Her coaxing hand played through the heavy mane of hair; her cheek was against his. Don Padraic slowly turned his head with denial in his eyes; but that denial could not sustain the accusation in the steady blue eyes of the daughter. During the week Benicia had been home a secret doubt had steadily pressed upon the father; he had been waiting some word from her which did not come. Now one of his hands stole up to tweak her ear--signal of surrender. “’Nicia, great-heart, you have told me all about your two years in the cities--your two years of life in the great world outside? There is something you have withheld?” “Nothing, little father.” She gave him a peck on the forehead. Don Padraic appeared to be groping for his words. “You met--many American men--young men who--ah--might have been attracted by the beauty of my desert flower?” A ripple of soft laughter and the girl pressed closer to him. “Ah, _Pobrecito_, you forget that your desert flower carries thorns. Ask that ridiculous Hamilcar Urgo; he has felt the thorns.” “But”--Don Padraic was not to be put off by evasions--“was there not one whose heart was conquered by a girl of such fire, such beauty? Come--come! These Americans are not men of ice.” For a minute Benicia was silent. She was weighing in all sincerity the only shred of a secret she had in her heart; testing it for genuineness as fairly as she might. “Yes, daddy, there were many with bold eyes and ready tongues; but hardly had they begun to speak as friends or companions when their talk was all of money--how much they were planning to make that year; the ‘big deal’ they were going to put through. All were like this--but one.” “Ah,” breathed Don Padraic. “That one I have told you of,” she continued. “The man on the train who was so masterful with little Hamilcar. He was not like the others. A man of wit--of sympathies; one who seemed to have understanding of life--” “And he--?” the father prompted. “We said ‘_adios_’ the night before we came to Arizora. I did not see him in the morning, though he said that was his destination.” They were silent once more. Finally from Benicia a wraith of laughter on fluttering wings of a sigh: “But, my grave old owl, why these questions? Never before have I seen my daddy play the prying duenna.” “Heart of mine, thou canst not be blind”--the father’s voice trembled over the intimate pronoun. “I have been thy father, mother, elder brother, all in one. And selfish--selfish beyond measure! Keeping thee chained here to an old man in the wilderness when all the world of love and life lies beyond--” “No--no, daddy mine!” Tears dewed blue eyes as yearning arm strained him to her.