112 SIMPSON, MYSELF AND THE PERSONAGE. 



an image of the blessed Virgin, and was praying 

 aloud to the holy Mother of God ? 



I had never heard such pathos in a woman's 

 voice. It was the agony of unanswered prayer. 



It was a sweet voice. The woman was very 

 young. 



I could not understand what she said, but I 

 know she was entreating the Maid of Galilee to 

 spare my life. I could not bear to see the woman 

 so sad ; so I moved gently on the couch. 



" Oh, Inez ! " cried the mother. 



The girl sprang from her knees. The two 

 women embraced each other and bent over me. 

 Their brown eyes shown with exultant joy ; their 

 hair brushed my face. 



I felt like a person suddenly required to make 

 a speech. I had been saved — saved from the 

 fury of a blood-thirsty mob ; these women had 

 saved me — I owed my life to them ! Oh, how 

 could I thank them enough ? I tried to frame 

 some sort of expression for my gratitude ; but 

 then it occurred to me that I had a capital 

 excuse for saying absolutely nothing at all. I 

 knew not a single word of Spanish. 



What an agreeable relief ! 



But had I attempted even the feeblest sentence, 

 it would inevitably have been interrupted, for just 



