“‘“And father, you know, will be back before sundown. Do you promise, Mr. Bassanto?”
“‘“I will, if you call me Miguel; no one calls me anything else.”
“‘“Well—Miguel,” she said, blushing a little.
“‘“Then I will stay,” I said, right heartily.
“‘Aileen was down by five, quite recovered, and presiding over the tea-table. She looked radiantly lovely, I thought. The tea was good, but I hardly think I tasted it, and how many cups I drank I really do not know.
“‘Well, Mr. O’More himself arrived just as the sun was going down like a huge ball of red fire, and apparently setting the forest trees in flames.
“‘A hale, hearty, red-faced Irishman, probably some sixty years or over.
“‘We told him the story briefly, and the tears started to his eyes.
“‘“God bless you, my son,” he cried, seizing my hand. “It was heaven itself that sent you.”
“‘Then he held out his arms, and Aileen was pressed to his breast.