"Can this be so?" exclaimed the duke.
    "It is," replied Izar.
    "Who are you?  rejoined the duke.  "Perchance are you an angel sent by God to comfort us?"
    "I am a poor orphan, my lord."
    "Where do you come from?"
    "I have come from distant lands."
    "To cure my daughter?" demanded the sorrow-stricken father.
    "Yes, that has been the only object of my journey, and I have walked the whole way, and day and night for a month."
    All the persons present at this singular interview gave a cry of surprise.  The duke passed his hand across his brow like a man who is mentally agitated; then, after a few moments of thought, he took his resolve, and led the way towards where the sick child lay unconscious and fast dying away, and made a sign for Izar to approach.
    The extraordinary replies of the boy, coupled with his self-possession, greatly excited the curiosity of all who witnessed the scene, and the ladies and servitors were gathered together in a group at the door of the bed-chamber.
    Izar approached the bed, and in silence gazed for some time upon the unconscious form of the princess, who scarcely gave signs of life.
    "Here is an invalid—can you cure her?" said the duke to Izar.
    Izar did not reply.  He stood contemplating her.  At length he murmured, in a scarcely audible voice—
    "So this is the flower that is to wither away!"
    The general anxiety was great.
    Suddenly all the bystanders uttered a cry of joy.  The princess was smiling sadly: certainly that smile was the first sign of life she had shown for days.  The duchess, in obedient to a sudden impulse, fell on her knees before the boy, and, with a look on her face which it is impossible to describe, cried, in a tone of voice that made them all tremble—
    "In the name of God, save our Sophia!"
    "Rise up, poor sorrowing mother," replied Izar, in a solemn voice; "I have come to save your daughter, and save her I will!" (Legends and Popular Tales of the Basque People, Monteiro, 1891)