When he arrived at his destination he thought only of singing gay songs beneath the balcony of his new love. The days flew by, and soon it was time for the boat to return to Fayal. He had forgotten the mission on which he had come, and he returned to the boat with no relics of the miracle-working Santo Christo.
The homeward journey was rough and stormy. Filled with fear of death at any moment, the young man remembered the fair maid of Fayal who even at that very hour might be dying. His conscience smote him.
"Oh, why did I allow another fair face to crowd out from my heart the image of my beloved?" he asked himself. "Faithless wretch that I am, what shall I say to my betrothed if good fortune and the sea permit me to stand once more at her side?"
The rough waves beat angrily against the side of the boat in answer. That night the storm ceased and in the morning it was fair and clear as the boat entered the beautiful harbor of Fayal under the shadow of Mt. Pico. With clear skies and smooth seas the young man's conscience became less troublesome. He resolved that he would not confess his deceit to his betrothed.
"If I told her it might make her grow worse so rapidly that she would die because of it," he said to himself.
Indeed, it was quite enough to have made the girl die of a broken heart, had she known the whole story.
Suddenly the youth's face clouded.
"What shall I say to my beloved as the reason why I have brought back to her neither the miracle-working sweat of the Santo Christo nor the miraculous nail parings?" he was asking.
His eye fell upon the boat's wooden side. Quickly he shaved off some fine parings of this wood. He wrapped them up carefully and took them to the fair maid of Fayal as if they were parings from the nails of the miracle-working image.
His betrothed's face shone with joy at his return. Tears of thankfulness filled her eyes when she saw the parings which he had brought her.