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COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ 
 
o 
 
 Columbus and Beatriz 
 
 a jBJoljel 
 
 BY 
 
 CONSTANCE GODDARD DU BOIS 
 
 author of "martha corey, a tale of the salem 
 witchcraft" 
 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 A. C. McCLURG AND COMPANY 
 
 1802 
 
V 
 
 ^0 
 
 J"" 
 
 Copyright, 
 By a. C. McClurg and Co. 
 
 A. D. 1892. 
 
 All rights reserved. 
 
TO MY A UNT, 
 MRS. MADELINE VINTON DAHLGREN, 
 
 WHOSE KIND INTEREST IN MY LITERARY WORK HAS BEEN 
 AN INSPIRATION, 
 
 Wm "i^oofe i^ affectionately 2^ebicated. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 THE object of this work is to attempt the 
 reparation of an injustice which history 
 has done to a noble and long-suffering woman. 
 Beatriz Enriquez has been denied her lawful 
 position as the wife of Columbus by writers 
 from Humboldt and Irving to the tourist who 
 publishes his impressions of a few weeks' so- 
 journ in Spain; and the illicit connection of 
 Columbus with a beautiful lady of Cordova has 
 been expatiated upon in every tone of impartial 
 narrative and jesting allusion. The slander is, 
 however, of modern origin. Although Colum- 
 bus was loaded with calumny during his life- 
 time, no one dreamed of denying his connection 
 by marriage with the noble house of Arana, or 
 of questioning the legitimacy of his second son, 
 Fernando. 
 
 It was not till an obscure lawyer at a later 
 time raised a legal quibble about the matter for 
 the purpose of gaining a suit for a client, that 
 the idea was suggested ; and that it was repug- 
 nant to the facts of history is evident, since the 
 
Vlll PREFACE. 
 
 unscrupulous attorney lost his case, and the 
 affair remained forgotten until, in 1805, Na- 
 pione, followed by Sportorno and Navarrete, 
 revived the unwarranted assumption with eager- 
 ness, as throwing a new hght upon the character 
 of Columbus. 
 
 The only apparent support to this theory of 
 an illicit connection is the fact that Columbus 
 in his will mentions Beatriz Enriquez by name 
 without adding the title of wife, and adds that 
 in recommending her to the care of his heir he 
 eases his conscience, since he is under great ob- 
 ligation to her, " the reason of which," as he 
 says, '' it is not expedient to mention here." 
 
 Out of this weak material the web of false- 
 hood has been spun. Without following the 
 discussion in its full extent, the argument of 
 common-sense may be applied in Beatriz's jus- 
 tification. It is known that her two brothers 
 (some say a nephew and a brother) sailed with 
 Columbus upon two of his voyages in a distin- 
 guished position of trust under the Admiral. 
 Would the sons of a noble house thus condone 
 their sister's dishonor? 
 
 The mystery involved in Columbus's allusion 
 to Beatriz without giving her the title of wife is 
 supplemented by the singular fact that in the 
 most important crises of his life she was absent 
 from his side or unmentioned. The theory 
 upon which the following story is constructed 
 
PREFACE. IX 
 
 offers an explanation which is maintained to be 
 more deserving of credence than that of Spor- 
 torno, since it fits every subsequent event in 
 the life of Columbus with the congruity of a 
 historical fact. It is not the reputation of Co- 
 lumbus that is at stake. History, while accept- 
 ing his offence, has readily excused it, — " He 
 was a man of his times," forsooth ; but the 
 beautiful young Beatriz Enriquez, whose life 
 linked to his was undoubtedly a sad one, 
 should be delivered from unmerited reproach; 
 and the open-minded student of history as 
 well as the enthusiastic champion of slandered 
 innocence should unite in rendering a tardy 
 justice to her memory. 
 
 The motif of this book was gained from 
 Roselly de Lorgues's Life of Columbus, which 
 has been, for the most part, closely followed 
 in the relation of facts and the sequence of 
 events. 
 
 C. G. DuB. 
 
 Waterbury, Conn., 
 
 February i8, 1892. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 I. In the Cathedral 13 
 
 II. Heart to Heart 22 
 
 III. An Offer of Marriage 32 
 
 IV. The Crystal of Ben Hamet ... 40 
 
 V. The Mendicant Friar 51 
 
 VI. The Psyche Ring 62 
 
 VII. Francisco Ximenes 69 
 
 VIII. Light and Shadow 78 
 
 IX. An Aftermath 88 
 
 X. An ApP/EAL 99 
 
 XI. At the Siege of Baza 107 
 
 XII. A Silent Oracle 115 
 
 XIII, The San Cristoval 124 
 
 XIV. A Vow to Love 135 
 
 XV. The Triumph of the Cross .... 145 
 
 XVI. Two Voices 151 
 
 XVII. The Path of Duty 157 
 
 XVIII. The Storm 168 
 
Xll CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 XIX. Through Deep Waters 183 
 
 XX. The Triumph 200 
 
 XXI. A Message 213 
 
 XXII. Plot and Counterplot 225 
 
 XXIII. Princes' Favor 232 
 
 XXIV. The Bounds of Patience .... 242 
 XXV. Time's Changes 256 
 
 XXVI. In Chains 268 
 
 XXVII. The Quest of the Sepulchre . . 277 
 
 XXVIII. Love Triumphant 288 
 
COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 IN THE CATHEDRAL. 
 
 CORDOVA, on an August day, dazzling with sun- 
 shine, palpitating with heat, seemed to a 
 stranger who trod its streets one afternoon in the 
 year i486, a city of the dead, so deserted were its 
 thoroughfares. An ox-cart laden with country produce 
 passed now and then, with straining ropes and lond- 
 creaking axles, making an unwonted noise on the 
 clean, rough-paved streets. On the fashionable prom- 
 enade by the gently flowing Guadalquivir, where later 
 a gay throng would assemble, a solitary fisherman was 
 the only moving figure, as he went with line and 
 basket to seek the shadow of the bridge where he 
 could carry on his indolent occupation with the least 
 effort. 
 
 In the cathedral square, at most hours, a stream of 
 worshippers, entering and departing, made a continual 
 movement. At this time they came and went un- 
 noticed, and few in number. The fountains that had 
 once been used for Mohammedan ablutions plashed, 
 as of old, in their worn marble basins ; the arched col- 
 onnades and the thick shade of the orange-trees in the 
 
14 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 enclosed gardens invited to repose ; but it was the 
 cathedral itself that drew the stranger's footsteps with 
 magnetic attraction. Built a Mohammedan mosque, 
 it expressed a conception so noble that it stirred the 
 heart of the Christian who gave little credit to the in- 
 fidels' devotion. The ambition of Abd-ur-rhaman, 
 the khalif, had been to make it the shrine of the Mo- 
 hammedan faith, a western Mecca. Its vast caverns 
 of shade, its countless pillars and arches, suggested a 
 forest turned to stone. Its vistas stretching in every 
 direction gave the idea of infinite extent. The ranks 
 of gleaming pillars of porphyry and many-colored 
 marble might lead the worshipper's footsteps through 
 an endless round of adoration. Prayer was here the 
 instinct of the soul. 
 
 The stranger flung himself upon his knees before a 
 shrine of the Virgin, which, with its crudely colored 
 panels and filigree ornamentation, looked out of place 
 amid the simple harmonies of the Moorish architec- 
 ture. To him it was the dwelling-place of the pres- 
 ence that animated the whole. He prayed with the 
 fervor of one who has the habit of spiritual commu- 
 nion, the power to see visions and hear voices, the per- 
 ception of heights and depths of immaterial realities 
 denied to ordinary men. He was lost to outward 
 circumstance until aroused from his devotions by an 
 obtrusive sound, a woman's sob. 
 
 He rose and looked about him. By the same shrine, 
 not far from him in the shadow of a pillar, a young 
 girl knelt in prayer as fervent as his own had been. 
 Her dark blue mantle had slipped from her shoulders, 
 and lay upon the pavement. Her enveloping veil 
 was thrown back, disclosing a youthful face of wonder- 
 
IN THE CATHEDRAL. 1 5 
 
 ful beauty, in spite of the sorrow that forced tears 
 from her eyes. She clasped her rosary with its cross 
 to her breast, while she cast an appealing glance up- 
 ward to the unresponsive waxen countenance of the 
 Virgin's image. 
 
 " Hear me. Holy Mother," she said ; " hear my 
 prayer." At this moment her eyes fell upon the 
 stranger who stood near. She started with a move- 
 ment of alarm, clutching at her veil and mantle with 
 fingers still wound within her rosary. He gently 
 placed his hand upon her shoulder, as one would 
 soothe a frightened child. 
 
 " I doubt not your prayer is heard and will be an- 
 swered," he said. 
 
 The young girl rose with a look of wonder and rev- 
 erence fixed upon the man, whose face in its mild 
 benignity was like that of a pictured saint, and 
 whose vigorous manly form expressed energy and 
 strength. 
 
 " How can you know? " she asked, with a trustful 
 appeal in voice and eyes which the stranger answered 
 with a smile. 
 
 " I am no prophet," he said ; " but your soul was 
 near mine as we prayed. Something assures me that 
 your petition will be fulfilled, as mine will also in 
 God's own time. I am patient, and can wait in 
 hope." 
 
 " I must go," said the young girl, with a slight 
 blush, as she arranged her mantle. " My nurse will 
 soon be seeking me. I told her to follow me in an 
 hour. I wished to pray alone, I was so unhappy." 
 
 " Tell me your grief, and I may be able to aid you," 
 said the stranger. '^ Let us sit upon a bench outside 
 
1 6 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 yonder beneath the orange-trees. Your nurse will find 
 you there." 
 
 His voice and manner inspired confidence. His 
 hair was streaked with gray, and there were lines of 
 age upon his brow. He was a Christian, for he had 
 prayed with reverence and devotion. The young girl 
 seated herself beside him on a marble bench in the 
 shade near a fountain. 
 
 " I was praying that the Blessed Virgin would grant 
 me escape from a hateful marriage," she said in a fal- 
 tering voice. " For my father's sake I would obey 
 him in everything but this. I cannot respect Don 
 Francisco, who is old, decrepit, selfish, jealous, and 
 tyrannical. It would be a mockery to take the solemn 
 vows. Yet my father's will is strong, and I am weak 
 and young. The Blessed Virgin alone can help me." 
 
 " You love, I doubt not, a younger man," said the 
 stranger. 
 
 " No, I love no man save my father and my broth- 
 ers," she answered frankly, lifting her clear, grave eyes 
 to his face. " I know not what love is, as the poets 
 sing it. It seems to me a foolish thing." 
 
 " Some day you will learn the secret, which is both 
 foolish and wise," said the stranger, looking at her with 
 a smile. 
 
 The bright light of the unclouded day brought out 
 the absolute perfection of her complexion, the fault- 
 less beauty of her features, the charm and freshness of 
 her youth. The leaves of the orange-trees stirred 
 gently. The soft languor of the Spanish air disposed 
 the mind to tender fancies. A breath of his lost 
 youth seemed to the stranger to be wafted with the 
 breeze from the Guadalquivir. 
 
IN THE CATHEDRAL. 1 7 
 
 The young girl respected her companion's reverie. 
 She looked with sympathy at his melancholy face, 
 which interested her strangely. The lines of his 
 mouth were capable of expressing the gentlest emotion 
 or the most inflexible resolve. He was a man to whom 
 a child would run for love and protection. His arms 
 were strong, his heart pure. No doubt he was a good 
 husband. His wife need fear no unkindness, no jeal- 
 ousy, nor angry reproaches. 
 
 " Where is your home? " she asked at last. " Your 
 accent is not that of a CastiHan or an Aragonese. Are 
 you a stranger in Cordova? " 
 
 "I am a stranger, and I have no home," he an- 
 swered. " I am a widower and alone, without money 
 and without friends. My little son is left behind me 
 to be educated by the good friars of La Rabida, near 
 Palos. I came from thence hither, to seek the favor 
 of the king, hoping that the prior of Prado would ad- 
 vance me to his notice by virtue of a letter I brought 
 to him. Foolish hope ! He refuses me the honor of 
 his own countenance. For a week I have waited in 
 his anteroom amid a crowd of suppliants. The prior 
 is busy. All others win his attention before me. No 
 matter. Patience will unlock the door at which 
 haste and distrust beat in vain. God fulfils his 
 purposes." 
 
 The young girl's hand stole from the folds of her 
 mantle. With an impulse of generous pity, she ex- 
 tended it to the stranger. 
 
 " Accept me for your friend," she said. 
 
 ** Beautiful child," he exclaimed, as he took the 
 offered hand, smiling upon her with a sudden light in 
 his eyes which gave his face for the time a look of 
 
1 8 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 youth, " we are both servants of the Virgm, who 
 received our united prayers at the same moment 
 into her infinite heart of love. Such virtue endures 
 from that companionship that we can never be as 
 strangers to each other. A celestial tie binds our 
 souls." 
 
 Both faces glowed with emotion which a spectator 
 could not interpret, — Don Francisco Hernandez less 
 than another, since jealousy led him astray. Unseen 
 by the two chance companions, an elderly woman and 
 a gray- haired man had entered the garden and ap- 
 proached them. 
 
 " Dona Beatriz," called the woman, anxiously, 
 " your father is expecting us ! Let us make haste ! 
 Don Francisco came with me — " 
 
 " To see with my own eyes my undoing ! " inter- 
 rupted the old man, in a voice hoarse with rage. 
 " So, my pretty Senorita, you receive your lovers by 
 secret appointment in the very shelter of the church ! 
 Go back to your father, and tell him I will have none 
 of you ! " 
 
 Beatriz colored with the anger of wounded 
 pride. 
 
 "You wrong this lady ! " cried the stranger. *' She 
 is as good as she is fair. I am a new-comer in Cor- 
 dova, and have met her this hour for the first 
 time." 
 
 " Yet you hold her hand, and look upon her with 
 the eyes of admiration unrebuked ! " cried Don Fran- 
 cisco. " Fie, fie, worse and worse ! " 
 
 The old nurse wrung her hands. 
 
 " Explain yourself to Don Francisco, and entreat 
 his pardon, Senorita ! " she said in a trembling voice. 
 
IN THE CATHEDRAL. 19 
 
 " It is too great a calamity that you should thus 
 offend him." 
 
 Beatriz rose in the dignity of her stainless youth. 
 
 "I have nothing to explain," she said. "This 
 man has spoken the truth. I will go home with you, 
 Teresa." 
 
 "Alas, alas, you will lose your husband by this 
 chance ! " exclaimed Teresa. " A man so rich you 
 will never find again. Bend your pride, and ask his 
 pardon." 
 
 " I have offended in nothing," said Beatriz, sim- 
 ply. " He should ask my pardon for his unjust 
 suspicions." 
 
 She walked towards the gateway with the move- 
 ment of a queen. Don Francisco ground his teeth 
 in rage. 
 
 " It is you who are to blame for this," he exclaimed, 
 glaring at the stranger, and clutching his cane with 
 his thin jewelled fingers, as if he longed to vent his 
 anger in blows, but was restrained in spite of himself 
 by the calm superiority of the man before him, which 
 awed the choleric old man in spite of the threadbare 
 and travel- stained clothes the stranger wore. 
 
 " Who are you ? Where do you come from ? What 
 are you doing here? " he added. 
 
 "My name is Cristoval Colon," 1 responded the 
 stranger. " I came of late from the sea-coast to your 
 city, where I have a petition to urge upon their high- 
 nesses the king and queen." 
 
 1 Pronounced Co-lone'. The Spanish form of the name of 
 Christopher Columbus is used here and elsewhere throughout 
 the book, as being more consistent than its English equivalent 
 with the local coloring of the story. 
 
20 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 " Aha, I have heard of you ! " exclaimed Don 
 Francisco. " A threadbare ItaHan adventurer ; a 
 dancer of attendance in anterooms; a hanger-on 
 of the court who never advances beyond the squires' 
 quarters ; a mad dreamer of absurdities which every 
 one derides, such as seeking cities of gold in the 
 boiling torrid zone or through the abysses of the 
 whirlpool. Oh, yes, I have heard of you, Seilor 
 Court -jester ! Had I known it was you whom I be- 
 lieved my rival, I should have been moved to laugh- 
 ter rather than to anger, which too much honors your 
 pretensions." 
 
