The travellers had almost traversed the pathless plain when one day they saw a figure wandering in the distance, for in the desolate Sahara every object is visible to the very horizon if the whirlwind of dust does not conceal it from view. The wanderer seemed doubtful of his course, sometimes taking this, sometimes that direction, and Antonia’s eastern falcon eye could discern that it was no Arab, but a man in knightly garb.

“Oh, dear sister,” exclaimed Heimbert, full of anxious joy, “then it is our poor Fadrique, who is in search of thee. For pity’s sake, let as hasten before he loses us, and perhaps at last his own life also, in this immeasurable waste.” They strained every effort to reach the distant object, but it was now midday and the sun shone burningly upon them, Antonia could not long endure this rapid progress; added to which the fearful whirlwind soon arose, and the figure that had been scarcely visible before faded from their eyes, like some phantom of the mist in autumn.

With the rising moon they began anew to hasten forward, calling loudly upon the unfortunate wanderer, and fluttering white handkerchiefs tied to their walking-staffs, as signal flags, but it was all in vain. The object that had disappeared remained lost to view. Only a few giraffes sprang shyly past them, and the ostriches quickened their speed.

At length, as morning dawned, Antonia paused and said, “Thou canst not leave me, brother, in this solitude, and I cannot go a single step farther. God will protect the noble Fadrique. How could a father forsake such a model of knightly excellence?” “The disciple shames the teacher,” replied Heimbert, his sad face brightening into a smile. “We have done our part, and we may confidently hope that God will come to the aid of our failing powers and do what is necessary.” As he spoke he spread his mantle on the sand, that Antonia might rest more comfortably. Suddenly looking up, he exclaimed, “Oh, God! yonder lies a man, completely buried in the sand. Oh, that he may not be already dead!”

He immediately began to sprinkle wine, from the flask he carried, on the brow of the fainting traveller, and to chafe his temples with it. The man at last slowly opened his eyes and said, “I had hoped the morning dew would not again have fallen on me, but that unknown and unlamented I might have perished here in the desert, as must be the case in the end.” So saying he closed his eyes again, like one intoxicated with sleep, but Heimbert continued his restoratives unwearyingly, and at length the refreshed wanderer half raised himself from the sand with an exclamation of astonishment.

He looked from Heimbert to his companion, and from her again at Heimbert, and suddenly exclaimed, gnashing his teeth, “Ha, was it to be thus! I was not even to be allowed to die in the dull happiness of quiet solitude! I was to be first doomed to see my rival’s success and my sister’s shame!” At the same time he sprang to his feet with a violent effort and rushed forward upon Heimbert with drawn sword. But Heimbert moved neither sword nor arm, and merely said, in a gentle voice, “Wearied out, as you now are, I cannot possibly fight with you; besides, I must first place this lady in security.” Antonia, who had at first gazed with much emotion at the angry knight, now stepped suddenly between the two men and cried out, “Oh, Fadrique, neither misery nor anger can utterly disfigure you. But what has my noble brother done to you?” “Brother?” said Fadrique, with astonishment. “Or godfather, or confessor,” interrupted Heimbert, “as you will. Only do not call her Zelinda, for her name is now Antonia; she is a Christian, and waits to be your bride.” Fadrique stood fixed with surprise, but Heimbert’s true-hearted words and Antonia’s lovely blushes soon revealed the happy enigma to him. He sank down before the longed-for form with a sense of exquisite delight, and in the midst of the inhospitable desert the flowers of love and gratitude and confidence sent their sweetness heavenward.

The excitement of this happy surprise at last gave way to bodily fatigue. Antonia, like some drooping blossom, stretched her fair form on the again burning sand, and slumbered under the protection of her lover and her chosen brother. “Sleep also,” said Heimbert softly to Fadrique; “you must have wandered about wildly and wearily, for exhaustion is pressing down your eyelids with leaden weight. I am quite fresh, and I will watch meanwhile.” “Ah, Heimbert,” sighed the noble Castilian, “my sister is thine, thou messenger from Heaven; that is an understood thing. But now for our affair of honor!” “Certainly,” said Heimbert, very gravely, “as soon as we are again in Spain, you must give me satisfaction for that over-hasty expression. Till then, however, I beg you not to mention it. An unfinished quarrel is no good subject for conversation.”

Fadrique laid himself sadly down to rest, overcome by long-resisted sleep, and Heimbert knelt down with a glad heart, thanking the good God for having given him success, and for blessing, him with a future full of joyful assurance.