How many days and nights thus passed the hapless prisoner could not have told, for there was nothing to mark the hours.  Her food was delivered to her by means of a turn-screw in the wall, so that not even the sight of a fellow-creature could disturb her solitude, or give her the faintest hope of exciting human pity.  Her sole hope, her sole refuge was in prayer; and, oh! how blessed was the calm, the confidence it gave.

So scanty was her allowance of food, that more than once the thought, crossed her, whether or not, death by famine would be her allotted doom; and human nature shuddered, but the spirit did not quail!  Hour after hour passed, she knew not whether it was night or day, when the gloom of her dungeon was suddenly illumined; she knew not at first how or whence, so noiseless was the entrance of the intruder, but gradually she traced the light to a small lamp held in the hand of a shrouded individual, whom she recognized at once.  There was one fearful thrill of mortal dread, one voiceless cry for strength from Heaven, and Marie Morales stood before Don Luis erect and calm, and firm as in her hour of pride.

Garcia now attempted no concealment.  His mask had been cast aside, and his features gleamed without any effort at hypocritical restraint, in all the unholy passions of his soul.  We will not pollute our pages with transcribing the fearful words of passions contending in their nature, yet united in their object, with which the pure ear of his prisoner was first assailed—­still lingering desire, yet hate, wrath, fury, that she should dare still oppose, and scorn, and loathe him; rage with himself, that, strive as he might, even he was baffled by the angel purity around her; longing to wreak upon her every torture that his hellish office gave him unchecked power to inflict, yet fearing that, if he did so, death would release her ere his object was attained; all strove and raged within him, making his bosom a very hell, from which there was no retracting, yet whose very flames incited deeper fury towards the being whom he believed their cause.

“And solitude, darkness, privation—­have they so little availed that thou wilt tempt far fiercer sufferings?” he at length demanded, struggling to veil his fury in a quiet, concentrated tone.  “Thou hast but neared the threshold of the tortures which one look, one gesture of my hand, can gather around thee; tortures which the strongest sinew, the firmest mind, have been unable to sustain—­how will that weakened frame endure?”

“It can but die,” replied the prisoner, “as nobler and better ones have done before me!”

“Die!” repeated Garcia, and he laughed mockingly.  “Thinkest thou we know our trade so little that such release can baffle us?  I tell thee, pain of itself has never yet had power to kill; and we have learned the measure of endurance in the human form so well, that we have never yet been checked by death, ere our ends were gained.  And so will it be with thee, boldly as now thou speakest.  Thou hast but tasted pain!”