“Have you rested enough to attack the orchid?”

“Yes.”  He roused himself from his trance, and with a strangely leaping heart proceeded carefully to detach the big air plant from its resting-place.  The wonderful flower, nodding to his touch, was no more perfect than this dryad whom he had surprised.

“Don’t break it,” she cautioned as he came gingerly down the tree.  “It is what we call ‘Espiritu Santa,’ the ‘Holy Spirit’ flower.  See, it is like a white bird.”

“First one I’ve seen,” he said, noting how the purity of the bloom enhanced the olive of her cheek.  Then he began another fruitless search for a topic of conversation, fearing that if he allowed the slightest pause she would send him away.  But all his thoughts were of her, it seemed.  His tongue would frame nothing but eager questions—­all about herself.  At last in desperation he volunteered to get another orchid; but the suggestion met with no approval.  There were no more, she told him, of that kind.

“Maybe we can find one,” he said, hopefully.

“Thank you.  I know them all.”  She was looking at him now as if wondering why he did not make a start, but wild horses could not have dragged him away.  Instead of picking up his gun, he inquired: 

“May I rest a moment?  I’m awfully tired.”

“Certainly.  You may stay as long as you wish.  When you are rested the little path will bring you out.”

“But you mustn’t go!” he exclaimed, in a panic, as she turned away.  “Oh, I say, please!  You wouldn’t do a thing like that?”

“I cannot speak to you this way, sir.”  The young lady blushed prettily.

“Why not, I’d like to know?”

“Oh!” She raised her hand and shook her head to express the absolute impossibility of such a thing.  “Already I have been terrible.  What will Stephanie say?”

“You’ve been nothing of the sort, and who is Stephanie?”

“She is a big black woman—­very fierce.  It is because of Stephanie that the fairies have gone away from here.”

“If we wait a minute, maybe they’ll come out.”

“No.  I have waited many times and I never saw them.”

“Somehow I feel sure we’ll see ’em this time,” he urged.  Then, as she shook her head doubtfully:  “Good heavens!  Don’t you want to see ’em?  I’m so tired that I must sit down.”

The corners of her eyes wrinkled as she said, “You are not very strong, senor.  Have you been ill?”

“Yes—­no.  Not exactly.”  He led her to a bamboo bench beside the palm hut.  “I’ve been hunting.  Now won’t you please tell me how you chanced to be here?  I thought these country places were unoccupied at this season.”

“So they are.  But, you see, I am doing a penance.”

“Penance!  You?”

“Oh yes.  And it is nothing to laugh about, either,” she chided, as he smiled incredulously, “I am a bad girl; I am disobedient.  Otherwise I would not allow you to speak to me alone like this.  You are the first gentleman I have ever been so long in the company with, Senor Antonio.”