e made a grand gesture. "Ees 'appy
day for you. Ees 'appy day for 'er. Ees 'appy day for me!"

He made a very low bow. Then he stepped forward and touched Lucia on the
arm, and led her to Gilbert. One hand was on the shoulder of each.

"You will name ze baby for me sometime--Pancho, or per'aps Panchita?" There
was a wistful note in his deep voice, and a look of eagerness in his eyes.
"Not ze first one, per'aps--but mebbe, like you say, by and bye--later?
Eh?"

There was another whistle down the starlit road.

"_Adios_, my frands! And may you always be so 'appy like what I 'ave make
you!"

He was gone. They heard the horses trotting away; and even in that moment
of blinding and almost unendurable happiness, they were conscious of a
tinge of sorrow.

For when would they ever see Pancho Lopez again?

CHAPTER XIV

WHEREIN AN OLD FRIEND RETURNS, AND THERE IS A JOYFUL REUNION

On a wonderful afternoon, more than two years later, Lucia sat in the
little Spanish courtyard that Gilbert had had built a few months after
their marriage. The air was like golden wine, and she drank it in, bathed
her soul in it, as though she could never find enough joy through these
slow hours. How marvelous life had been to her in the last radiant months!
She had realized the fulfillment of her most cherished dream, and looked
down now at a tiny pink face that smiled at her.

"Oh, how sweet you are, Pancho!" she was saying. "I don't know what I ever
did without you!" And she kissed the baby's cheek, which instantly took on
a rosy hue.

There is an ecstasy that is close to tears; and in the happiness that Lucia
had now found she was experiencing that high state of spiritual exaltation
which made life almost unbearably beautiful. The autumn day itself, warm
and glowing, was like a low fire on the hearth, toward which she stretched
her hands. But there was a spiritual fire within her which needed no
outward symbol; a flame that leaped and burned steadily.

Far off she heard the chug of a motor--not the Ford now, but a big
touring-car that glistened in the sun. She knew that Gilbert would be
returning from Bisbee at just about this hour, and she could hardly wait to
see him turn in.

"Here's your daddy, Pancho!" she cried, when the car swung from the road,
and Gilbert, hatless and sun-burned, leaped from the machine with all the
eagerness of a great healthy boy.

He ran to his little family and kissed them both. "Gosh! but you l