I charge myself whenever I pass the Plaza, to say a paternoster for the souls who fell there.

Senora Maria Flores Worth, I kiss your hands.
I kiss also the hands of the Senorita Antonia, and the hands of the Senorita Isabel, and I make haste to sign myself, "Your servant, "LOPEZ NAVARRO." This little confidence between mother and daughters restored the tone of feeling between them.

They had something to talk of, personal and exclusive.

In the fear and uncertainty, they forgot priestly interdiction and clung to each other with that affection which is the strength of danger and the comforter of sorrow.
On the following day the depression deepened.

The sounds of battle were closer at hand.