“But time—­have we time?” reiterated Marie.  “Say but there is time, and every other difficulty shall be smoothed.”

“There is full time:  the execution is not till the second day after to-morrow.  Nay, my child,” he added, observing her look of doubting bewilderment, “suffering makes the hours seem longer than they are.  Fear not for time, but counsel me whom to send.  Who amongst these poor ignorant rustics will ever reach the King—­or, failing him, the Chief Hermano—­and make his tale so sufficiently clear as to release the prisoner, and send messengers here with the necessary speed to take down this man’s confession?  He cannot linger two days more.  Would that I could go myself; but I can leave neither him nor thee.”

“And it needs not,” was the firm reply.  “Father, I myself will do thy errand.  There must be no delay, no chance of hesitation in its accomplishment.  Ah! do not look upon me as if my words were wild and vain; were there other means I would not speak them—­but he must be saved!”

“And again at the sacrifice of thy safety—­perchance thy life!  Marie, Marie! what hold has this young stranger upon thee that thou shouldest twice so peril thyself?  Thy life is dearer to me than his—­I cannot grant thy boon.”

“Nay, but thou must.  Listen to me, my second father!  If Stanley dies, his blood is on my head!” And struggling with strong emotion, she poured forth her whole tale.

“And thou lovest him still—­him, a Nazarene—­thou, child, wife, of an unstained race!  And is it for this, thy zeal to save him?” ejaculated Julien, retreating several paces from her—­“Can it be?”

“I would save him because he is innocent—­because he has borne more than enough for me; for aught else, thou wrongest me, father.  He will never be to me more than he is now.”

It was impossible to resist the tone of mournful reproach in which those simple words were said.  Julien pressed her to his bosom, bade God bless her, and promised, if indeed there were no other means, her plan should be adopted; objection after objection, indeed, he brought forward, but all were overruled.  She pledged herself to retain her disguise, and to return with Perez, without hesitation, and accompany her uncle to the vale, as intended.  But that she should start at once, he positively refused.  How could she hope to accomplish her journey without, at least, two hours’ repose?  It was then late in the evening.  At six the next morning all should be ready for her journey, and there would be still more than twenty-four hours before her; Marie tried to be content, but the horrible dread of being too late did not leave her for a moment, even in sleep, and inexpressibly thankful was she when the morning dawned.  Julien’s provident care had been active while she slept.  Perez, flattered at the trust reposed in him, had offered himself to accompany the young novice to Segovia:  and at the appointed hour he was ready, mounted himself, and leading a strong,