 The color deepened in Colon's face. 
 
 "Your age insures you my forbearance," he 
 said. 
 
 "Age!" exclaimed Don Francisco, indignantly, 
 while the veins on his forehead swelled ominously, 
 and he felt a choking sensation in his throat. His 
 physician had warned him against the effects of ex- 
 cessive anger. " As for age, I am scarce older than 
 yourself. Remember that I forbid you ever again to 
 approach the lady who is my betrothed," he added. 
 " She is of the highest rank. How dare you, a 
 low-born wanderer, seat yourself familiarly in her 
 presence? " 
 
 " I acknowledge no nobility higher than that of a 
 soul at peace with God," replied Colon. " I, who 
 may commune with the Virgin and the saints, may 
 talk to a simple young girl, whatever her rank, on 
 terms of equality, nay, of superiority. ^My right to 
 offer her marriage — if such a wish occurred to me — 
 is as good as yours, Seiior Don Francisco." 
 
 He rose as he spoke, bowed with grave composure. 
 
IN THE CATHEDRAL. 2i 
 
 and left the garden without a look behind. He was 
 vaguely conscious that the old man had shaken his 
 cane and gasped for utterance in an access of sudden 
 fury. He did not see Don Francisco stagger, clutch 
 at his throat, and fall dying in an apoplectic seizure 
 upon the grass beneath the orange-trees. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 HEART TO HEART. 
 
 HTHE sudden death of Don Francisco Hernandez 
 -*■ was the talk of the day in Cordova. He was 
 reported to be immensely rich ; and his position as 
 the favored suitor of a celebrated beauty had won 
 him the envy of many younger men, in spite of the 
 fact that the bride was portionless. It was known 
 that the wealth of the Enriquezes had been squan- 
 dered by the present head of the family in an attempt 
 to solve the problem of the philosopher's stone. The 
 furnace and the crucible had melted and dissipated 
 into smoke the value of many a treasure and family 
 heirloom. 
 
 Don Fernando Enriquez was prostrated by the 
 blow which deprived him of his wealthy son-in-law. 
 He lay in a darkened room, and his daughter devo- 
 tedly administered to his wants. It was the day of 
 the funeral; and the reports brought in from time 
 to time by Teresa, the old nurse and housekeeper, 
 were received with new groans by the sufferer. 
 
 " Keep up a good heart, Seiior," said Teresa, en- 
 couragingly. '■'■ I know of more than one young gal- 
 lant who is only waiting for Don Francisco to be cold 
 in the ground to offer himself as your son-in-law. It 
 is not for nothing that our Sefiorita has been called 
 the queen of beauty in Cordova. Young Garcia de 
 
HEART TO HEART. 2$ 
 
 Silva has been deep in love with her since he met 
 her at Don Aguilar's wedding. I never see him on 
 the street but he makes some attempt to converse 
 with me. I shall no longer put on a long face, and 
 slip by him as if I were blind and deaf. He is not 
 as rich as Don Francisco, — Heaven rest his soul ! — 
 but he is a proper man and a generous. Some 
 day, I doubt not, he will be high in favor at 
 the court." 
 
 " Speak not to me of that young spendthrift ! " 
 commanded Don Fernando ; " and do not take it 
 upon thyself to choose a husband for my daughter, or 
 to encourage the penniless young nobles who write 
 sonnets in praise of her eyes and her hair. I will 
 have none of them, dost thou understand me? A 
 man of age and discretion, who has wealth and knows 
 how to keep what he has, — such is my choice. Find 
 me one if thou canst." 
 
 " They do not grow on every bush," said Teresa, 
 pursing her lips and shrugging her shoulders, " and 
 something is better than nothing." 
 
 " Quote me no proverbs," said Enriquez, "but go 
 dress thy mistress for the funeral. Let her wear her 
 heaviest veil, and lean on her brother Rodrigo's arm. 
 In my absence, he is the head of the family. My son 
 Pedro may stay with me." 
 
 " I cannot go, my father," said Beatriz, in a fal- 
 tering voice. " Let Pedro take my place, and let me 
 remain at home with you." 
 
 " She has heard the silly talk of the maids, and 
 it has frightened her," explained Teresa, officiously. 
 " The ignorant folk mamtain that Don Francisco was 
 murdered, since his forehead was cut as if by a blow 
 
2 4 COL UMB US A ND BEA TRIZ. 
 
 from a stick, though the fall alone might account for 
 that." 
 
 "Why hast thou not told me?" asked Enriquez, 
 starting. 
 
 " Because the priests say there is no word of truth 
 in the story, and my lady bade me not mention it to 
 you." 
 
 " It is not true ; it cannot be tnie," said Beatriz. 
 "Who could wish his death?" 
 
 " Many a one who loved you," muttered Teresa, 
 under her breath. 
 
 " Then why dost thou fear to go to the church, my 
 daughter?" demanded Enriquez. 
 
 Beatriz hesitated. 
 
 " She is still thinking of the story of the maids," 
 interposed Teresa. " They say that the murderer — 
 if murder there was — will be discovered by his pres- 
 ence in the crowd about the bier, for at his approach 
 the wound on the dead man's brow will bleed afresh." 
 
 " No doubt such things have been," said Enriquez ; 
 " but it is not to be beHeved that a man so high in 
 rank could come to his end by foul means unavenged. 
 The city would be aroused. The magistrates and 
 clergy would take it up. Since it is only the voice of 
 servants that deals in this foolish gossip, rebuke it 
 and silence it, my daughter. Go to the church, as is 
 thy place, and pray for the soul of the departed." 
 
 Beatriz had been much shocked by Don Francisco's 
 sudden death. She saw him constantly before her as 
 she had left him in the cathedral garden in angry 
 altercation with a stranger. What had been the re- 
 sult of that interview? Were the stranger's hands 
 reddened with blood ? Did his forehead bear unseen 
 
HEART TO HEART. 25 
 
 the mark of Cain? If so, she was the unwilUng 
 cause of a foul murder. It was this thought that agi- 
 tated her, and banished rest, filhng her fancy with 
 horrible imaginings. She was unwilling to believe 
 evil of the man with the saintly face who had pre- 
 dicted the answer to her prayer which had been thus 
 tragically fulfilled. It was as if she had prayed un- 
 knowingly for the death of Don Francisco. A shadow 
 of guilt darkened the sanctuary of her holiest thoughts. 
 Had that moment of spiritual communion before the 
 Virgin's shrine been imaginary ? Was the man with 
 whose heart her own had been fused and blended in 
 angelic friendship by a spark from a divine altar, — 
 was he less pure and noble than she had imagined? 
 
 Beatriz lived a secluded life, her father being of 
 late unwilling that she should mingle freely in the gay 
 society of the city by which she was admired and 
 courted ; poverty being his plea for withdrawing her 
 from it, together with the invalid state of his health, 
 which demanded the sacrifice of her time and strength 
 in his serv'ice. She had never known the careless 
 freedom of a happy girlhood ; nor, among her many 
 admirers, had she found one who could teach her the 
 meaning of love. Her father contrived that the ex- 
 pression of their feelings should be limited to a dis- 
 tant homage of compliments, looks, and sighs ; and 
 Beatriz, having neither vanity nor coquetry, was quite 
 unmoved by this. Friendship was her highest ideal. 
 If she could have admired and respected Don Fran- 
 cisco, she would have been willing to become his 
 wife. 
 
 Young Garcia de Silva was the most ardent and 
 daring of her lovers. No repulse discouraged him. 
 
26 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 He delighted in overcoming the obstacles that were 
 persistently placed in his path. In time his youthful 
 courage, reinforced by his handsome figure, might 
 have won his way to Beatriz's shy favor ; but Teresa, 
 recognizing the extreme danger of incurring the rich 
 Don Francisco's wrath, took every means to preju- 
 dice her mistress against the young man. Since 
 Don Francisco's death, Teresa had suddenly changed 
 her tone. She wearied her young mistress with 
 praises of De Silva, which were honestly given in 
 exchange for the golden bribes which she no longer 
 refused to receive from him. She carried his letters 
 and messages, and smuggled his valuable gifts into 
 the house, only to meet with stern reproof and rejec- 
 tion from Beatriz. 
 
 "A week ago, Teresa, thou didst represent Don 
 Garcia as a wild young libertine ; now thou dost de- 
 clare him to be possessed of all the virtues," Beatriz 
 said severely. 
 
 " He has always been virtuous, but I have not 
 known him," Teresa replied. " We cannot credit all 
 we hear. He is as handsome as a picture, and as 
 brave as the Cid. When the period of mourning is 
 passed, you will meet him again, and you will believe 
 what I say." 
 
 These incongruous declarations did not tend to 
 relieve the trouble of Beatriz's mind. No prodigy 
 occurred at the funeral, which took place with pomp 
 and ceremony in the cathedral ; but Beatriz looked 
 in vain among the crowd for the melancholy face and 
 inspired eyes of the Italian. 
 
 A month later she met him upon the street as she 
 was going for prayers to the cathedral with Teresa at 
 
HEART TO HEART 27 
 
 her side, the latter bearing a silken bag containing a 
 heavy wax-candle, which was to be bestowed in favor 
 of the repose of Don Francisco's soul. Beatriz paused 
 and beckoned with an imperious gesture. Teresa 
 frowned as the stranger approached. Don Garcia's 
 ducats lay heavy in her pocket, yet she dared not 
 interfere when Beatriz's face wore a certain look of 
 fixed resolve. Colon smiled as one does to greet a 
 child. Then he saw the mourning veil, and his face 
 grew serious. 
 
 *' You have my sympathy," he said, as he respect- 
 fully returned her greeting. '' It was a strange and 
 sudden death." 
 
 « When you left him, was he well? " asked Beatriz, 
 in a trembling voice. 
 
 " He was half beside himself with anger," replied 
 Colon, " but I had no thought that evil would befall 
 him. My mind was full of other things, I did not 
 look behind me." 
 
 " Were you in the cathedral when he lay there ? 
 Did you see him? " asked Beatriz, anxiously. 
 
 "I approached the bier and looked at him," he 
 answered. '' He was as if asleep. Let us hope that 
 the sin of anger was but a stain of the flesh forgiven 
 the departed soul." 
 
 " Amen," said Teresa, crossing herself devoutly. 
 « Did the wound upon his temple bleed when you 
 looked at him?" asked Beatriz, close to his ear, so 
 that Teresa should not overhear the words. 
 
 Colon started. This superstition was not new to 
 him. With quick intuition he realized what Beatriz 
 had thought and feared. 
 
 "I cannot talk to you here," he said. "I will 
 
28 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 come to your father's house this evening. I know 
 your brother, the honorable Rodrigo. He has been 
 kind to me. The Pope's former nuncio, the accom- 
 plished Antonio Geraldini, presented me to him as 
 one worthy of his regard. I lodge near your house. 
 I have watched you come and go, and it seemed to 
 me that good angels were with you. May they shield 
 you from evil fancies ! " 
 
 He was gone ; and Beatriz walked on, blushing and 
 chiding herself for her fears, and her too frank expres- 
 sion of them. Her mind was relieved. Words of 
 denial were unnecessary. Heart spoke to heart. The 
 blessing of the Virgin's smile had made their friend- 
 ship strange and unearthly, but real and abiding. 
 
 Colon, for his part, was not indifferent to the in- 
 terest which he had excited in this beautiful girl. 
 Beatriz's modesty was as evident as her beauty. 
 There was a radiant spirituality about her that ap- 
 pealed to his own deep religious sense, and made the 
 understanding between them the result of intuitive 
 sympathy. But Colon was not content, as Beatriz 
 had been, with the moment's perfection. Life to 
 him was full of serious responsibilities. The present 
 was laden with the burden of a mighty future ; and 
 he saw a supernatural guidance in the most trivial 
 occurrences. His meeting with Beatriz, when he was 
 still a stranger in Cordova ; the quick impulse of 
 prophecy which had welled from his heart to his Hps 
 regarding the fulfilment of her prayer ; the death of 
 Don Francisco, which had left her free ; his own 
 bereaved state, and his need of a woman's sympathy 
 to bind the wounds which fate inflicted, and to con- 
 sole him for the disappointments he foresaw in a 
 
HEART TO HEART. 29 
 
 tedious course of supplication at the Court of Spain, — 
 all pointed unmistakably, he believed, to a path which 
 Heaven had marked out for him to follow. He was 
 thrilled with gratitude for the divine interposition 
 which echoed the primeval utterance of the Creator : 
 "It is not good that man should be alone; I will 
 make him an help meet for him." 
 
 All day the voice of Beatriz sounded in his ears, 
 and her image was before him. He did not resist 
 the pleasing allurements of his fancy, and it seemed 
 an inevitable fate which led his steps in the cool of 
 the evening to the house of Enriquez. 
 
 An old servant bade him enter, and conducted 
 him to a marble-paved patio in the centre of the 
 house, where a fountain plashed musically, reflecting 
 the sky and the sunset glow. Beatriz sat here with 
 her younger brother. Her round white arm was 
 about his neck, and his bright face was upturned to 
 hers, which, although hardly more mature, wore a 
 tender maternal look, as she bent towards him with 
 words of counsel and sympathy. Beatriz rose as 
 the stranger approached, and her brother stood beside 
 her, holding her hand, both youthful figures leaning 
 slightly forward, half curious, half startled. 
 
 " Oh ! it is the mad Genoese," whispered Pedro, 
 hurriedly. " I met him at our brother's. What 
 brings him here? " 
 
 Beatriz blushed, and leaned more heavily on Pe- 
 dro's arm. She was conscious of a sudden feeling 
 of alarm, as if the sanctuary of her home had been 
 boldly invaded. She half read the Italian's purpose 
 in the look he bent upon her. She was not dis- 
 pleased, and yet she trembled. 
 
30 COLUMBUS AND BEATRTZ. 
 
 *' Good- evening, Seiior," said Pedro. "Would you 
 see my father? " 
 
 Colon smiled into the boy's handsome eyes ; and 
 Pedro's prejudice was dissipated, and replaced with 
 the loyalty of sudden friendship which children always 
 gave the Italian at first sight. 
 
 " Either him or you, or your sister here, whom 
 I met in the cathedral," answered Colon. " Your 
 brother Rodrigo has given me permission to visit you 
 in your home." 
 
 " Be seated, then," said Pedro. " My father is 
 busy with his tiresome books, and will not allow us 
 to disturb him. When friends come, my sister and 
 I see them together. Since Rodrigo is married and 
 Diego lives at his house, we alone represent the 
 family in the home nest, hard as it often is to be 
 shut up away from the gayeties of the rest. But now, 
 as soon as Beatriz discards her mourning clothes, all 
 will be different. Rodrigo is to give a grand ball and 
 banquet. Beatriz and I are both to be there." 
 
 Pedro chattered thus irrelevantly because he feared 
 the silence which threatened the group if he did not 
 talk. The stranger sat looking with a fixed and 
 dreamy gaze at the blushing face of Beatriz, who 
 seemed to be deprived of the power of speech. If 
 Pedro had not been present, she would have begged 
 the stranger's pardon for her unjust suspicion of him. 
 She felt convicted of childish folly, and she feared 
 the reproaches he must have ready for her who had 
 believed him a possible murderer. Since she could 
 not broach this subject, the customary polite triviali- 
 ties of speech failed her. She wished that he would 
 look at Pedro, and not so earnestly at herself. After 
 
HEART TO HEART 3 1 
 
 Standing a moment in confusion, she turned, saying, 
 " I will tell my father that you are here ; " and she 
 ran lightly away. 
 
 Pedro looked after her in amazement. "What 
 ails my sister?" he exclaimed. " She never tells an 
 untruth ; yet it is impossible for any of us to speak 
 to my fiither when he is busy with his studies, and 
 that she knows as well as I. Moreover, she has run 
 into the garden instead of towards the laboratory." 
 
 "No matter," said Colon; "I will talk to you 
 instead. Do you love your sister?" 
 
