Pleased to give him pleasure, José complied, and, leaving Fray Fernando to read at his leisure, wandered out to the bay to feast his eyes upon the marvels of the shipping. On returning to the humble lodging of his patron, he was greatly alarmed to find him lying senseless on the floor. But he had seen Sumac swoon, and he knew what remedies to adopt. He ran for cold water, bathed the monk’s forehead with it, and chafed his hands. Fray Fernando ere long recovered consciousness, looked about him, drank the water José raised to his lips, and told him not to be frightened. Then, availing himself of his help, he rose and placed himself in his usual seat. “What has happened, patre?” José asked affectionately, “Are you ill?” “No,” the monk answered slowly, as with eye and hand he sought for the little book. It had fallen to the ground, but José picked it up and gave it to him. “Tell me”—he began, but his voice faltered—died away. He paused a moment, then resumed more calmly, “Tell me—who gave this book to the Palla?”[45] José opened the first page, and pointed to the inscription, “Doña Rosa Merçedes y Guevara.” Fray Fernando gazed on the faded writing with eager kindling eyes;—gradually they changed, softened, grew dim with a mist of gathering tears. At last he said very gently, “That name was once dear to me.” And he said no more. But José drew nearer, and of his own accord put his arm round his neck, laying his hand on his shoulder. By-and-by the monk inquired, still with the same gentleness of manner, “How did the Palla become possessed of that book?” “Dear patre,” José answered, “I will tell you all I know. Sumac Nũsta loved to go to the House of the Holy Virgins—the nuns of Santa Clara. This book belonged to one of them, who was Sumac’s dear and chosen friend. Sister Maria was her holy name; the name she had from her father and mother was—what you find written there.” “Enough, José; my past comes back to me. The happy, happy past before—Strange—wonderful—that we have been near each to other, have breathed the same air, trod the streets of the same city—never knowing! Well—better so! Both dead—dead hearts in living bodies.” Then silence fell on the two. José stood like a statue of bronze; Fray Fernando sat, and dreamed of the past. At length he spoke again. “José, is there anything I have for which you would give me this book in exchange?” José smiled as he answered, “Nothing, patre. Take it from the son to whom you have given everything. Sumac Nũsta would wish you to take it,” he added, seeing the monk hesitate. “Thank you, José,” said Fray Fernando, grasping the Indian’s slender hand. “What I have said is safe with you,” he added, and the subject dropped—for ever.