and while Mateo and Feliu were finding dry clothing and
stimulants, and Miguel telling how it all happened--quickly,
passionately, with furious gesture,--the kind and vigorous woman
exerted all her skill to revive the flickering life. Soon Feliu
came to aid her, while his men set to work completing the
interrupted preparation of the breakfast. Flannels were heated
for the friction of the frail limbs; and brandy-and-water warmed,
which Carmen administered by the spoonful, skilfully as any
physician,--until, at last, the little creature opened her eyes
and began to sob. Sobbing still, she was laid in Carmen's warm
feather-bed, well swathed in woollen wrappings. The immediate
danger, at least, was over; and Feliu smiled with pride and
pleasure.

Then Carmen first ventured to relate her dream; and his face
became grave again. Husband and wife gazed a moment into each
other's eyes, feeling together the same strange thrill--that
mysterious faint creeping, as of a wind passing, which is the awe
of the Unknowable. Then they looked at the child, lying there,
pink checked with the flush of the blood returning; and such a
sudden tenderness touched them as they had known long years
before, while together bending above the slumbering loveliness of
lost Conchita.

--"Que ojos!" murmured Feliu, as he turned away,--feigning hunger
... (He was not hungry; but his sight had grown a little dim, as
with a mist.) Que ojos! They were singular eyes, large, dark, and
wonderfully fringed. The child's hair was yellow--it was the
flash of it that had saved her; yet her eyes and brows were
beautifully black. She was comely, but with such a curious,