 "Love her!" exclaimed Pedro. "What can you 
 be thinking of to ask such a question? Who would 
 not love her? She is the best sister in the world." 
 
 "' You say that your father cannot be interrupted, 
 yet I would like much to speak with him," replied 
 Colon. " Will you not tell him for me that Cristoval 
 Colon, a Genoese, desires to make his acquaintance? 
 I have no intimate knowledge of alchemy ; yet I am 
 versed in astrology, as well as cosmography and as- 
 tronomy, and I could tell him much that he would 
 be glad to hear." 
 
 Pedro shrugged his shoulders. " I will take ray 
 life in my hands and venture into his study at your 
 bidding," he said. " If I lose not my head, or am 
 not thrust into the furnace for my disobedience, you 
 may follow me presendy." 
 
 To the boy's surprise he was given an immediate 
 permission to introduce the Italian, of whom Don 
 Fernando Enriquez had heard, and whose acquaint- 
 ance, as a man of vast and uncommon ideas, the 
 alchemist was anxious to make. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE. 
 
 T^HE dark, low-vaulted room where Don Fer- 
 -■- nando pursued his studies was lighted only by 
 the glow of a small furnace in the corner, and a 
 couple of tapers which burned in iron sconces upon 
 the wall above the table piled with books, near which 
 the scholar's chair was placed. Don Fernando raised 
 a pale, careworn face as the stranger entered, and 
 motioned his guest to a seat. 
 
 " My son tells me that you are versed in as- 
 trology," he said. " I have had my horoscope con- 
 structed by a Moor who dwells in this city ; and 
 unless he is a lying knave, it is promised me that 
 I am on the eve of the greatest event in my life, 
 which can be nothing else than the discovery of that 
 transmuting energy which is inherent in the very 
 composition of matter, yet which cunningly eludes 
 our search. A dozen times the secret has seemed 
 to lie just under my hand, but has ever and again 
 escaped me. All points with certainty to the final 
 solution of this problem. Am I the man for whom 
 the great discovery is reser\'ed? Resolve me that 
 question by your science, Seiior Colon, and I will 
 reward you to the best of an impoverished noble- 
 man's ability, w^ith influence rather than with gold." 
 
 " I will endeavor, by the aid of Heaven, to use 
 what skill of that sort I possess for your benefit," 
 
AA^ OFFER OF MARRIAGE. ^^ 
 
 answered Colon ; " but no doubt the Moor is learned, 
 and has told you the truth. It may be that you 
 have misinterpreted his words. The greatest event 
 of your life may come in a shape different from that 
 upon which your heart is set." 
 
 '^ What else could greatly concern an old man 
 like me?" answered Fernando. "The discovery I 
 pursue is life and love to me. For it I wear out my 
 days with study and my nights with watching; for 
 it I have wasted my fortune and lost my friends. 
 My sons frown upon my crazy fancy, as they call it, 
 and refuse to aid me. No one gives me sympathy 
 but my daughter, and she, alas ! has lost the husband 
 whose riches would have made it possible for me to 
 perfect the costly experiment I have staked my hopes 
 upon." 
 
 " Sefior Enriquez," said Colon, " think it not vain 
 presumption which declares through my lips that the 
 greatest event of your life occurs at this hour in your 
 meeting with myself." 
 
 "With you!" exclaimed Enriquez, at first with 
 incredulous scorn ; then with a quick change of feel- 
 ing, he added, in a sudden ecstasy of hope, " Have 
 you found it? Do you know, and will you impart, 
 the secret of the philosopher's stone?" 
 
 Colon shook his head. " I hardly believe that 
 Nature will yield that secret to our most ardent 
 search," he answered; "but I know a greater one, 
 from which will flow results still more surprising. 
 After years of research as laborious as your own, but 
 guided by divine inspiration, I have reached with 
 absolute certainty the conclusion that across the 
 western sea there lies a path, easy enough to the 
 3 
 
34 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 adventurous mariner, which leads direct to Manghay 
 and Cathay, the kingdoms of the Khan, and the 
 island of Zipangu, famous for its wealth of gold and 
 precious stones." 
 
 '' I have heard all that," said Enriquez, impatiently. 
 " Rodrigo and Geraldini have wearied me with this 
 talk of yours about cities of gold and temples of 
 ivory. If the king grants your petition for ships and 
 men, and you go forth and possess it in his name, 
 what is that to me? Will it further my discovery, 
 which is of greater worth to me than the realms of 
 the Khan?" 
 
 "Yes," answered Colon; "I care little for the 
 wealth I shall win, except for the purpose to which 
 I shall apply it, — the purchase of the Holy Sepul- 
 chre from the hands of the infidels. This lies as 
 near my heart as your precious discovery does to 
 yours; but I hope to possess more than enough 
 to equip an army or to ransom the Sepulchre at the 
 highest price the Soldan may put upon it. The sur- 
 plus shall overflow to meet every demand of duty and 
 friendship, — to you first, if close relationship shall 
 warrant it. Senor Don Enriquez, I ask you to bestow 
 upon me your daughter Beatriz in marriage." 
 
 Enriquez was astounded beyond measure. His 
 mind quickly reviewed the words of the Italian, and 
 all that he had heard of him and of his pretensions 
 since his coming to Cordova. He was disposed to 
 believe in his theory ; and he was impressed, as the 
 scholarly Geraldini had been, with the grandeur of 
 his views. The proposed connection with himself 
 placed the matter in a new light. It was through 
 his daughter's marriage alone that Enriquez had 
 
AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE. 35 
 
 hopes of acquiring the fortune he coveted. Since 
 Don Francisco's death, he had looked in vain for 
 the suitor who should unite wealth and generosity 
 with a sympathy for the views and pursuits of the 
 alchemist. Garcia de Silva would inherit a compe- 
 tency, which his extravagant tastes would spend on 
 every object rather than the purchase of chemicals 
 and costly books for his father-in-law. Placing him- 
 self first, as he always did in such considerations, 
 Enriquez did not consult the probable wishes of his 
 daughter, or consider that the younger man would 
 be more likely to win her heart. 
 
 "I will not refuse you, Seiior Colon," he said; 
 " neither can I give you much encouragement. Our 
 family is one of the most ancient in Cordova. My 
 sons would look higher for a husband for their sister ; 
 but other things than rank are to be considered. 
 Wealth is a necessity, a generous spirit, such as you 
 have already manifested, being combined with the 
 power to give ; for I will not deny that my fortune 
 has been spent, worthily but as yet in vain, and 
 I need money. Fill my hands with the golden 
 treasures you promise, and my daughter shall be 
 yours." 
 
 Colon smiled with lofty pity for this impatient 
 greed. *' Years as well as floods may roll between 
 me and the distant shore which I behold with the 
 eye of faith," he said. " The maiden would not wait 
 for me. A younger suitor would claim her. You 
 would part us, who are destined for each other, 
 and to what purpose? Only to oppose yourself 
 to the greatest good that fortune has ever offered 
 to you, — the connection with the discoverer of 
 
36 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 more than the philosopher's stone, — one whose 
 name, as the instrument of Heaven, is to resound 
 through all the centuries to the utmost limit of 
 time." 
 
 This sublime self-conceit, unmixed with vanity, im- 
 pressed Enriquez, whose mind was disposed, by the 
 character of his pursuits, to view all subjects from an 
 unusual standpoint. 
 
 " I do not reject you," he said. " We will talk 
 further of this matter. Meantime you may visit us 
 freely as a friend who is always welcome. And now 
 leave me, for the metal in my furnace is at white 
 heat, and a moment's delay will be fatal. This is but 
 a trifling experiment, but the simplest things some- 
 times prove the best. The truth lies before our eyes 
 could we but see it. Good-night. You will find my 
 daughter in the garden. I give you permission to 
 address her." 
 
 After the close, heated room the evening hour and 
 the breath of flowers were refreshing. Beatriz was 
 alone in the garden, and she looked up shyly as Colon 
 approached. Pedro had followed her to discuss their 
 odd guest and the strange circumstance of his visit to 
 their father, and had then gone to spend a gay even- 
 ing at his brother's house. Beatriz would not leave 
 her father. She was waiting to give him his evening 
 draught, and to console him for the certain failure of 
 his experiment, as she had often done before, with 
 the hope of future success, and with cheerful talk, and 
 a song to the sound of her guitar. 
 
 " Why did you flee from me?" asked Colon, in a 
 tone of tender reproach, as he joined her. 
 
 " I do not know," answered Beatriz, her heart beat- 
 
AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE. 37 
 
 ing quickly. " It seemed to me that you were changed. 
 In the cathedral I was not afraid, though I saw you 
 for the first time. It must be that I feel my guilt in 
 having suspected you of a dreadful crime." 
 
 " Let us not speak of that," interrupted Colon ; 
 " that may well be forgotten. Let no suspicion hence- 
 forth come between us. I am changed only because 
 a breath of happiness has blown over me, reviving 
 hopes and feelings which I thought were long since 
 dead, as a spring shower revives the flowers in your 
 garden. Do you think, Beatriz, that a woman of 
 youth and beauty could learn to love me? What 
 would she answer me should I ask her to be my 
 wife?" 
 
 Beatriz attempted no reply. 
 
 " You are the only woman I could wish to wed," 
 continued Colon. *' You are free from frivolity and 
 selfishness ; you are gentle and patient, religious, and 
 capable of noble emotion. Heaven has led me to 
 you as the footsteps of a wanderer are directed in the 
 desert to the one spot of verdure and fertility where 
 he may rest, before he leaves it for a further weary 
 march over burning sands beneath a sky of brass. 
 Your tender heart will not refuse this solace to one 
 who needs your companionship and love. You will 
 not say me nay." 
 
 This was not the impassioned wooing of a youthful 
 lover, but it appealed to Beatriz's life-long habit of 
 self-sacrificing devotion to interests other than her 
 own. Pedro had told her in a few words the story of 
 the Italian's Hfe, and she had been thrilled with pity 
 and admiration. Where others derided, she was 
 ready to believe and uphold. 
 
38 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 "Tell me about yourself, Senor," said Beatriz, 
 making no direct reply. "How can I help you?" 
 
 Colon took a seat beside her in the shadow of a 
 pomegranate-tree, where a nightingale was singing. 
 The moon cast arabesques of shade through the leaves 
 upon the sand at their feet and the whitewashed wall 
 of the house before them. The brooding silence of 
 the summer night was full of peace. 
 
 " Let me enjoy these halcyon days while they last," 
 exclaimed Colon. " It is a moment's calm for a 
 shipwrecked mariner, a truce from misfortune which 
 Heaven grants. Ah, Beatriz, the Virgin blessed her 
 worshipper when she led his steps to thee." 
 
 Then he began the story of his great ambition, 
 which was to be fulfilled like a Delphic prophecy 
 both more and less completely than he hoped. It 
 was not of a new world that he was dreaming, nor 
 did he imagine that the purpose which inspired the 
 enterprise with the sacredness of a crusade, the con- 
 version of the heathen and the final crowning of the 
 whole by the rescue of the Holy Sepulchre with the 
 treasures of the Indies, should foil of fulfilment and 
 remain a forgotten dream. As he unfolded it to her, 
 it seemed to Beatriz the grandest project a mortal 
 could conceive. She did not discredit the element 
 of the supernatural which Colon everywhere recog- 
 nized in the leadings of his life. When he again 
 referred to their meeting as ordained by the divine 
 will, Beatriz's heart was fired with a conviction that 
 he spoke the truth. What higher fortune could there 
 be than an alliance with this messenger of Heaven ? 
 Her eyes shone with tears of sympathy for the man 
 who had been despised and misunderstood, derided 
 
A,V OFFER OF MARRIAGE. 39 
 
 and neglected. She would console him for the 
 past, and inspire him with strength for the future. 
 When Colon ceased speaking, Beatriz gave him 
 her hand. 
 
 '' It is yours," she said, with a smile which was a 
 benediction. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE CRYSTAL OF BEN HAMET. 
 
 nPHOSE who walk among the clouds are not always 
 "*■ objects of admiration to the dwellers on the 
 common level. There are mysteries in the higher 
 life, Hke those of Eleusis, which only the initiated can 
 understand. Beatriz's love seemed to all others a 
 strange infatuation. When Don Fernando after some 
 dehberation gave his consent to the Italian's suit, and 
 announced his choice of a husband for his daughter, 
 a storm of opposition arose in the noble family of the 
 Enriquezes de Arana. The bridegroom was a widower 
 without rank, youth, or fortune. His future was most 
 unpromising; his only means of support being the 
 making of charts and maps, which furnished a pre- 
 carious income not sufficient to maintain a wife and 
 family in the necessities of life. His presumption in 
 aspiring to the connection was astounding in its auda- 
 city, and amazing in its success. Teresa, the old nurse, 
 was disconsolate. She foresaw the cessation of her 
 golden bribes from De Silva. Her daughter, the 
 wife of a baker in the neighborhood, joined in her 
 lamentations. 
 
 "To think, "said Rosa, the baker's wife, "that it 
 should come to this ! The wedding-table will be bare 
 enough, I warrant you, for Don Rodrigo will not give 
 a real to furnish it if his sister marries against his 
 
THE CRYSTAL OF BEN HAMET. 41 
 
 wishes, and Don Fernando and this beggarly Italian 
 between them could not lay out five pesos upon it. If 
 Don Francisco had but lived ! Such a cake as I had 
 planned ! It would have been the talk of the town ; 
 a tower at each corner in sugar work with gilded cu- 
 polas, and the arms of the Aranas and Hernandezes, 
 one on each side, with devices of hearts and wreaths 
 and doves around the margin ; then a great B in the 
 centre. I lay awake at night contriving it. It would 
 have taken two skilled workmen a week. Now good- 
 by to all that, since there is no money to pay for it, 
 or for the fancy bread, without which a wedding would 
 not be a wedding. I have still an order to furnish for 
 Don Rodrigo's banquet, but my heart is not in it as it 
 should be. My dough will not rise, either, if I cast 
 sour looks upon it." 
 
 " Well, do not be cast down, my daughter," said 
 Teresa. '' I have hopes of my own from this same 
 banquet. Don Garcia will be there, and we shall see 
 how it will fare with this Senor Colon. ' Many a one 
 goes for wool and comes back shorn.' " 
 
 The great ball and banquet at Rodrigo de Arana's 
 had excited universal interest. His beautiful sister 
 would appear in society for the first time since her 
 mourning. The Italian, with whom a rumor of mar- 
 riage linked her name, would not be excluded, though 
 it was common talk that Rodrigo would rather see his 
 sister in her coffin than wedded to the Genoese. 
 
 On the long-expected night Rodrigo's house was 
 full of light, music, and perfume. Many dignitaries 
 of the court were there, noblemen of high rank, and 
 womeif celebrated for beauty and wit, besides a few 
 distinguished representatives of the priesthood, for 
 
42 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 Rodrigo was universally respected. In the galaxy of 
 beauty Beatriz shone pre-eminent. She was radiantly 
 lovely, with a delicate flush upon her face and a new 
 light in her expressive eyes. But the admirers who 
 crowded about her found little encouragement. Her 
 serene indifference depressed the most ardent spirits, 
 and they left her to seek smiles more responsive. 
 
 Antonio Geraldini, the accomplished prelate and 
 poet, was approached early in the evening by his 
 brother Alessandro, who conducted a handsome and 
 elegantly attired young man whom he presented to 
 the ex-nuncio as Don Garcia de Silva. 
 
 *' My young friend begs me to make known to him 
 the poet who won at twenty-two the golden laurel 
 crown," said Alessandro. " He is sick with love, and 
 hopes that thou mayest minister to his disease." 
 
 " Alessandro is glad to be rid of my melancholy 
 presence," said De Silva, when left alone with the 
 ex-nuncio. " I have wearied him to death as I shall 
 you with my complaints of fortune's cruelty. Oh, 
 Geraldini, look at her, and then say if I am not the 
 most wretched man in the world to love her and in 
 
 vam 
 
 ''What stands in the way?" asked Antonio, to 
 whom De Silva's hopeless attachment for Beatriz was 
 not unknown. 
 
