Fernando stood fixed to the spot, his eyes upon the old clappers, which he had given away so many years ago in a fit of boyish rage. Then a sudden curious idea occurred to him.
"When were they returned to you?" he asked Maria.
She told him, and he knew then that it had been upon the very same night when his life had been spared, out there upon those dangerous waters—the very same night when he had been thinking so earnestly of his family.
His sister listened while he told her of his many adventures as a smuggler. He promised to give it all up, to help her, and to become an honest man.
"For," he ended, laughing, "there is an old Basque saying, 'If a smuggler is an honest man, then legends are the truth.'"
"But surely, Fernando," said his sister, "you must believe in the legends of the castanets after what has happened to us."
Fernando shook his head.
"I believe only in the power for good," he replied.
Some years later, Fernando had a little son of his own who danced in the cathedral of Seville. And do you see those two old people who sit there watching, solemn-eyed and happy?
They are Fernando and his wife, and they are very proud that their boy is taking his place in this age-old ceremony of their forefathers.