"The dear papa," cried Lenore, and sure enough, the proud form of Don Carlos was before them.
One moment and the happy wife was folded to the warm, true heart of her returned husband, and Lenore clung to his arm, weeping for joy.
Once more light and happiness dawned upon the Buenna Vineyard, with the return of the loved husband and father. How beautiful home looked to the wanderer, as he sank into his own chair, upon the vine-covered piazza. His grateful wife sat beside him, and Lenore stood leaning upon his chair.
"How tall you have grown, my daughter," he said, looking proudly upon the young maiden, just blooming into womanhood; "but where are the pearls, my darling?"
"I have never seen them," said Lenore, "how could I think of pearls and you; dear papa, gone!" And again and again she kissed his bronzed cheek.
"Call the duenna," said the mother, smiling, "we must see the pearls." So Lenore called the duenna from her dreaming in the garden.
"Don Carlos returned! Not dead!" exclaimed the old woman, while her heart stood still with fear, as she entered the room pale as death, and trembling with an unknown dread.
"The pearls," said Don Carlos, after a kind greeting, to which her palsied tongue refused a response.
She gave them to him with a trembling hand, and, as he pressed the secret spring, the golden casket opened, and there lay the wonderful Moorish pearls, pure and white as snow, and large and shining as the dew-drops in the flush of morning.