 " A thousand obstacles, impalpable as air, yet real 
 as Hfe," answered De Silva. " I approach her, whis- 
 per in her ear, enjoy the light of her eyes, yet feel 
 that she is as far away from me as Paradise from Pur- 
 gatory. Let that beggarly Italian come near — whom 
 may Heaven confound ! — and she listens to him, she 
 smiles, her eyes glow, yet not with love. Oh, An- 
 
THE CRYSTAL OF BEN HA MET. 43 
 
 tonio, there lies my torment. She believes that she 
 loves him, yet she knows not what it is to love. Could 
 I but teach her that, I could win her for my own. 
 Help me to do it." 
 
 " Why come to me for help ? " exclaimed Geraldini. 
 " I am the last man to aid you in such a case. More- 
 over, the Italian whom you despise is my friend. He 
 is a man of the noblest enthusiasm. He has earned 
 my belief and respect." 
 
 " Perhaps he is worthy of it," said De Silva, sup- 
 pressing a groan ; " though it seems that he must 
 deal in sorcery, since without effort he gains all that I 
 most covet. Look from him to me. Which, think 
 you, is most likely to win a young girl's love? " 
 
 " You, I should say," answered Geraldini ; '' but the 
 heart of woman is, no doubt, a mysterious thing." 
 
 " You will not deny my entreaty, though the Italian 
 is your friend," continued De Silva. " It is only that 
 you write me a poem that will touch her heart, and 
 kindle there the spark that will make it soften in pity 
 and tenderness. Once light that fire, and I will com- 
 plain no more. Let her understand the language I 
 speak, of which at present she has no comprehension. 
 Let her be less celestial, less remote in an aureole of 
 glory which smites her worshippers with blindness." 
 
 " You speak poetry yourself, Don Garcia," said 
 Geraldini, with a smile. 
 
 " Life is a poem when one loves, Geraldini," an- 
 swered Garcia ; " but I have not the gift to express 
 my thought. Put it for me into verse and metre." 
 
 " Shall I write you a polished cancion or a sen-ano 
 which you can sing by moonlight under her window? " 
 asked Geraldini. 
 
44 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 " Let it be a simple love-song," said Garcia, " that 
 can be copied on a fair sheet of paper, and her nurse 
 will place it for me beneath her pillow or on her 
 cushion. She would not listen to my song." 
 
 *' Suppose I give you the love-song of Alonzo de 
 Carthagena, a worthy archbishop, who was not igno- 
 rant in his youth of the tender passion ; " and Geral- 
 dini quoted : — 
 
 " Oh, fierce is the flame that seizes my breath, 
 My body, my soul, my life, and my death ! 
 It burns in its fury, it kindles desire, 
 It consumes, but alas I it will never expire." 
 
 " Mere complaining does not move her," said Gar- 
 cia. *' Yet copy me those verses if you will, and add 
 to them something of your own." 
 
 "The archbishop has more in the same strain," 
 said Antonio, " and I will write them down if it will 
 please you ; but believe me, you will not find a poet 
 who can work for you the transformation which your 
 own address and handsome figure cannot effect." 
 
 " That is the sting of it," said Garcia. " What are 
 advantages with others count for nothing with her ; 
 yet I will make one further effort. Give me your 
 prayers." 
 
 He hastened to Beatriz's side, as she entered the 
 banqueting-hall leaning on her brother's arm, and he 
 contrived, with Rodrigo's permission, that his place 
 should be next hers at the table. Colon was seated 
 at the farther end of the room, below all the titled 
 guests who were present. Garcia's spirits rose as he 
 noticed this arrangement. This hour was his own, 
 and he must improve its precious moments. He 
 
THE CRYSTAL OF BEN HA MET. 45 
 
 could have sat in silent contentment, watching the 
 color come and go in Beatriz's face, the turn of her 
 head, and the movement of her arms ; listening to the 
 music of her voice, even if her words were not for him ; 
 but the unwelcome presence of the Genoese reminded 
 him of the precarious nature of such happiness. He 
 nerved himself for a last effort. 
 
 " Beatriz," he whispered. 
 
 The young girl turned her head with a quick blush 
 and a questioning look. 
 
 "Thou knowest that I love thee, that when thou 
 dost wed another my life ends," said Garcia, in a 
 low, hurried voice. "Turn not from me now. I 
 have to tell thee of a prophecy concerning thyself 
 and the Genoese. Wilt thou listen to it?" 
 
 Beatriz made no reply, but she leaned towards 
 him and fixed her eyes upon his face. The perfume 
 of the flowers she wore intoxicated Garcia. She was 
 so near him that his breath stirred the loose ring- 
 lets above her forehead. Garcia trembled with emo- 
 tion, but he continued with an effort, — 
 
 " Last night I roamed the streets wild with my 
 grief. I stood beneath thy window." 
 
 Beatriz made a quick movement, like a bird that is 
 about to take to flight. 
 
 " Nay, hearken to me," said Garcia. " I have told 
 thee a hundred times of my love. I will not weary 
 thee with the tale again. I wandered aimlessly till I 
 came to a crooked, narrow street where in the turret 
 of a house a light was burning at that late hour. I 
 remembered to have heard that Ben Hamet, the 
 Moor, an astrologer of repute, dwelt there. I sprang 
 up the winding stair, and entered the turret room, 
 
46 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 which was full of strange charts and curious images, 
 statues and busts and globes, and circles figured with 
 the zodiacal signs. The Moor was an old man, with 
 a long white beard and piercing eyes, clad in a crim- 
 son robe embroidered in strange designs. I begged 
 him, if he had the power he was credited with, to 
 divine for me the future of my love. He seated 
 himself in a great chair before a table on which stood 
 a crystal globe, and he beckoned to me to take a 
 place beside him. I obeyed, and fixed my eyes, as 
 he did, upon the crystal, which was clear and bright. 
 After a time a cloud arose by degrees within the 
 globe. I watched it eagerly, but it took no form to 
 me. Ben Hamet, however, bent forward, and began 
 hurriedly to describe the figures that appeared to 
 him. 
 
 " * You love a beautiful woman,' he said ; and he 
 pictured to me in words the fairest form in all the 
 earth, — thine, Beatriz ; 'but she is threatened with an 
 evil fate. An Italian with gray hair crosses your path 
 and hers. She follows him. I see a road where the 
 two walk hand in hand. A little crevice hidden by 
 flowers divides them. It widens, but they clasp 
 hands across it, and go on with smiling faces. Still 
 the chasm widens and deepens. The hands are un- 
 clasped, and the Italian and the beautiful woman go 
 on while thou dost follow. The chasm becomes a 
 gulf, boundless and bottomless. In it are clouds and 
 lightnings, and dark shapes that change so rapidly 
 that the eye cannot recognize them. I do but catch 
 a glimpse of gleaming swords, chains, and a golden 
 throne. The sword flashes from the hand of the 
 Italian, and it pierces the heart of the beautiful wo- 
 
THE CRYSTAL OF BEN HA MET. 47 
 
 man. The throne is overturned in the abyss, and a 
 whirhvind sweeps over all. The vision is ended.' " 
 
 Garcia looked fixedly at Beatriz as he quoted the 
 words of the Moor. She had grown pale. The whis- 
 per in her ear had drowned the mirthful voices of the 
 banqueters. 
 
 "You do but play upon my fears," she said. 
 
 " I vow, by all the saints, that the words of the 
 Moor were as I have repeated them," said Garcia. 
 " I beg thee, Beatriz, avoid this marriage, which threat- 
 ens naught but evil. Do not sacrifice thy youth and 
 beauty to this careworn, gray-haired man. He has 
 no room for love among his ambitions. Thou wilt 
 learn, perchance, too late what love is, — how it con- 
 sumes, how it demands return. Thou wilt ask for 
 bread, and he will give thee a stone. Look at my 
 eyes, Beatriz, and love will return thy gaze. Does it 
 meet thee thus in the cold gray eyes of the Italian? " 
 
 Beatriz involuntarily Hfted her long lashes, and met 
 his ardent look ; then she glanced towards Colon, 
 who sat with downcast head and dejected air, un- 
 noticed among the brilliant guests, who purposely 
 ignored his presence. Garcia's words had greatly 
 impressed her, but she forgot them in a sudden im- 
 pulse of generous pity. The color rose in her cheek ; 
 her eyes sparkled with decision. She unfastened the 
 wreath of flowers she wore in her hair, and wound it 
 about a crystal goblet full of wine that stood untasted 
 before her. 
 
 "Bear this from me to Seiior Colon," she said to a 
 servant, " and beg him to drink it in my honor." 
 
 The Italian, flushed with sudden pleasure, received 
 the message and obeyed her. The toast was drunk 
 
48 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 with enthusiasm. Rodrigo and his wife Antonia were 
 both incensed at this public manifestation of their 
 sister's lamentable infatuation. Garcia de Silva found 
 a pretext to excuse himself from the banquet. A 
 friend who met him in the hall jestingly condoled 
 with him in his too evident repulse. 
 
 "Would that the wine she gave him were mixed 
 with poison ! " groaned Garcia. 
 
 " Garcia de Silva is beside himself with grief," said 
 one young noble to another. " He rushed from the 
 house as if the furies pursued him. We shall find his 
 body before long in the Guadalquivir." 
 
 The events of the evening remained long in Bea- 
 triz's mind, but she tried to forget Garcia's words, 
 which had been dictated by jealousy and despair. 
 Her wedding was soon to take place, and she was 
 happy, though Teresa lamented the lack of prepara- 
 tion and display. 
 
 '*No feasting, no dances, no bull-fights," she ex- 
 claimed. " Never before was an Enriquez wedded 
 like a simple peasant-girl. And your bridegroom has 
 no jewels to give you, though that seems to trouble 
 him little, for his thoughts are ever among the 
 stars." 
 
 " I desire no jewels," said Beatriz. " I count my- 
 self rich in possessing the noblest heart on earth." 
 
 Teresa made a grimace, and muttered inaudible 
 comments on the folly of people who turned a deaf 
 ear to counsel, and shut their eyes to plain facts. She 
 made one last effort to turn the tide of events by 
 placing upon the table near her mistress's bed the 
 letter and the jewel which Garcia had confided to 
 her care ; but she was alarmed at the result of her 
 
THE CRYSTAL OF BEN HAMET. 49 
 
 imprudence. Beatriz did not spy them until her toi- 
 let for the night had been completed, her long hair 
 braided, and her beads told. She rose from her de- 
 votions in an exalted frame of mind ; when the gleam 
 of a diamond beside her missal on the table caught 
 her notice. She sprang forward, and raised the per- 
 fumed letter and the jewelled pin, while she cast upon 
 Teresa a look beneath which the old woman quailed 
 with conscious guilt. 
 
 " Traitress ! " cried Beatriz, in a tone vibrating with 
 indignant emotion. " Thou dost introduce this here 
 at the moment when its sight is a profanation. Dost 
 thou think I could place my hand in that of my husband, 
 and receive his marriage vows, if on the night before 
 I had accepted a gift and a love-letter from another ? 
 Am I so base in thine eyes? What is thy object in 
 thus offending me? " 
 
 " It is only a trifling poem he wrote," whined 
 Teresa, wiping her eyes, " some verses in your honor, 
 and a wedding-gift which any one can receive without 
 reproach. Why should you break my heart by glaring 
 upon me like a basilisk, — me, who brought you up 
 and have always loved you? " 
 
 ^* Verses in my honor as a bride ? " said Beatriz, 
 ironically. " Shall I ask my husband to read them at 
 the wedding-feast, and declare the name of the writer, 
 which thou dost seem to know, though here there is 
 no signature? " 
 
 " You know it would make trouble," said Teresa. 
 <*Don Garcia might have been the bridegroom if 
 things had turned out differently. If you had any 
 pity for him, you would be careful how you drive 
 him to desperation. I have known blood to flow at 
 4 
 
5© COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 a wedding- feast from no more cause than you have 
 given him by your cruelty." 
 
 "Never speak his name again in my presence," 
 commanded her mistress, hopeless of impressing her 
 own ideas upon the weak moral sense of Teresa. 
 " Carry back the jewel and the verses, and tell him 
 what I have said to thee. I send no message to 
 him." 
 
 Teresa wept and lamented ; but Beatriz was in- 
 flexible, and Garcia's poem was returned unread. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE MENDICANT FRIAR. 
 
 'T^HE marriage service took place in the cathedral, 
 -^ attended by priests and acolytes, and by a throng 
 of the friends and acquaintances of the bride, although 
 her father and younger brother alone represented her 
 family. It was a grief to Beatriz that her husband 
 should be thus slighted by her relatives ; but Colon 
 was unconscious of the intended affront, or indif- 
 ferent to it. The two Geraldinis were at his side, 
 and many young nobles of the court were present, 
 who had been drawn to the wedding by curiosity and 
 the fame of the bride's beauty. 
 
 Beatriz had never looked more lovely. Her dress 
 was of heavy white silk, ornamented at the hem and 
 at intervals above with bands of three-pile velvet sewn 
 with seed pearls ; and the long sleeves, slashed to the 
 elbow, were decorated with rows of large pearls, 
 — stones which had been left her by her mother. 
 A veil of soft white material was caught at each side 
 above the forehead, and fell back over her head, 
 partly concealing her abundant hair and the upper 
 part of her figure. Her bridegroom was not as gay 
 as custom warranted ; but his clothes were rich and 
 new, — a gift from the younger Geraldini. 
 
 The purchase of velvet breeches, satin doublet, and 
 embroidered coat for a few hours' display seemed to 
 
52 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 Colon a foolish expense, for which his conscience 
 smote him, when, on leaving the cathedral, with his 
 bride upon his arm, he met a couple of mendicant 
 friars who stopped the wedding-procession with a 
 whining petition for aid. One of them was lame, 
 and supported himself upon a crutch ; while his in- 
 jured leg, left bare from the knee down to display its 
 sores, was dragged painfully after the other. He wore 
 his hood over his head, and held out his hand for a 
 gift of charity. His companion, clad in a similar 
 gray Franciscan garb, wore a peaked head-dress, 
 and a masking veil which fell over his face and 
 breast, leaving only a space for the eyes. This costume 
 of the begging orders was sufficiently impressive to 
 attract the notice of the most indifferent. The friars 
 reaped a golden harvest among the wedding-guests. 
 Colon felt in vain for a coin in the empty pockets of 
 his new garments. 
 
 " Give the brother my carved ring," he whispered 
 to his bride. " I will replace it with a new one." 
 
 Besides her wedding-ring, Beatriz wore a curious 
 carved intaglio which Colon had given her as a token 
 of their betrothal. It was left him by a sea-captain, 
 who had received it in the Levant from a slave who 
 had brought it from Greece. Its exquisite workman- 
 ship showed it to be of rare value. Beatrice was un- 
 willing to part with it. She attempted, instead, to 
 tear a rich pearl from her sleeve. 
 
 The masked friar was close at her side, where he 
 had placed himself with a pantomime of supplicating 
 gestures, while his brother of the crutch was moving 
 about among the wedding-guests. 
 
 " The ring ! the ring," he whispered in a hoarse, un- 
 
THE MENDICANT FRIAR. 53 
 
 natural voice. " Think not to receive the blessing of 
 the saints if you refuse a poor wretched brother the 
 alms that is destined for him." 
 
 Beatriz glanced at her husband, who urged her by 
 a look to obey him. She slipped the ring from her 
 finger with evident reluctance, and handed it to the 
 friar, who clutched it eagerly, dropped it into his 
 wallet, and disappeared within the cathedral. 
 
 Beatriz wondered that so trifling an incident could 
 so greatly depress her spirits. Her husband, who 
 watched her face, chided her tenderly for it. 
 
 "Dost thou regret the pretty bauble, my wife?" 
 he said, using the new name with pride and tender- 
 ness. " Thou knowest I am poor except in love ; but 
 some day I will bring thee a jewel from the kingdom 
 of the Khan, and virgin gold from the islands of the 
 sea, and thou shalt have a ring of surpassing beauty, 
 far exceeding the old." 
 
 Beatriz smiled, though there was still a dewy mois- 
 ture in her eyes. 
 
 " I loved the ring because thou didst give it to 
 me," she said. 
 
