which might not be eluded.  Whether these whispered rumors had to do with Julien Morales or not, we leave to the judgment of our readers.—­Suffice it, that not only was his vow accomplished, but, during his ten years’ residence in these subterranean halls, he naturally became familiarized with all their secret passages and invisible means of egress and ingress—­not only to the apparently private homes of unoffensive citizens, but into the wild tracts of country scattered round.  By one of these he had, in fact, effected his own escape; and in the mild and benevolent Benedictine monk—­known alike to the cities and solitudes of Spain—­none would have recognized the former familiar of the Inquisition, and still less have imagined him the being which in reality he was—­a faithful and believing Jew.

To him, then, it was easy to connect the disappearance of Marie with the existence of the Holy Office, even though he was entirely ignorant of Garcia’s ulterior designs.  In an agony of apprehension, he resolved on saving her if possible, even while he trembled at the delay which must necessarily ensue ere he could arrange and execute his plans, more especially as it was dangerous to associate a second person in their accomplishment.  With all his haste and skill he was not in time to save her from the barbarity of her misnamed judges.  His very soul was wrung, as he stood amongst the familiars a silent witness of her sufferings; but to interfere was impossible.  One thing, however, was favorable.  He knew she would not be again disturbed till a sufficient time had elapsed for the recovery of such strength as would enable her to endure further torture; and he had, therefore, some time before him for their flight.

Her voluntary avowal of her faith—­aware too, as she was, of the existence of the Inquisition—­had, indeed, perplexed the good uncle greatly; but she was in no state, even when partially recovered from physical weakness, to enter into explanation then.  He saw she was unhappy, and the loss of her husband might well account for it.  To the rumors which had reached him in Segovia, as to the suppositions of the real cause of Stanley’s enmity to Morales, and Marie’s self-sacrifice, he would not even listen, so completely without foundation did they seem to him.

The second evening after their escape, they left the cave to pursue their journey.  Father Ambrose—­for so, now he has resumed his monkish garb, we must term Julien—­had provided a mule for the novice’s use; and thus they leisurely traversed the desolate and mountainous tract forming the boundaries of the provinces now termed old and new Castile.  Neither uncle nor niece spoke of their destined goal; Marie intuitively felt she was proceeding to the Vale of Cedars, the only place of safety now for her; but, so engrossed was her mind with the vain thought how to save Arthur, that for herself she could not frame a wish.