After a time she leaned backward in his arms, and said, gravely:  “You see!  When one says many, many prayers, the good saints always answer.  The padre told me that I should never cease until you came, but I grew very tired, senor.”

“And you never doubted me?”

“Oh no!”

“I’m free, you know.”

“Of course!  What else were my prayers for?  Had my father allowed, I would have gone to your prison, but he forbade it, so I had no choice.  But every hour I prayed that he might give me leave, and I think his heart was yielding.”

“I’m sure of that,” he told her, “for I have just come from him.”

It was some time later, when the sun was dipping, that voices sounded outside the wall of verdure, and Kirk heard Andres Garavel saying: 

“Of a certainty I shall try that experiment, senor, for the ticks in this country are a pest to cattle.  A little to the right, and you will find the path—­So!”

An instant later the two white-haired men appeared.

“Hello!  There you are, eh?” Darwin K. Anthony exclaimed, gruffly.  “Where’s that girl?” He paused and let his hostile eyes rest upon Gertrudis.

She saw a great, forbidding giant of a man scowling down at her with eyes like Kirk’s, and she came forward timidly, holding out her hands.  She was smiling up at him faintly.

“You are Keerk’s father, yes?  You are the Senor Antonio.”

Mr. Anthony uttered a curious, choking exclamation, and gathered her gently in his arms.  When he looked up, his eyes were wet and his deep-lined face was working.

“I couldn’t wait any longer,” he apologized humbly to his son.  “I had to come and see her.”

“Ah, then I hope you will like me,” she said in her grave, quaint way.

“Your father has told me everything”—­Garavel laid a hand upon his new son’s shoulder—­“and we have become good friends already.  I fear I owe you a great apology, my boy; but if I consent that you take my little girl away to your country, will that be reparation?”

“Then you will let her go with us?” Kirk cried, happily.

“If she doesn’t go, I’ll stay,” Anthony Senior rumbled.  “I—­I don’t see how you ever did it, you’re such a blamed fool.  Now let’s go back to the house, it’s sundown.”

“We’ll be along directly,” his son assented.

“There are chills in the evening air,” Mr. Garavel protested.

“I’m sorry, but we were waiting for the fairies.  They were almost in sight when you frightened them away.”

Gertrudis nodded.  “It is quite true, Senor Antonio.  We heard them all about, everywhere.”  She placed her little hand in Kirk’s, then checked her father’s remonstrance, saying: 

“Oh, it is quite proper for us to walk home together, even in the dark; we are married now, you know.”

“Come on, Garavel,” exclaimed Darwin K. Anthony.  “You understand how it is.”  Together they went out through the fragrant path a little way, then old man Anthony paused and called back to his son, wistfully:  “But, I say, Kirk, don’t stay too long; we’re lonesome.”