Robert followed her upstairs to where Tomás was softly playing a few chords on his guitar. The three wishes were soon written out and the paper tucked away in Robert’s waistcoat pocket. “Now for the music,” said Patty. “Those songs of yours are just suited to out of doors, Tomás, so I think we’d better go out on the balcony. Sing that funny little song about Perequito, and that other, _Dame la mano, paloma_.” Tomás twanged out his accompaniments and began the curious little melodies of the province, songs which ended in a long upward soaring note, suggesting a call of the mountaineers. They were generally in a minor key and uncertain in measure, but even Robert Lisle was obliged to confess them charming. “No one but a true Spaniard can give them perfectly or even acceptably,” declared Doña Martina. “All imitations are absolutely colorless. We had some friends in Paris who tried them, but they did not sound like the same thing. Very little of the Asturian music is written, but Tomás has heard it all his life and knows it without notes.” “Now for the caves,” said Patty. “It will be slower walking at night, and we’d better start, don’t you think?” The night was soft and still, the mountain tops were faintly outlined against a starry sky, but were lost to view where the winding woodpath was entered. Tomás carried a lantern, yet they often stumbled over the rough places. “It is such a foolish thing to do at night,” said Doña Martina, pettishly. “I do hope, Patty, that you will not undertake any more such adventures.” “What is the use of coming to Spain if you can’t have adventures,” Patty made reply. “You needn’t come when I feel the call of the wild, Tina.” “But I have to. What would people think if I allowed you to go around unchaperoned?” “Juan could go with me; he wouldn’t mind in the least.” “As if he had time to follow your erratic movements. This coming out to-night is a perfectly foolish thing. I don’t see the sense of pretending you believe in _inxanos_ and such nonsense.” “Oh, Tina, you haven’t any imagination, while as for myself, I always did love make-believe plays.” Leaving her sister to the guardianship of Don Juan, Patty hurried ahead with Robert Lisle, in entire disregard of Tomás’ beacon light. “It isn’t dark under the stars,” she remarked to her companion. “It could never be dark where you are,” he replied. “What a nice speech, quite as if you were a real Kentuckian. Isn’t it now the time and place to tell of the blossoming branch? Who put it in the window?” “I did.” “For--Paulette?” “For you.” “Oh!” Patty suddenly felt a little afraid--of what? She didn’t stop to question, but in her inattention to the path, she unwarily stumbled against a stone in the way and gave a sudden cry.