Father Tendilla raised her gently and led her back to her couch. "It is all true, my daughter. Thy prayers will never be in vain. Now, compose thyself, and rest until I return. I go but for a moment." He left the room, offering earnest thanks for her faith, and ordered the _hamaca_. It was ready in a moment, and with the escort of halberdiers, and the resolute señora riding close beside her litter, Rava left the fortress. Early in the evening Pedro went to the priest. He found his old confessor pacing the floor and full of mild enthusiasm. "Ah, my son," said the father, beaming upon his visitor, "we have done a good work this day. I shudder to think of the infinite wrong that might have been but for thy prompt action in placing so rare a guardian as Señora Bolio over this injured girl, and apprising me of her peril. The señora, Pedro, is a remarkable woman. Where didst find her?" "Stew me!—your pardon, father—I found her not. She found me—as the avalanche findeth the wayfarer." Pedro shook his head with a trace of gloom in his jovial face, adding, "Yes, she is a remarkable woman. No doubt of it! She hath powers and attributes, Father Tendilla. But, the Ñusta Rava—she doth well?" "Much more tranquil, and though most unhappy, beginneth to show commendable patience and resignation. I have talked with her as my time allowed, and would say from what I have seen, Pedro, that she is one of the earth’s choicest blooms. Poor Peralta hath been a humble agent in her salvation, but his task was well acquitted, and he shall have many masses for his soul’s repose." "Ah, _Madre_!" faltered Pedro. "Then Cristoval is dead?" Father Tendilla shook his head sadly. "I fear it, Pedro. Duero hath so said to Saavedra. I have forborne to ask the Ñusta, for the mention of his name seemeth to pierce her heart. Alas! The old sad story of mortal love and grief." Pedro rose and stumped nervously about the room. When he seated himself again his face was flushed and his hands were unsteady, but he said nothing, and the father went on. "I have told the Ñusta of thy part in her rescue, Pedro, and she would see thee. She holdeth thee in kindly recollection." "I am easily remembered," said Pedro, briefly. "I’m pegged in memories wherever I roam," and he looked glumly at his wooden leg. "For more than that, my son," said the priest, kindly. "Peralta never forgot thee, and made the Ñusta partaker in full of his affection. But thou must see her soon—not to-morrow, for she is much in need of quiet; but possibly on the day following." "_Bien!_" said Pedro, and his voice was hoarse. "And now," continued Tendilla, "we must communicate with the Inca Manco."