 " It were not right that our new life should begin 
 by denying to the humblest religious the only alms 
 within our power to give," said Colon. " Why should 
 I be here in triumph at thy side, and that poor beg- 
 gar a suppliant for thy pity? Who has set me up, and 
 cast him down? I should tremble for the future of our 
 love if we are not willing to sacrifice its dearest gifts 
 at the voice of duty." 
 
 Beatriz bent her head as humbly as if her father 
 confessor were chiding her for a neglect of her spirit- 
 ual interests. She felt that prayer and penance must 
 
54 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 atone for the stubborn resistance her heart still of- 
 fered, though her will was submissive. Her husband, 
 noticing her dejection, paused when they reached the 
 arched gateway of Enriquez's house, and, clasping her 
 in his arms, gave her his first wedded kiss. The 
 merry procession of musicians, with tinkling guitars, 
 gay flutes, and castanets, was ahead of them, and the 
 laughing guests were close behind ; but to the two 
 noble and earnest souls it was a moment of solemn 
 joy, as full of consecration as the cathedral Mass. 
 It seemed to Beatriz to grant abundant absolu- 
 tion for her fancied fault, and to promise for the 
 future a perfect understanding which nothing could 
 disturb. 
 
 With her heart thus set at ease, the girl's youthful 
 gayety rose and overflowed in voice and smile, add- 
 ing a new charm to her wonderful beauty. The 
 guests at the table felt an ever-increasing astonish- 
 ment that the elderly seafarer from a foreign land 
 should carry off the prize which many a young noble 
 coveted. They saw nothing in his grave and care- 
 worn face to attract the soft homage of Beatriz's 
 look, which, the poetical Geraldini whispered to his 
 neighbor, might be compared to the kiss of the sun 
 upon the weather-beaten statue of Memnon. 
 
 " Such a touch will waken the stone to song," he 
 said. 
 
 " The heart of your Italian may prove no singing 
 statue, but an ordinary granite boulder," said his 
 neighbor, discontentedly. " It is well that Garcia 
 de Silva is not here to share the pain I feel at this 
 waste of the precious sentiments of her soul, which the 
 God of Love himself would alone be worthy to receive 
 
THE MENDICANT FRIAR. 55 
 
 and return. The Genoese has bewitched her with 
 rank sorcery, and the Holy Office should inquire 
 into it." 
 
 " Pray Heaven he may make her a good husband ! " 
 whispered Teresa, who stood in the background direct- 
 ing the servants, to her daughter, who was assisting her. 
 " Never did I see her look with love at a man before. 
 Don Garcia would risk his soul's salvation for such a 
 beam from her eye." 
 
 Colon was not indifferent to the radiance of his 
 bride's loveliness, nor to the envy of which he was 
 the object. His heart beat with the pride of victory. 
 
 "This moment is the happiest of my life," he said 
 in a low voice to Antonio Geraldini ; " only one 
 greater triumph can I conceive, — the first touch of 
 my foot upon that Western shore ! " 
 
 "Is that still first with you?" asked Geraldini, 
 smiling. "Your wife will soon teach you what you 
 risk by harboring a rival to her love in your heart, 
 where a woman will take no second place. A month 
 hence you will deny your words, or explain them 
 away with new interpretations, like our casuistical 
 doctors of philosophy." 
 
 There was one lack in the richly endowed nature of 
 the Genoese, a deficiency in the perception of the 
 humorous. He was startled by Antonio's words, as 
 if they contained a baleful prophecy. 
 
 " Never," he answered, " shall love eclipse duty." 
 
 Geraldini, whose versatile mind saw all sides of a 
 subject at a glance, was seized with a sudden desire 
 to laugh ; but Beatriz's eyes were upon him with a 
 questioning expression. She wondered what he had 
 said to cause the sudden darkening of her husband's 
 
56 COLUMBUS AND BEATRJZ. 
 
 face ; but Colon's look reassured her as he added, 
 " There will never be a conflict between the two." 
 
 " I like my new brother very well," said Pedro to 
 his sister, one evening a month later, in a patronizing 
 tone, as he sat alone with her in the paiio. " When 
 he sails for the Indies, I hope he will make me his 
 lieutenant. My brother Diego says he has already 
 given him a promise that he shall go with him on his 
 first voyage. Diego attempts to outrank me in every- 
 thing because he is three years my senior," added 
 Pedro, discontentedly. '* I wish thou wouldst speak 
 to Cristoval, and beg him to give me a place in his 
 command." 
 
 " I cannot be left quite alone, Pedro, when my 
 husband sails away from me," said Beatriz, playfully, 
 yet with a certain wistfulness in her look, as she laid 
 her hand upon her brother's shoulder. " Thou art 
 my hfe-long playmate, and must remain with me." 
 
 " Dost thou still desire my presence, my sister?" 
 asked Pedro, turning his head and kissing the tips of 
 her fingers. ''They say when people love and are 
 married, old friends are forgotten. I know well that 
 thou art listening now for Cristoval's footstep ; and 
 because he comes not, the hour seems long to you 
 which used to fly when we sat together telling tales in 
 the starlight." 
 
 "■ I am rejoicing at his delay," said Beatriz, " for it 
 assures me that Geraldini has kept his word. He 
 promised, if all went well, to introduce him to-night to 
 the Grand Cardinal Mendoza. He is disposed to 
 favor him, and may obtain for him an audience 
 with the king. So high are Cristoval's hopes, that he 
 
THE MENDICANT FRIAR. 57 
 
 thinks a month or two may see the conclusion of the 
 matter. The king has but to speak the word, and 
 ships and men will be at his command. Once on the 
 sea, he is his own master, and knows right well the 
 path to take. Success is certain." 
 
 Her voice Altered. " He longs to %o, Pedro," she 
 added ; " he longs to leave me." 
 
 She rose and walked through the arched wicket 
 that opened into the garden. Pedro followed her, 
 startled and sympathetic, for he had seen a tear upon 
 her cheek. 
 
 ^' If thou hadst not told me, my sister, of thy re- 
 joicing at Cristoval's delay," he said with a curious 
 smile, '' I should believe it is his absence which de- 
 presses thy spirits. He will soon return, and thou wilt 
 be gay once more." 
 
 Beatriz seated herself upon a bench under the 
 pomegranate-tree. It was the place where Colon 
 had first spoken to her of love. She remembered 
 her sensations of enthusiastic sympathy for his lofty 
 purposes, and her joyful readiness to share his future 
 and to assist him in his work. He was still the 
 same in his character and ambitions. She alone 
 had changed. 
 
 '• Oh, Pedro," she said, "■ beware of love ! It makes 
 one narrow-minded; it will have all for itself; it 
 is jealous of everything besides. Jealousy is base, 
 unworthy of a noble soul ; but how can we love and 
 still avoid it?" 
 
 " Love and jealousy go together, like svmshine and 
 shadow," said Pedro. -'The shadow is not to be 
 blamed. It is no more than Nature. When I have a 
 wife I shall hate the man who looks upon her, and 
 
58 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 kill him if he serenades her window ; yet I shall count 
 the feeling no sin." 
 
 " I had no thought of jealousy as thou dost define 
 it," said Beatriz. " I meant only that selfish feeling 
 which grudges to another the presence of the be- 
 loved, which desires not only to be first but to be all, 
 — to embrace every thought, every wish. But forget 
 what I have said. It is only a passing ill-humor. 
 Do not tell my husband that thy sister is a shrew." 
 
 Pedro gave a laugh, and Beatriz echoed it. 
 
 "Thou art the dearest girl in the world," said her 
 brother. " If I could find another such as thou for 
 my wife, she should have no cause for jealousy, for 
 she would possess me body and soul." 
 
 Beatriz turned away, as if to avoid any further dis- 
 cussion of the subject. She caught up an ivory ball 
 and tossed it into the air, then flung it to Pedro, who 
 returned it, — a childish game with which they often 
 whiled away a dull hour. It was so nearly dark 
 among the trees that they often missed the ball. 
 Once it fell into a clump of rose-bushes, and each 
 endeavored laughingly to recover it the first, while the 
 guarding thorns interposed a barrier to success. Pe- 
 dro obtained it, and Beatriz turned, flushed and 
 breathless, to find her husband standing beside her. 
 
 " I am glad thou art so merry," said Colon, giving 
 and receiving a kiss. " Life has few cares for the 
 young. It is all a holiday time. It is well thy 
 brother is so dear to thee, since I must be often 
 away." 
 
 "What has been determined?" asked Beatriz, 
 quickly. " Did the Grand Cardinal encourage thee ? 
 Hast thou succeeded?" 
 
THE MENDICANT FRIAR. 59 
 
 *' In a measure," said Colon, with a happy smile. 
 '' I am to follow the court to Salamanca, and there I 
 am promised an audience with the king. There is to 
 be no more delay." 
 
 Beatriz pressed close to his side. He could have 
 felt the anxious beating of her heart as she placed 
 her arm about his shoulder. 
 
 "I am to go with thee?" she inquired, half 
 assertively. 
 
 Colon shook his head. 
 
 " Thou wilt remain with Pedro, who will console 
 thee for my absence with many a good game of 
 ball," he said. 
 
 " Cruel ! " muttered Pedro to himself, as he turned 
 on his heel and walked away, frowning and clinching 
 his fists. 
 
 Beatriz hung her head and dropped her arm. By 
 an effort she restrained her tears. She sank upon the 
 bench, and Colon once more took the place at her 
 side beneath the pomegranate-tree. He drew a long 
 breath of satisfaction. 
 
 " At last, at last, I am in sight of the goal," he 
 said. He closed his eyes for a moment of inward 
 prayer and thanksgiving. In the hurried events of 
 the day he had had no time for this. Then he opened 
 them with a tender look at Beatriz. He placed his 
 arm about her, and drew her towards him. 
 
 "Thou art grieving because we are to part," he 
 said ; " it is only for a time." 
 
 " How long? " she asked in a stifled voice. 
 "I cannot tell," replied Colon, gravely. "Should 
 the king immediately grant my request, and the need- 
 ful preparations be made with all possible despatch. 
 
6o COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 there is still the inevitable uncertainty as to the time 
 of my return, even if success attends me." 
 
 "Why can I not share thy wanderings?" asked 
 Beatriz. " Why can I not be with thee on thy voyage ? 
 Dost thou doubt my courage ? Try me. Put me to 
 any test." 
 
 Colon smiled compassionately. 
 
 " Thou art a woman delicately reared and nur- 
 tured," he said, " and thy place is not among the 
 rough seamen, soldiers, and adventurers who will 
 crowd my ships. Discipline must be maintained as 
 in the case of war, when no commander allows wife 
 and children on board. The perils of the gloomy 
 ocean may not affright thee, for thou hast heard my 
 reasons for believing that they are mostly imaginary, 
 and thou art doubtless willing to brave them for my 
 sake. Canst thou not then with equal courage con- 
 sent for my sake to remain at home ? " 
 
 "Take me at least to Salamanca," urged Beatriz, 
 slipping her hand within his, and looking up with eyes 
 of entreaty. " I will not trouble thee, I will be pa- 
 tient ; but I shall be near at hand, and I shall know 
 how thou dost prosper." 
 
 "That thou shalt know at home, for I will often 
 despatch a letter to thee," answered Colon. " AH 
 qiierida, dost thou not imagine that it rends my heart 
 to quit thy side? I married thee for love of thy 
 beauty and thy gentle soul, and life is empty without 
 thee. But wouldst thou tempt me to remain in ease 
 and dalliance here among the flowers, caring for 
 naught beyond thy smiles? Wouldst thou have me 
 die here in Cordova with all my work undone, known 
 only as the poor chart-maker who wedded the beau- 
 
THE MENDICANT FRIAR. 
 
 6i 
 
 tiful Beatriz Enriquez, and sacrificed the hopes of a 
 lifetime at her bidding? I cannot take thee to Sala- 
 manca, for there I shall be a guest in the convent of 
 the Dominicans, who would not receive thee, a woman. 
 Moreover, the king has sent me money to be dis- 
 bursed for the expenses of my journey and of my 
 presentation at the court. I should blush to accept 
 this gift only to spend it like a doting husband upon 
 my wife, and in no other way can I obtain money at 
 this time. Had I now the wealth I shall one day 
 command, thou shouldst go with the retinue of a 
 princess, and be lodged as becomes thy rank ; but 
 were that the case, I should not now be suing at the 
 Court of Spain, nor should I have met and loved thee, 
 for years ago I should have made the venture for my- 
 self or for some other monarch who would have 
 smiled upon me had I possessed riches to recom- 
 mend my plans. Let us not then rail at fortune, 
 since all happens by the will of God." 
 
 Beatriz hid her face upon her husband's bosom, 
 where he should not see the tears that fell from 
 her eyes. 
 
 " So long as thou dost not forget me, I will try to 
 be patient," she said. 
 
 Colon bent and kissed her hair. 
 
 '' I cannot forget thee if I would," he answered. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE PSYCHE RING. 
 
 /^^ OLON was gone, and Beatriz's life was desolate ; 
 ^"-^ but pride came to her aid, and enabled her to 
 repulse with apparent unconcern the sympathy that 
 was offered to the young bride thus early deserted. 
 
 " My husband will soon return," she said to all. 
 " His stay at court is necessary to his success. We 
 cannot wish it otherwise." 
 
 She assumed a gay indifference which was more full 
 of pathos than an outward show of grief. Pedro was 
 her ardent champion. When in society, he spoke of 
 the great future and brilliant prospects of his brother- 
 in-law as requiring a sacrifice of personal happiness. 
 He prophesied an immediate success for him, and 
 sang his praises assiduously. When alone with his 
 sister, he refrained from adding to her grief by a word 
 of doubt or of reproach; but he reheved his mind 
 by pacing at night upon the housetop or beside the 
 Guadalquivir, and calling aloud into the darkness 
 curses upon the man who had wounded the tender 
 heart, which, as Pedro considered, he was unworthy 
 to possess, since he counted its claims as nothing 
 compared to those of his ambition. 
 
 Teresa, too, was full of complaints which she had 
 not the discretion to keep to herself. She bewailed 
 
THE PSYCHE RING. 63 
 
 the slight which the family of Enriquez suffered from 
 a nameless and penniless foreigner. 
 
 " Does he think he can wear a beautiful young 
 bride like a glove to be cast off at pleasure?" she 
 cried. " He should not treat me so ; and were I 
 Don Pedro, I would not swallow the affront, as if he 
 were a prince of the blood to be humored at any 
 price. My seiiora says the parting is but for a day or 
 so, yet I warrant if he had his way the Italian would 
 sail straight for the land of the Khan ; for that is what 
 he wishes most, and love and marriage with him do 
 but fill up an idle time. It is a sin and a shame ! " 
 
 Don Fernando alone accepted the situation with a 
 good grace. He recognized the imperious claims of 
 an ambition which held the promise of a golden har- 
 vest. He was anxious that there should be no delay 
 in the fulfilment of the hopes by which the Genoese 
 had won his consent to the marriage with his daughter. 
 Beatriz's happiness had never been her father's first 
 consideration. He saw only a cause for congratula- 
 tion in the fact that his son-in-law, by his presence at 
 court, had won the notice of the Grand Cardinal, and 
 was promised an early audience with the king. The 
 alchemist was content to let his furnace stand idle, 
 and to devote his time to collect and retail the latest 
 news concerning the prospects of Colon, which had 
 never seemed so bright. 
 
 Beatriz sat alone one day in an upper turreted 
 chamber, busy with her needle, which often paused 
 suspended in her fingers, while her gaze was far away 
 in dreamy abstraction. Teresa came into the room, 
 heralding her approach as usual by a sigh. 
 
 ** There is a friar in the patio who asks to see you," 
 
64 COLUMBUS AXD BEATRIZ. 
 
 she said. " He says he has a token from Sefior Colon, 
 — whom may the saints confound ! " she added under 
 her breath. 
 
 Beatriz did not stop to question her. She flung 
 down her work, and flew rather than ran to the patio. 
 The friar sat on a bench by the fountain, leaning on 
 his staff", with his cowl pulled forward to shade his 
 face. He did not move as she approached. 
 
