In the morning she related all that had befallen her to her
father. Lope Sanchez, however, treated the whole as a mere dream,
and laughed at the child for her credulity. He went forth to his
customary labors in the garden, but had not been there long when his
little daughter came running to him almost breathless. "Father!
father!" cried she, "behold the myrtle wreath which the Moorish lady
bound round my head."
Lope Sanchez gazed with astonishment, for the stalk of the myrtle
was of pure gold, and every leaf was a sparkling emerald! Being not
much accustomed to precious stones, he was ignorant of the real
value of the wreath, but he saw enough to convince him that it was
something more substantial than the stuff of which dreams are
generally made, and that at any rate the child had dreamt to some
purpose. His first care was to enjoin the most absolute secrecy upon
his daughter; in this respect, however, he was secure, for she had
discretion far beyond her years or sex. He then repaired to the vault,
where stood the statues of the two alabaster nymphs. He remarked
that their heads were turned from the portal, and that the regards
of each were fixed upon the same point in the interior of the
building. Lope Sanchez could not but admire this most discreet
contrivance for guarding a secret. He drew a line from the eyes of the
statues to the point of regard, made a private mark on the wall, and
then retired.
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