbour until a slight “nudge” upon the elbow caused her to start and look round. A gleam of satisfaction lit up her features, though her lips continued to repeat the prayer, as if nothing had happened.
After a while came the cue for adopting the pose of rest, and then the two kneeling figures—señorita and poblana—dropped towards each other, so that their arms touched. A moment later and two hands became uncovered—one a little brown-skinned paw from under the reboso—the other, a delicate arrangement of white and jewelled fingers, from the manta.
They came in contact as if by a mutual understanding, and, though they were en rapport but a half-second, a close observer might have noticed a small roll of paper passed from one to the other—from the brown fingers to the white ones! It would have required a close observer to have noticed this manoeuvre, for so adroitly was it executed that none of those kneeling around, either in front or rear, saw anything amiss.
The two hands again disappeared under their respective covers; the little bell tinkled, and both señora and poblana once more shot into an upright position, and, with most devout looks, repeated the prayers of the misa.
When the “oracion” was over, and while sprinkling themselves at the sacred fount, a few hurried words passed between them; but they went out of the church separately, and walked off in separate directions. The poblana hastened across the square, and disappeared into a narrow street. The señora walked proudly back to the mansion whence she had come, her countenance radiant with joyful anticipation.
As soon as she had entered the house she proceeded directly to her own chamber, and, opening the little folded slip of paper, read:—
“Querida Catalina!—You have made me happy. But an hour ago I was the most wretched of men. I have lost my sister, and I feared your esteem. Both are restored to me. My sister is by my side, and the gem that sparkles on my finger tells me that even calumny has failed to rob me of your friendship—your love. You do not deem me an assassin. No; nor am I one. I have been an avenger, but no assassin. You shall know all—the fearful plot of which I and mine have been the victims. It is scarce credible—so great is its atrocity! I am indeed its victim. I can no more show myself in the settlement. I am henceforth to be hunted like the wolf, and treated as one, if captured. I care not for that, so long as I know that you are not among my enemies.