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Pedro Gomez, strong man as he was, trembled in every limb, and sank on a seat breathless; but even in his agitation he resisted the efforts of his niece to unwrap the child.

“Let it be,” he said; “I will myself look at this gift which the Saints have sent me.”

With trembling hands he undid its wrappings. The babe was crying lustily; red, grimacing, struggling, it was still a pretty child,—a girl only a few days old. Around its neck, under the little dress of white linen, was a silken cord. Pedro drew it forth, certain of what he should find. Florencia pounced upon the blue reliquary eagerly. “Let us open it,” she said; “perhaps we shall find something to tell us where the babe comes from, and whose it is.”

“Nonsense!” said Pedro, decidedly; “what should we find in it but scraps of paper scribbled with prayers? And who would open a reliquary?”

Florencia looked down abashed, for she was a good daughter of the Church, and had been taught to reverence such things.

“No, no, girl! run to the village and bring a woman who can nourish this starving creature;” and as the girl flew to execute her commission, Pedro completed his examination of the child.