 "What is your message?" asked Beatriz. "Do 
 you bring me news of my husband?" 
 
 The man looked up, and pushed back his hood, 
 showing the face of Garcia de Silva. Beatriz 
 started. 
 
 " Don Garcia ! " she exclaimed. " Why do you 
 come thus in disguise?" 
 
 " To obtain a word with you," he answered. " I 
 beseech you hear me patiently." 
 
 " So far as it concerns my husband I will listen to 
 you," said Beatriz, with dignity ; " but further conver- 
 sation I must deny you, as my time is fufl of household 
 cares, which await me." 
 
 Garcia gazed at Beatriz long and steadily. 
 
 " You, too, have suffered," he said ; " you have 
 given your heart, and in vain." 
 
 Beatriz colored indignantly, but Garcia went on 
 hurriedly, — 
 
 " The prophecy of Ben Hamet's crystal is already 
 in part fulfilled. There is a gulf between you and 
 the Italian which you long in vain to close. It will 
 widen more and more." 
 
 " Do you intend thus to abuse my patience?" ex- 
 claimed Beatriz. " The invention of that foolish story 
 is as idle as your finding its fulfilment in a chance 
 
THE PSYCHE RING. 65 
 
 absence of my husband. I have no time to listen to 
 you further." 
 
 " Wait but a moment ! " said Garcia. He laid aside 
 his staff, and took from his wallet a small object 
 wrapped in silken tissue. 
 
 '' I once befriended an old begging friar," he said, 
 " who fainted upon my doorstep, and who died that 
 same night in my bed. He left me his blessing and 
 his cast-off clothes, — his only possession. It oc- 
 curred to me when I noticed a mendicant friar limp- 
 ing painfully after a bridal procession on its way to 
 the cathedral, that by assuming this disguise I might 
 join him, and thus win a touch from the hand of 
 the bride and a gift from her bounty. The mask 
 would prevent recognition. I succeeded beyond my 
 hopes." 
 
 Don Garcia drew from beneath his tunic the mask- 
 ing head-dress, and for a moment assumed it ; and 
 Beatriz saw before her the mendicant upon whom she 
 had bestowed her precious ring. 
 
 " Return me my ring," she said quickly. " It was 
 a deception I cannot forgive. If you are come to 
 restore it to me, you shall have my life-long thanks." 
 
 " That would be grateful to me," said Garcia ; 
 " but not so dear as this ring, which is precious to 
 me since it has been upon your finger. I cannot give 
 it up." 
 
 " It is not yours, — it was falsely won. I demand 
 its return ! " exclaimed Beatriz. 
 
 Garcia smiled and held the jewel to the light, which 
 played upon the delicate carving, bringing out its 
 details. 
 
 " The design represents Psyche deserted by Love," 
 S 
 
66 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 he said. " She holds out detaining arms to the fleet 
 god in vain. The jewel would seem more appropriate 
 to my lonely heart than to the triumphant joy of a 
 young bride." 
 
 Beatriz bit her lip. 
 
 " I love the ring," she said, endeavoring to speak 
 with calmness. *' I have mourned its loss as if it 
 were a precious talisman. Restore it to me, I 
 entreat." 
 
 "Thou shalt have it," said Garcia, suddenly. 
 
 Beatriz held out her hand, smiling, though her eyes 
 were dim. 
 
 " If thou wilt ransom it," concluded Garcia. 
 
 Her hand fell, and the angry tears overflowed her 
 eyes. 
 
 "Give me some other jewel thou hast worn, — thy 
 pin, thy bracelet," urged Garcia ; " I cannot give it 
 up without return. It is to me also a sacred talisman. 
 Give me thy golden bracelet." 
 
 Beatriz quickly slipped the bracelet from her arm, 
 and held it towards him. Garcia smiled, and dropped 
 the ring into her outstretched palm. 
 
 " It is not yet a fair exchange," he said. " The 
 golden circlet is a meaningless thing, — dear only 
 since thou hast worn it ; but the ring contains in its 
 design the poetry of sorrow and. unrequited love." 
 
 " Leave me ! " said Beatriz, pointing to the door 
 with the gesture of an ofl"ended queen. " Let me 
 never see you more." 
 
 Garcia rose with a lingering look at her face. He 
 drew his cowl over his head, and took up his staff". 
 
 " I obey," he said. " Farewell." 
 
 When Beatriz was once more in her room, she 
 
THE PSYCHE RING. 67 
 
 bathed her recovered ring with tears. She studied the 
 figures cut so deUcately in the gem, and Garcia's in- 
 terpretation seemed to have dulled its beauty. She 
 had believed it to represent an angel descending to a 
 maiden bent in prayer ; and it had seemed to contain 
 a prophecy of her first meeting with Colon in the 
 cathedral. Now she saw that the maiden's gesture 
 was one of despair, and that the winged visitor was 
 taking flight. It was as if a baleful enchantment had 
 been cast upon the thing she loved. She had bought 
 it dearly, and it was no longer what it had been. She 
 had fancied that the restoration of the ring would 
 bring her husband once more to her side, for its loss 
 had seemed to presage the early clouding of her mar- 
 ried life. Now it mocked her with vainly cherished 
 hopes. She sighed, and resumed her needle, watch- 
 ing the jewel flash and sparkle with the movements of 
 her finger. 
 
 Don Enriquez, who had spent the morning at a 
 neighbor's, returned home in a very bad humor, with 
 news which he had gathered from the neighbor's son, 
 who was a bachelor at Salamanca. The king had 
 granted Colon an audience. He was at first favor- 
 ably impressed by his eloquence in presenting his 
 views ; but the cautious Ferdinand was unwilling to 
 commit himself to a definite promise. He had re- 
 ferred the matter to the prior of Prado, commanding 
 him to assemble a grand council of ecclesiastics and 
 the professors of the university of Salamanca to pro- 
 nounce judgment upon the feasibiHty of the plan, 
 before he diverted any funds from the prosecution of 
 the Moorish war to the pursuit of a possible chimera. 
 
68 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 " This means endless delay and probable failure," 
 said Don Enriquez. "Would I had known two 
 months ago how the king would regard the matter ! 
 Thou wouldst not now be wedded to a penniless ad- 
 venturer, who lives by deluding others. Thou art a 
 deserted bride, and I a dupe of this plausible Italian, 
 who has deceived us both." 
 
 " You wrong my husband," said Beatriz. "He is 
 true and noble. Some day he will succeed." 
 
 Her tone of quiet conviction recalled to Enriquez 
 the fact that the decision of the council was still in 
 abeyance, and might be favorable. He sighed, shook 
 his head doubtfully, and returned to his interrupted 
 studies. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 FRANCISCO XIMENES. 
 
 THE great hall of the convent of St. Stephen, in 
 the city of Salamanca, was the scene of an au- 
 gust assembly. Cardinals and bishops, priests and 
 prebendaries, the Dominican friars to whom the con- 
 vent belonged, their rivals the Franciscans, and the 
 representatives of many other religious orders, be- 
 sides scholarly men of all ranks, crowded the benches 
 with an array of learning and dogmatism, both at that 
 time supreme in Salamanca. The revival of letters 
 was balanced in Spain by the growing power of the 
 Inquisition, which had begun its insidious sapping of 
 the nation's strength at the time of its greatest out- 
 ward prosperity. The spirit of freedom, of self- 
 government, of resistance to kingcraft and priestcraft 
 — except as they represented the people's will — had 
 lingered long in Castile and Aragon ; but it was fast 
 giving way to debasing superstition and the servility 
 that welcomes despotism. The glory of old Spain 
 was to depart with the death of chivalry, which was 
 fighting its last fight in the slowly advancing war 
 against the Moors. 
 
 The Council at Salamanca had assembled to try a 
 theory, not a man ; but Colon felt that his very life 
 was at stake, when he faced the imposing assemblage 
 
70 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 single-handed and unfriended to do battle for his 
 cause. The hopes of a hfetime were to be fulfilled 
 or disappointed. The sacrifices he had made were 
 to be justified or rendered abortive. He was to be 
 vindicated as an inspired thinker, or branded as a 
 deceiver or a fool. He felt like a gladiator in the 
 arena, as he rose to confront the sea of curious and 
 sceptical faces, to reply to the questions put to him, 
 and to answer trivial objections. He soon found that 
 his audience were opposed to him almost to a man. 
 Here and there a friendly voice was raised from time 
 to time, but it was silenced by the long-winded elo- 
 quence of some monastic dignitary who was armed 
 with a ponderous artillery of quotations from Scrip- 
 ture and from the Fathers, proving the incredible 
 absurdity of the existence of antipodes, and declar- 
 ing that it savored of heresy to talk of undiscovered 
 countries populated with races who could not have 
 derived their descent from Adam, the father of 
 mankind. 
 
 The slightest breath of an accusation of heresy 
 might light the fagots of an auto da fe; but al- 
 though Colon knew that the peril was a real one, 
 he was persuaded that Heaven would preserve its 
 messenger, and the very necessity of his position 
 gave him courage. He met his opponents with elo- 
 quence and learning greater than their own. Through 
 the efforts of Antonio Geraldini the charge of heresy 
 was abandoned almost as soon as made. Diego de 
 Deza, a powerful Dominican, cast the weight of his 
 influence in favor of the Genoese. 
 
 The day was over. The conclave ended without 
 arriving at a decision. The meetings would be re- 
 
FRANCISCO XIMENES. 7 1 
 
 sumed from time to time. Fernando de Talavera, 
 the prior of Prado, was in no haste to bring the mat- 
 ter to a conclusion. The importunities of Colon had 
 wearied him. His own decision was immovably fixed 
 against him ; but he did not dare openly to oppose 
 the will of the king and queen when they were in- 
 clined to favor the persistent Italian. He had found, 
 however, that a policy of delay was as efficacious for 
 his purposes as an absolute denial ; and he succeeded 
 in this case in contriving a delay of five years in the 
 answer of the Council. But this Colon could not 
 foresee. He waited and hoped from day to day, 
 making acquaintances and friends among learned and 
 distinguished men, thinking that he was thus strength- 
 ening his cause, unconscious of the fixed opposition 
 which negatived every apparent gain. 
 
 He had occasion one evening to address the prior 
 of Prado with a petition for a special hearing, and, as 
 usual, he was required to wait an indefinite time in 
 his anteroom before the distinguished ecclesiastic 
 could find leisure to receive him. Some idle young 
 noblemen, friends of De Silva, who were united in a 
 common feeling of dislike to the Genoese, followed 
 him with the purpose of witnessing the sport which 
 one of their number declared he would contrive for 
 their amusement. 
 
 " I have something to tell this truant bridegroom 
 which will goad him as thoroughly to madness as the 
 red handkerchief does the bull in the circus," said 
 Don Manuel, the leader of the group, as they entered 
 the silken-hung apartments of the wealthy prelate. 
 
 A Franciscan friar sat in a window-seat reading a 
 printed volume, which he was eagerly comparing with 
 
72 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 a manuscript spread before him. Colon had met the 
 friar in the Council, and knew him to be Francisco 
 Ximenes de Cisneros, a man of wonderful ability and 
 erudition, who had committed himself to no deci- 
 sion in the matter pending before the college of St. 
 Stephen. He was glad of an opportunity to address 
 himself to Ximenes, and was about to venture to in- 
 terrupt his studies, when Don Manuel and his friends 
 approached him. 
 
 "How goes the world with you, Senor Colon?" 
 asked Don Manuel, slapping him familiarly on the 
 shoulder, " and how fares your lovely bride left alone 
 in Cordova? Why do you not bring her to court, 
 where she would eclipse all others by her beauty? 
 Surely you are jealous, or you would not leave her in 
 solitude when the world is pining to behold her." 
 
 *' I take it to be a very certain sign that the Seiior 
 is not jealous," interposed a companion. " He leaves 
 the lady behind him absolutely at liberty. Is she a 
 Penelope of constancy, warranted to keep faith for 
 twenty years? " 
 
 Colon turned, and angrily confronted his question- 
 ers. Ximenes had laid aside his book, and was 
 watching the group. 
 
 " The lady who is my wife is above the mention of 
 idle tongues," said Colon, with dignity. 
 
 " Nevertheless she receives old lovers in your ab- 
 sence," said Don Manuel. " Garcia de Silva, who is 
 my friend, has long been madly in love with her, and 
 half lost his wits when her father denied her to him. 
 He has lately arrived at Salamanca, and he showed 
 me a bracelet he had from her as a gift. He will not 
 deny it if you question him. It is made of three 
 
FRANCISCO XIMENES. 73 
 
 ropes of Etruscan gold, bound together with a buckle 
 studded with seed pearls, — a pretty bauble, which he 
 prizes beyond a fortune." 
 
 Colon grew white. 
 
 " Do not detain me with your base fabrications," 
 he said. 
 
 " By our Lady, I speak the truth ! " said Don 
 Manuel, " and you have the day before you if you 
 are to await the tardy coming of the prior of Prado ; 
 but if you like not our company, we will leave you ; " 
 and the young men withdrew, with significant laughter 
 and the exchange of vapid jests. 
 
 Colon had forgotten the presence of the Franciscan. 
 He flung himself into a chair beside a table, laid his 
 head upon his folded arms, and groaned aloud. He 
 started, and looked up fiercely, when Ximenes ap- 
 proached and laid a hand upon his shoulder. 
 
 " I heard what the young men said," he began. 
 
 " Do not think for a moment that I credit it," 
 exclaimed Colon. "The foolish youth expected to 
 embroil me in a dispute with this young Garcia. I 
 would not accord so much importance to his false 
 boast, or so discredit my trust in my wife." 
 
 " Yet the taunt cut you to the quick," said Ximenes, 
 in a tone of lofty pity. " It grieves me to see a man 
 like you, Sefior Colon, brought to such a pass. As I 
 have met you in the Council, I have noticed in you 
 an intensity of religious enthusiasm, a fearlessness of 
 soul, and a gift of inspired utterance which recalled 
 to my mind the character of the blessed Saint Francis 
 de Assisi, founder of the Seraphic Order of which I 
 am a humble member. I thought that you were ripe 
 to embrace the strictest rules of our order, and to 
 
74 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 leave behind you the name of a saint in the Church. 
 When you spoke of converting the heathen and res- 
 cuing the Sepulchre, it did not occur to me that you 
 would go in any other garb save that of a consecrated 
 servant of the Cross. Great is the contrast between 
 my visionary hopes and the reality. I see you the 
 slave of love, vulnerable to a chance shaft of malice 
 as to a mortal wound, uttering groans which could 
 only be extorted from a saint by the consciousness of 
 peril to his soul in the taint of mortal sin still unsub- 
 dued. My pity for you is great. A woman's smile 
 debars you from the heights of seraphic bhss." 
 
 Colon looked up startled into the kindling eyes and 
 commanding countenance of the man who was to be 
 twice Regent of Spain, and a cardinal as distinguished 
 for his political influence as Richelieu in France. He 
 was already renowned for his austerities, his charity to 
 the poor, and his love of letters and science, of which 
 he was a generous patron. His words touched the 
 conscience of Colon with a new and sudden pain, as 
 if a surgeon with his probe had searched out a hidden 
 wound. 
 
 " The religious Hfe is the noblest, and, no doubt, as 
 you say, the happiest ; but all are not called to it," 
 he answered. "I am a wanderer, unable to make 
 myself a permanent home. I snatch at happiness as 
 a beggar at a crust, taking it when and where I can." 
 
 *' The rules of our order are elastic," said Ximenes. 
 " As a Franciscan, you could still lead your ships to 
 the Indies, and your armies to the land of the Soldan." 
 
 " But my wife — " began Colon. 
 
 " ' I have married a wife, and therefore I cannot 
 come,' " quoted Ximenes, with the incisive utterance 
 
FRANCISCO XIMENES. 75 
 
 which won attention to his pulpit oratory from the 
 most indifferent. There was silence for a moment. 
 Then the friar continued : " When the blessed Saint 
 Francis preached, so convincing were his words that 
 multitudes of men and women, by common consent, 
 dissolved the marriage tie and embraced the religious 
 life." 
 
