room was in perfect order for the day, the
sun shone where the moonlight had been, and the cathedral clock on the
cloister wall was striking--

"Oh! Oh! It's morning! It's _late_ morning, too, that's six, seven, nine
o'clock! Oh! how could I sleep so? I never did before in all my
life--except--well, sometimes, but I'm ashamed, I'm awfully ashamed of
myself."

As she sprang to her feet there was a tap at the door and a
white-capped, white-aproned maid appeared, saying:

"Good morning, Senorita. The Senora sent me to serve you and help you
about your bath. It is ready, yes, and the other senoritas have
breakfasted and gone out, _si_. By my Lady's orders you were not to be
awakened till you roused yourself."

"Oh! but I am sorry. I didn't mean to do this, for I know one of Mr.
Ford's rules is early rising. I found that out at _El Paraiso_ and--yes,
yes, please do help me. But tell me, what shall I call you?"

"Anita, nina. Anita Mantez I am, from the dear City of the Angels, _si_.
This way, _carita_, do not fear displeasure. They are all beloved, the
fair young things, but you are nearest, dearest, so my Lady tells. For
you will never be blamed, believe me."

Dorothy made short work of her toilet and felt so refreshed by her night
of sound sleep and her delightful morning bath, that the world outside
seemed even lovelier than she remembered it. Also, she was hungry--so
hungry! It was quite as Mr. Ford had said; that the mountain air made
people almost ravenous, at first. Afterwards, one's appetite sank to the
normal and to be out and doing was the one great desire of life.

Anita led her to the refectory and served her with a dainty breakfast,
disposed on exquisite "individual" dishes, and oddly enough, bearing the
initial "D." Dolly lifted a cup and stared at it, wondering while Anita
glibly explained in her patois of Spanish-English, that yes, indeed, it
was the Senorita's own.

Dorothy's heart was touched and grateful. Charming as her hosts were to
all their guests, in many little ways they had singled her out as in
this; and she understood without explanation from them that it was
because of the part she had played in bringing together the once divided
family. Very humbly and gravely she accepted these attentions, thankful
in her deepest heart that she had been "inspired," on that past winter
day, to lead the father and son across the mesa to the little cabin
where Gray Lady dwelt alone. It had been a daring