As their boat now moved gently along the water, Fernando's companions slept. All night they had labored, and they were weary. But Fernando could not sleep. Somehow his thoughts kept taking him to Seville, to his parents and his sister Maria. What had become of them?
In all these years he had heard no word from them, and until now, he had barely given them a thought. But tonight—How strange that they should creep into his mind!
A shot rang out hideously. The customs men were after them! Another shot! And another and another! One by one, the smugglers in the little boat crumpled where they sat. Then the small craft itself began to sink—down, down.
All was silent upon the surface of the water. All was silent for a long time, and then Fernando, holding to a floating board, slowly raised his head.
The morning had begun to dawn over the Spanish Pyrenees. A hoarse church bell rang out. Fernando looked about him. The customs men had gone back to France. The smugglers, too, had gone, but not to France; to the bottom of the river.
Fernando swam to shore, and the next day he set off for Seville. He had one aim: to find his family and to try to make up for the heartache he had caused them.
But Fernando was never to see his parents again. Long since the old people had died, and only his sister Maria remained. He found her living in a poor and squalid alley. Yet when he walked into her shabby room, she did not seem in the least surprised to see him.
"I knew that you would come back, Fernando," she said quietly. "I expected you."
Puzzled, he started to speak, but she silenced him.
Then thrusting her hand inside her blouse, she drew out the magic castanets, saying, "They were brought back to me, Fernando!"