 " It is not for me," said Colon ; " I have chosen my 
 path for weal or woe. If I might join the Third Order 
 of Saint Francis — " 
 
 " You could still remain a married man," concluded 
 Ximenes, with a darkening brow ; " but as for that, 
 inquire not of me. It is accorded to the weakness of 
 feeble souls who walk stumbling and halting in the 
 narrow road. I saw in you a jewel of special lustre 
 which the Lord desired to add to the number of his 
 saints in his crown. If you refuse this calling, my in- 
 terest in you is at an end, — * Ephraim is joined to his 
 idols ; let him alone.' " 
 
 So saying, the Franciscan took up his book and 
 papers, and left the room. 
 
 It was not until the close of the day brought soli- 
 tude that Colon was able to reflect without interrup- 
 tion upon the words of Ximenes, which had greatly 
 impressed him. The unreasonable but cruel pain 
 which Don Manuel's words had given him disposed 
 his mind to turn with longing to the promises of im- 
 movable serenity which the religious life offered. The 
 habit of obedience to duty was fixed with him ; but his 
 interpretation of duty had hitherto been elastic, re- 
 quiring only a conscience at peace with heaven and 
 the world, prayer which was spontaneous rather than 
 ceremonial, and the pursuit of his dear ambition, whose 
 
76 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ, 
 
 ultimate object was the glory of God. The minor de- 
 tails of life must arrange themselves as they would 
 with a busy man of action, and he had acquired a 
 breadth of view and a wide-reaching sympathy with 
 life in its various phases which could never have been 
 gained in the circumscribed routine of a convent. 
 Now a new element had been introduced into his 
 consciousness. He had met a mind which dominated 
 his own. Ximenes, with the instinct of genius, had 
 chosen the moment when the way was prepared for 
 the entering wedge of his influence. 
 
 Colon felt that he had reached a turning-point in 
 life. He had long since bade farewell to youth, but 
 not until now did he relinquish youth's prerogative of 
 careless joy and light-hearted enthusiasm. His heart 
 had grown old in a moment. Evil could not enter 
 into his thought of Beatriz, but jealousy had taken 
 possession of his mind. Never before had he been 
 vulnerable to the attacks of this cruel passion, which 
 was opposed to logical reflection, and appealed to the 
 baser instincts of the soul. He felt humiliated in his 
 own eyes, yet he could not escape the oft-repeated 
 suggestion : " Thou art old, and she is young and 
 beautiful. What lasting hold canst thou have upon 
 her love? " 
 
 He did not attempt to sleep, but he paced the flat 
 roof of the convent tower, to which he had easy access 
 from his room. The city slumbered beneath him, 
 and the great pile of the church and college of St. 
 Stephen rose in black masses of shadow in the uncer- 
 tain starlight. The stars were in their accustomed 
 places, but they had an unfamiliar look, like old friends 
 estranged. On former calm, still nights he had al- 
 
FRANCISCO XIMENES. 77 
 
 most fancied that he could hear an echo of the music 
 of the circHng spheres. One such he remembered 
 when he had stood on the housetop in Cordova with 
 Beatriz's httle hand in his. He gave a sigh which was 
 almost a groan. Endeavoring to divert his thoughts, he 
 recalled the fact that he had in his pocket a letter from 
 his father-in-law, which he had received by a messen- 
 ger as he came from the prior of Prado's, and which 
 he had neglected to open. He made his way down 
 the stairs and into his small, bare room, where he lit a 
 taper, broke the seal, and read the letter with a wan- 
 dering mind. The fears and reproaches of Enriquez 
 had been repeated in frequent letters since the sojourn 
 of his son-in-law in Salamanca. The sheet dropped 
 from Colon's hand, but he immediately caught it up 
 again. On a folded margin Beatriz had written these 
 words, which Colon read with eager haste : — 
 
 " Return to me, my beloved husband, if only for a day. 
 I have a secret to whisper in thine ear which is for thee 
 alone, and which thou wilt most gladly hear." 
 
 Colon fell upon his knees with the letter in his 
 hand. He was full of self-reproach and grateful hu- 
 mility. Life held the hope of a new, undreamed-of 
 happiness. The influence of Ximenes was for a time 
 in abeyance ; Don Manuel's words were forgotten. 
 Once more he felt in fancy the gentle pressure of 
 Beatriz's hand and the tender radiance of her smile. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 LIGHT AND SHADOW. 
 
 OUNSHINE filled the house of Enriquez, though a 
 ^ wintry wind blew the withered rose leaves through 
 the deserted garden, and the Council of Salamanca 
 had uttered no decision. Colon had obeyed his wife's 
 summons by an immediate return, and he lingered 
 from day to day. His tormenting, jealous doubts 
 were at an end. They had passed like an evil dream. 
 The beauty and nobility of his wife's character were 
 newly revealed to him. Each day deepened the con- 
 fidence existing between them. Colon confessed the 
 injustice of his suspicions, and Beatriz explained the 
 cause she had unconsciously given for them. Each 
 accepted reproach, and excused the other. 
 
 Teresa rejoiced in her mistress's happiness, but at 
 the same time she felt chagrin that her boasted skill 
 in reading the heart should be discredited, and that 
 the Itahan should possess the virtue of constancy 
 which she had denied to his character. 
 
 " It is all the cooing of turtle-doves at our house 
 now," she said to her daughter Rosa. " Even Don 
 Fernando has forgotten that he distrusted Senor 
 Colon, and he is high in his favor again. But mark 
 my words, Rosa. The Italian is like a hawk that 
 stoops to the lure when it is well baited. Cordova 
 
LIGHT AND SHADOW. 79 
 
 pleases him now ; but let a prospect of advantage call 
 him to court again, and he will fly off down the wind 
 without a look behind." 
 
 This oracular simile seemed to Teresa to have been 
 inspired by prophetic insight, when a month or two 
 later the fortunes of war required the presence of the 
 Spanish monarchs and their migratory court at the 
 siege of Malaga, then being pressed with vigor ; and 
 the prior of Prado, in pursuance of his dilatory policy 
 which dictated at times a show of energy, sent a spe- 
 cial summons to Colon, desiring his presence and 
 promising attention to his claims. 
 
 The second parting was harder than the first. 
 
 *' How can I let thee go ? " said Beatriz. " My 
 heart rebels. Fortune is too unkind." 
 
 " But we have grown so close of late that absence 
 cannot divide us," said Colon. " Thy heart and 
 mine arc henceforth one. Neither can distrust the 
 other, neither can forget, or in solitude say, ' I am 
 alone ; ' for the power of the soul can annihilate 
 space. Thou here and I at Malaga are still united 
 and indivisible." 
 
 The thought of these words was a continual con- 
 solation to Beatriz, and Colon carried the memory of 
 the peaceful home life like a blessed talisman into the 
 cruel tumult of the war. De Talavera did not find 
 the promised leisure for the consideration of the 
 Italian's affairs, and Colon was forced to remain a 
 lonely and undistinguished spectator of the varied 
 fortunes of the siege of Malaga. Magnificence and 
 ferocity were strangely blended in the warfare of the 
 times. The silken pavilions of the queen and her 
 ladies overlooked the blood-stained, half-demolished 
 
8o COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 battlements of the unfortunate city; and gay strains 
 of martial music greeted the ears of lovely dames 
 and noble knights, while the mangled remains of a 
 fanatical Moor were being launched as a missile from 
 the catapult, to increase the dismay of Malaga's 
 starving defenders. 
 
 The surrender of the city ended the campaign, and 
 released Colon from his enforced attendance, which, 
 as time passed, had become more and more intolera- 
 ble. Every thought and wish called him to Cordova, 
 and he hastened homeward full of mingled anxiety 
 and hope. 
 
 He entered Cordova on a September day, but it 
 was not to saunter as a stranger through its streets. 
 His heart had a home to which it flew like a dove to 
 its nest. The trees still threw thick shadows in the 
 Court of Pomegranates. The whitewashed walls of 
 the little house reflected the sunshine dazzlingly. 
 The courtyard was so still that his footfall echoed 
 loudly, and his pulses bounded with alarm. A dread 
 too terrible for utterance seized him, and he almost 
 swooned with the relief of sudden joy when Teresa, 
 craning her neck over the balustrade, caught sight of 
 him and called out cheerfully, then rushed into the 
 house and came proudly forth to meet him, bearing in 
 her arms a fine boy baby, with eyes already like his 
 mother's. 
 
 " Is she well? Is she well? " cried Colon. 
 
 " Yes, yes," answered Teresa. " Now that you are 
 come, all is well." 
 
 The old house in the quiet courtyard where the 
 alchemist for so many years had prosecuted his studies 
 
LIGHT AND SHADOW. 8 1 
 
 undisturbed, was transformed into a busy little world, 
 where the young Fernando reigned an absolute mon- 
 arch, with lusty lungs and vigorous tiny fists to enforce 
 his supremacy over his willing subjects. From Don 
 Enriquez to Teresa, all were his abject slaves. The 
 alchemist made rattles out of his retorts, and forged 
 his glittering metal into shining toys. Pedro was 
 jealous that Colon should usurp his place as the baby's 
 most favored attendant. The tiny Fernando was 
 already accustomed to the strong arms of his young 
 uncle, who would carry him about in the patio, and 
 show him the glancing waters of the fountain. The 
 baby's smile was a sufficient reward for long and 
 patient service. 
 
 Beatriz was radiant in the proud joy of a young 
 mother. Her husband's longed-for return filled her 
 cup of happiness to the brim. When he sat opposite 
 his beautiful wife with his baby on his knee. Colon 
 felt that he was secure from evil fortune. If his am- 
 bition was slow in its fulfilment, life was complete 
 enough to make patience an easy virtue. He pitied 
 Ximenes, who could see in the pure joys of family love 
 only a snare to the soul. 
 
 One morning Pedro entered the house with a pale, 
 anxious face. The family were at breakfast. Beatriz 
 had kept a seat for him, and had placed a bunch of 
 flowers on his plate. 
 
 '< What ails thee, my brother? " she asked, as Pedro 
 bent to kiss the baby who sat enthroned in her lap. 
 
 Pedro looked about upon the circle of happy faces. 
 
 " The plague is in Cordova," he said. 
 
 All exclaimed with horrified incredulity. 
 6 
 
82 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 *' It is true," he continued. " Six have already died, 
 and twice that number are stricken. I saw a great 
 train of pack- mules leaving the eastern gate, and the 
 driver told me they carried the queen's wardrobe and 
 that of her household, for the court was about to re- 
 move from the city for fear of the pestilence. Noth- 
 ing else is talked about upon the streets." 
 
 Beatriz pressed her child to her breast in sudden 
 fear for it. The breakfast remained unfinished. The 
 servants brought news which confirmed Pedro's re- 
 port, and Rodrigo and Antonia came in, with serious 
 faces, to discuss the threatened evil. 
 
 " The best we can do," said Rodrigo, addressing 
 the family, " is to leave the city until the plague is 
 over. Those who linger till they are stricken attempt 
 too late to escape. My hacienda offers a secure re- 
 treat, to which I invite you all. We can taste the 
 pleasures of a sojourn in the country, and the fresh 
 breezes will preserve us from sickness." 
 
 This invitation was gratefully accepted by all. Pe- 
 dro went to hire pack-mules, which were already 
 greatly in demand, and to secure means of transpor- 
 tation for the family. Beatriz was busily engaged in 
 making the necessary preparations, when her husband, 
 who had accompanied Pedro, returned, bringing the 
 tidings of several new deaths. 
 
 " The city is in a tumult," he said. " Every face 
 expresses selfish fear. All desire to escape. Who 
 will remain to nurse the sick and dying?" 
 
 Beatriz looked at her sleeping child with fond 
 anxiety. 
 
 "Those who have no close home-ties," she said. 
 " The good priests and nuns will not desert them." 
 
LIGHT AND SHADOW. 83 
 
 " Was Ximenes right, then, when he said that the 
 ties of the family endanger the soul? " asked Colon, 
 quickly. " Are we so selfish in our love ? " 
 
 " Wouldst thou have me remain?" asked Beatriz, 
 doubtful of his meaning. 
 
 " No, a thousand times no," exclaimed her husband. 
 "Thou and the child must be beyond the reach of dan- 
 ger ; but I, whose conscience could find no ease in 
 safety, must obey the voice that bids me join the good 
 brothers in their fight with death." 
 
 "Thou wilt remain exposed to the worst danger? " 
 cried Beatriz. 
 
 " Yes," answered Colon. " I shall take the vows of 
 the Third Order of Saint Francis. I have long medi- 
 tated the step. In that garb I can the better serve my 
 suffering fellow- men. I have no fears for myself." 
 
 " I will not leave thee," said Beatriz. " I will stay 
 also." 
 
 "But the child," exclaimed Colon, growing pale. 
 " If he should die — " 
 
 " We are in the hands of the Lord," said Beatriz, 
 solemnly. 
 
 Colon took her hand, and sat silently with bowed 
 head, fighting the tumult of agonizing thoughts which 
 bade him relinquish his purpose rather than expose 
 wife and child to the dreaded infection. Francisco 
 Ximenes seemed to rise before him, condemning 
 him for his weakness. " He who hateth not wife 
 and child is not worthy of me," — these words 
 sounded in his ears. 
 
 " Wilt thou not please me, my dear one, by consent- 
 ing to leave me here alone, and go with thy child and 
 family to the cool and pleasant country?" he said in 
 
84 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 a tone of entreaty. "■ It is only for thee that I am 
 weak with fear." 
 
 " No," said Beatriz, stoutly. " My place is at thy 
 side. Where thou art, there will I remain." 
 
 "So be it," said Colon, with a sigh. 
 
 Beatriz's family heard of her rash determination 
 with horror. They looked upon Colon as the probable 
 murderer of his wife and child, since he did not for- 
 bid it. Three days later they were left alone. Even 
 Teresa deserted her mistress. No servant was left 
 in the empty house, which echoed fearfully to the 
 young mother's footfall as she went about her daily 
 work in her husband's absence. The child was strong 
 and healthy, and he took no harm ; but every lonely 
 hour was full of dread to Beatriz. Day after day the 
 sun rose in a cloudless sky, sinking like a fiery ball in 
 dense vapors at night. The hot October air was like 
 the blast from a furnace. 
 
 The hospitals were filled to overflowing with the 
 sick, and the churches opened their doors for im- 
 provised beds upon their floors, while faithful monks 
 and nuns showed tireless energy in caring for those 
 who needed help, though the ranks of the nurses 
 were thinned day by day by the sudden and dreaded 
 visitation. Colon, in his gray Franciscan garb, was 
 among the most devoted, going about among the 
 sick and dying, hardly taking time to eat or sleep. 
 Beatriz concealed her fears for his safety, as he did 
 his anxiety for her and for the child. 
 
 One evening, when Colon returned late at night to 
 his home, he stumbled over the prostrate form of a 
 man who lay within the arched gateway of Enriquez's 
 house, as if he had fallen unconscious in attempting 
 
LIGHT AND SHADOW. 85 
 
 to ascend the steps. A glance at his face showed 
 that he was stricken with the plague. Without hesita- 
 tion, Colon raised him in his arms and carried him 
 into the house. Beatriz, who met him wonderingly, 
 obeyed his command to prepare a bed, and together 
 they laid the sufferer upon it. 
 
 The light of a lamp fell upon the sick man's face. 
 The eyes of husband and wife met. 
 
 "It is Garcia de Silva," said Beatriz, blushing quickly. 
 
 " The man I counted my enemy is laid at my door 
 demanding my care," said Colon. " He shall have 
 it as if he were my brother ; but when well again he 
 shall answer to me for his conduct in the matter of 
 the bracelet." 
 
 Colon's devoted care, assisted by that of his wife, 
 brought the sick man from death's door. As Garcia 
 slowly recovered, he awoke to a sense of unwilling 
 obligation to the man he hated. The tedium of con- 
 valescence was relieved by the charm of Beatriz's 
 presence ; but he dared not disturb her calm indif- 
 ference by a word of his former love. He chafed at 
 the invisible fetters that bound him, and at the silent 
 superiority of magnanimous forgiveness which Colon 
 displayed. 
 
