Such was the frame of my mind when I entered the little boudoir where once before I had ventured on a similar errand.
As I closed the sash-door behind me, the gray dawn of breaking day scarcely permitted my seeing anything around me, and I felt my way towards the door of an adjoining room, where I supposed it was likely I should find the senhora.

As I proceeded thus, with cautious step and beating heart, I thought I heard a sound near me.

I stopped and listened, and was about again to move on, when a half-stifled sob fell upon my ear.

Slowly and silently guiding my steps towards the sounds, I reached a sofa, when, my eyes growing by degrees more accustomed to the faint light, I could detect a figure which, at a glance, I recognized as Donna Inez.

A cashmere shawl was loosely thrown around her, and her face was buried in her hands.