words. They, however, came towards her, and the curate taking her hand

"What your dress would hide, senora, is made known to us by your

hair; a clear proof that it can be no trifling cause that has

disguised your beauty in a garb so unworthy of it, and sent it into

solitudes like these where we have had the good fortune to find you,

if not to relieve your distress, at least to offer you comfort; for no

distress, so long as life lasts, can be so oppressive or reach such

a height as to make the sufferer refuse to listen to comfort offered