ed his countenance--his heart began
to beat rapidly and his right hand with which he grasped his cane
trembled perceptibly as he gazed intently down the long dusty highroad.

"At last!" he cried. Another intense moment of suspense and the distant
cracking of a whip and sounds of wheels and hoof-beats on the road
announced the approach of the stage. Presently it hove in sight and a
few minutes later, as it drew up before the station and came to a full
stop, the door was hastily flung open and a tall, closely veiled woman
sprang lightly to the platform.

Her striking appearance would have commanded attention anywhere, but
without noticing her, he brushed hastily past her and gazed eagerly into
the interior of the coach. It was empty.

_Dios!_ what had happened? There must be some mistake! With a note of
keenest disappointment in his voice he turned sharply on the driver and
impatiently demanded what had become of the little Indian girl that had
been placed in his charge.

"Little Indian girl? _Caramba!_" A look of bewilderment accompanied by a
shrug of the shoulders and a "_no sabe_, Senor Padre," was the only
answer he received. Consternation seized Padre Antonio.

Merciful heaven! what had become of her--Chiquita, his little girl? His
voice choked, while tears of bitter disappointment welled to his eyes.
"Ah, yes, there had been a mistake--she would come by the next stage,"
he said, addressing the driver, and was on the point of turning away
when a silvery peal of laughter fell upon his ears. He felt a soft touch
on his shoulder and a voice close to him said:

"Padre Antonio, don't you know your little Chiquita?" The veil had
slipped from her face, displaying the features of a beautiful Spanish
woman. Confounded and speechless with amazement, Padre Antonio could
only gaze in silence upon the apparition before him.

Was it possible, or was he only dreaming? What a transformation! Was
this mature woman, this tall and supple and refined and graceful
creature his Chiquita, his wild little Indian girl of former years? He
rubbed his eyes in bewilderment and gazed again. Holy Maria! but she was
beautiful--fair as the starry jasmine blossoms which she wore at her
breast and in the dark folds of her hair.

In that hour the world suddenly became filled with exquisite harmony for
Padre Antonio, and he seemed to grow younger by many years.

The radiant beauty of her face with the poetry of sunshine and laughter
in her eye