 The day that Garcia was able to leave his bed, and 
 to sit propped up with pillows in a chair, his host 
 entered the room with a serious face, and said, — 
 
 " I have waited for your recovery, Don Garcia, be- 
 fore demanding the satisfaction your conscience must 
 be eager to offer for the serious affront you gave to the 
 fair reputation of my wife by boasting with lying in- 
 tent of the gift of a bracelet from her. Explain your 
 conduct if you can." 
 
86 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 Garcia flushed quickly. 
 
 " There is only one way to adjust an affair of 
 honor," he said, with a glance at his sword, which 
 hung upon the wall. " I recognize no right in you 
 to demand explanation of me, even were I con- 
 scious of a fault. In this case I am ignorant of your 
 meaning." 
 
 " You speak falsely, Don Garcia," said Colon, 
 calmly. " You know right well the cause you have 
 given me for complaint." 
 
 Garcia started angrily. 
 
 " When I am stronger, I will meet your challenge," 
 he said, " and you shall answer to me for your in- 
 jurious words." 
 
 Colon glanced at his Franciscan robe. 
 
 " My vows as a Tertiary bind me to peace and 
 charity," he said, "and forbid me to avenge myself 
 in private quarrel." 
 
 " Thus you shelter yourself behind a cowardly 
 pretext to insult me with impunity," sneered 
 Garcia. 
 
 " I would appeal to your sense of honor as a 
 man," said Colon. " You must promise me that you 
 will undo your lying words, restore the bracelet, and 
 ask pardon of my wife." 
 
 " If I refuse — " began Garcia. 
 
 *' I have no power to compel you," said Colon; 
 "but vengeance will come in Heaven's time." 
 
 Garcia laughed nervously. 
 
 " Never did I receive so strange a challenge," he 
 said. " I must accept it, and await the thunderbolts 
 of Jupiter, if you have power to call them on my 
 head." 
 
LIGHT AND SHADOW. 87 
 
 Colon turned his back upon him, and left him with- 
 out a word. 
 
 When Beatriz brought him his midday meal, Garcia 
 looked with compunction at her pale and careworn 
 face. 
 
 " You have wearied yourself in my service, and 
 I ill requite your care," he said. " Would I had 
 died in the hour when I opened my eyes from my 
 swoon, and saw your face above me ! I thought 
 then that I was in Paradise." 
 
 " Your future should still be full of hope and the 
 promise of great deeds, Don Garcia," said Beatriz. 
 " It is my husband who has given you a new life, 
 for without his care you would have died where you 
 fell. I would bid you live it nobly, for his sake." 
 
 *' Not for his sake, Beatriz, but for yours," said 
 Garcia, moved by her words and by the continued 
 generosity of his rival, who had refrained from giving 
 his wife an account of their late conversation. " You 
 shall be, though lost to me, my inspiration and my 
 guiding star." 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 AN AFTERMATH. 
 
 "PIGHTEEN months passed, with varying hopes 
 "■^^ and fears ; but they were happy months to the 
 household of Colon, since they made little record in 
 history. The stream that glides gently through the 
 meadows attracts but a passing glance ; but when it 
 reaches the precipice, and falls broken and distorted 
 in wreaths of mist, curious gazers turn from their path 
 to behold it. 
 
 The morning sun shone brightly into the council- 
 chamber of King Ferdinand in the palace of the 
 Alcazar in Seville. This beautiful Moorish structure, 
 second only to the Alhambra at Granada, was a 
 favorite residence with the court; and the ladies 
 who wandered through its famous galleries and gar- 
 dens mourned that the blare of warlike trumpets was 
 soon to call husband and lover into the dangers and 
 difficulties of another Moorish campaign, for it was 
 for this that the ambitious sovereigns were preparing 
 in the interval of peace. 
 
 Ferdinand sat before a table on which were spread 
 rude maps of the country between Jaen and Baza. 
 The Marquis of Cadiz, the renowned Rodrigo Ponce 
 de Leon, leaned over his shoulder, preserving a 
 sufficient distance for respect, but forgetting some- 
 thing of the formality of the subject in the eager 
 
AN AFTERMATH. 89 
 
 interest of the warrior. Other noble cavaliers sur- 
 rounded the table, among whom was the intrepid 
 Hernando del Pulgar, hero of many a daring exploit, 
 and an object of intense admiration to the circle of 
 young men who stood behind their elders, burning 
 with chivalrous enthusiasm, and longing for an oppor- 
 tunity to show their valor under the banner of their 
 sovereign. 
 
 The council of war was interrupted by the entrance 
 of the Treasurer of Aragon, who had been summoned 
 to an audience. Ferdinand raised his head, and 
 recognized him with a slightly impatient sigh. 
 
 " Here comes our worthy Luis de Santangel," 
 he said, " full of business, with his pockets stuffed 
 with deeds and loans ; but he is ever ready to remind 
 us how inadequate our resources are to our needs. 
 When I converse with thee, De Leon, I feel myself 
 already master of Baza ; but Santangel will have us 
 balance our hopes against solid ducats of gold, or 
 count them ill supported." 
 
 " Your Highness is pleased to jest," answered Sant- 
 angel, with a low bow, as he approached the circle. 
 " My ambition for your renown and success cannot 
 be outstripped by that of any of these gentlemen. 
 It is sometimes my unhappy duty to inform you 
 of empty coffers ; but courage rises with necessity 
 in finance as in war, and some happy stroke of for- 
 tune is sure to favor your treasury as it advances 
 your banners." 
 
 " Well replied," answered Ferdinand. "What hast 
 thou there? " 
 
 " This is a mortgage deed from a converted Jew," 
 answered Santangel, "who for a tract of land near 
 
90 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 Malaga advances a rich loan ; but this paper to 
 which 1 especially beseech your Highness's attention 
 for the moment is a letter and petition from the 
 accomplished Genoese, Cristoval Colon — " 
 
 Ferdinand frowned, and struck the table with his 
 fist. " Does he desire that we postpone the prepa- 
 rations for the campaign to Hsten to his letters?" 
 he exclaimed. " We know that thou dost favor him, 
 Santangel, with sympathy and credulity. Have the 
 kindness, then, to satisfy him, as thou often dost our 
 creditors when they grow troublesome, with prom- 
 ises. Promise anything, everything; but silence him 
 if thou canst." 
 
 " If your Highness will grant me a moment's in- 
 dulgence," urged Santangel, " I will relate but a por- 
 tion of his letter. He has received an invitation 
 from King John of Portugal, holding out very certain 
 hopes of immediate assistance. The king invites 
 his return to his court, and assures him of personal 
 protection and favor. The King of England has also 
 made advances of the same sort, having sent him 
 a letter with his royal autograph ; but to Portugal 
 Senor Colon especially incHnes, since — " 
 
 " Have we nurtured this needy petitioner so long, 
 only to have him desert us for another patron?" 
 interrupted Ferdinand. *' Call hither De Talavera." 
 
 The bishop was already at hand, and came forward. 
 
 " Take this letter, father, read it, and send a re- 
 ply," said the king. " Command the immediate 
 attendance of Cristoval Colon at Seville. Let him 
 be well lodged at our expense. Hasten the conclu- 
 sion of the Council in regard to him, or call a new 
 conference if thou seest fit. Push the business with 
 
AN AFTERMATH. 9 1 
 
 such energy that he will follow us in content till the 
 campaign is ended. After that he shall have our 
 more particular notice." 
 
 With a wave of the hand the king dismissed the 
 discussion of the matter, and Talavera went unwill- 
 ingly to obey his commands. 
 
 When Colon arrived in Seville, after a toilsome 
 journey over swollen streams and dilapidated roads, 
 — for it had been a winter of floods, — he once more 
 experienced the hoUowness of royal promises. The 
 conference of learned men which Talavera hastily 
 summoned was less openly hostile than that of Sala- 
 manca ; but Colon soon detected the weight of preju- 
 dice still immovably fixed against him. The king 
 sent him from time to time promises of a special 
 audience, and assurances that he was more than ever 
 disposed to favor his schemes, the pressure of busi- 
 ness alone interfering. Although Colon attached no 
 importance to these declarations, he did not dare 
 to discredit them by refusing to remain. 
 
 He found himself once more alone and superfluous 
 in the midst of the intense enthusiasm of warlike 
 preparations, and the gayeties of a court which, al- 
 though remarkable for strictness of deportment and 
 morals, was noted for pageantry and display. A few 
 old friends remembered him ; and since the king was 
 profuse in words of encouragement, it became some- 
 what more the fashion to smile upon the Genoese, 
 though the indulgence granted him was of the same 
 sort as that which the court buffoon gained by his 
 antics. 
 
 The Marchioness of Moya, a favorite of the queen, 
 and Santangel the treasurer, were among the stanch- 
 
92 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 est and most influential of his patrons. The mar- 
 chioness was renowned for her well-preserved beauty, 
 her vivacity, and tact. She was always surrounded 
 by a crowd of fair maidens, daughters of the nobility 
 and protegees of the queen ; and an attendant circle 
 of young nobles, who fluttered like moths about this 
 garden of beauty, happy to obtain a look or a 
 smile. The marchioness was a strict duenna; and 
 her nephew, Don Manuel de Bobadilla, was envied 
 for his superior advantages of access to her presence. 
 Since she often invited Colon to an audience, he fre- 
 quently met the young man, who was connected in 
 his mind with a painful remembrance, and who made 
 no effort to retrieve the past by any apology. On 
 the contrary, recognizing in the serious and sensitive 
 nature of Colon fair game for jests, he seldom en- 
 countered him without a covert insult, too insigni- 
 ficant to resent, yet as tormenting as the sting of 
 gnats. 
 
 Don Manuel met Colon one morning in the mar- 
 chioness's antechamber, and drew him aside with an 
 air of solemn importance. "You need no longer 
 regard my friend, Don Garcia de Silva, with appre- 
 hension as a possible rival," he said. " He has 
 come to-day to Seville with serious intent of redeem- 
 ing the past by the assumption of three irrevocable 
 vows. He is to marry an heiress, one of the queen's 
 ladies. Dona Inez Pacheco de Osuna, whose charm 
 Ues in her wealth rather than her beauty; he is to 
 join the army in De Leon's command in the hopes 
 of winning his spurs under such a chieftain ; and he 
 means to make profession as a knight of the Order 
 of Calatrava." 
 
AN AFTERMATH. 93 
 
 " How is that possible? " asked Colon. 
 
 " You think him not a fit subject," laughed Don 
 Manuel. " Perhaps you are not aware that the king 
 is now the head of the order, the knights may marry, 
 and the vows of poverty in his case will not be too 
 strictly enforced. He sees in it a road to fame, 
 though for myself I should take a broader and an 
 easier highway to reach that goal. But you would 
 not know De Silva. He has become a fanatic almost 
 equal to yourself." 
 
 A shrill laugh sounded behind the speaker, and a 
 young lady richly attired in silks and jewels confronted 
 Don Manuel, to his evident dismay. 
 
 "Ah, Don Manuel, I have been listening behind 
 the curtain," she exclaimed. " I heard you mention 
 the name of De Silva, and I thought it no harm to 
 hear what further you had to say concerning him. He 
 redeems the past by wedding me, and my charm is in 
 wealth rather than beauty. I owe you much for your 
 courtesy." 
 
 " You have mistaken my words," stammered Don 
 Manuel. 
 
 She made a voluble reply, and he attempted to 
 defend himself; but Colon heard only empty sounds 
 to which he attached no meaning, for his mind was 
 absorbed by the sight of a bracelet worn by the pro- 
 spective bride, three ropes of Etruscan gold with a 
 pearl clasp. When at last she turned with a pettish 
 gesture of dismissal. Colon approached her. 
 
 " Will you give into my hand that golden bracelet 
 you wear?" he said. 
 
 She looked at him in haughty surprise. 
 
 " I have no gifts for mendicants," she said. 
 
94 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 Don Manuel stifled his laughter, becoming suddenly 
 aware of the significance of the scene. 
 
 "The bracelet belongs to my wife," said Colon, 
 with dignity. " I purchased it in Genoa of a gold- 
 smith who is my friend, and I gave it to her on our 
 marriage-day. Don Garcia de Silva won it of her by 
 a fraud which was equivalent to a theft. I ask its 
 return of your generosity." 
 
 The lady looked inquiringly at Don Manuel. 
 
 " He speaks the truth," said the young man, mali- 
 ciously, " so far as concerns the former ownership of 
 the bracelet." 
 
 Dona Inez removed the golden circle from her wrist, 
 and flung it upon the floor. 
 
 " You have conspired to oflend me," she cried, 
 with tears in her eyes. Then she rushed from the 
 room. 
 
 Don Manuel picked up the bracelet, and handed it 
 to Colon. 
 
 " You have let loose the devil amongst us," he 
 said. " The worst may come from the anger of a jeal- 
 ous woman. Garcia may lose a rich bride by your 
 means. Let me follow her, and declare that you were 
 deceived by a fancied resemblance, and that I sup- 
 ported you for a jest." 
 
 Colon shook his head with a serious air. 
 
 " I spoke hastily and without thought," he said. " I 
 should be loath to offend an innocent woman ; but as 
 for the result to Don Garcia, let it be as it may, no 
 power could force me to speak a falsehood in order to 
 undo it." 
 
 Later in the day Don Manuel, wearing an expres- 
 sion of unusual seriousness and concern, sought Colon 
 
AN AFTERMATH. 95 
 
 out, and entered at once upon the subject uppermost 
 in his mind. 
 
 " I told you, Seiior Itahan, that your obstinate de- 
 termination would undo my friend," he said ; '' but I 
 little thought that so much would hinge upon your 
 words. Dona Inez was beside herself with rage, and 
 she went direct to the queen. Isabella, who is strict 
 enough to split a hair where a question of morals is 
 concerned, ordered an investigation, and unearthed 
 much testimony damaging to De Silva, my protesta- 
 tions being unnoticed, since I received a portion of 
 the unmerited blame. Then she required that the 
 king, as Grand Master of Calatrava, should take up 
 the quest, and hunt poor Garcia's trifling fault to earth. 
 A mountain is made out of a mole-hill. The king 
 has ordered an examination, and you are to be sum- 
 moned as witness. I beseech you, Sefior Colon, be 
 generous. If I have offended you, I will even crave 
 your pardon. It was all but a jest, and Garcia had 
 no direct hand in it. We did but wish to make sport 
 of your jealousy and doting fondness for your wife." 
 
 Don Manuel's tone of mingled supplication and 
 disdain was a curious indication of his changed rela- 
 tion to the object of his insults ; but Colon did not 
 rejoice in his enemy's discomfiture. 
 
 " I have no power to be generous, Don Manuel," 
 he said ; " I cannot make or unmake. I can but an- 
 swer truth to the king's inquiries." 
 
 " But you color the truth to suit yourself," said 
 Don Manuel, angrily. *' Who would regard as of 
 serious consequence a foolish youthful jest?" 
 
 " It was no jest to me," said Colon, with a clouded 
 brow. 
 
96 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 Don Manuel rose and paced the floor, casting 
 fierce glances at the Italian. At last he turned on his 
 heel, and left him, saying, " I shall not abase myself 
 to plead with you ; but remember if you work Gar- 
 cia's ruin you shall pay the penalty." 
 
 An hour later Colon received the summons to ap- 
 pear before the king in the great hall of the Alcazar. 
 Ferdinand sat on his throne, arrayed in the im])osing 
 robes of the Grand Master of Calatrava. Various 
 members of the order stood about him ; and the queen 
 was at his side, surrounded by her ladies. Dofia Inez 
 had long since regretted the rash complaint which had 
 led to consequences so serious. Her eyes were swollen 
 with weeping, and she cast an indignant look at Colon 
 as he entered and stood calmly confronting Don Garcia 
 de Silva. 
 
 A knight of the order who officiated as secretary read 
 an epitomized account of the charges made against De 
 Silva as an a]^plicant whose moral character should be 
 unimpeachable. He was accused of obtaining a brace- 
 lot by dishonest means from the noble wife of Seiior 
 Colon, the Genoese, and of using it with an intent to 
 injure the reputation of the lady, which was above 
 suspicion. 
 
 " Give thy testimony, Colon," said the king, with a 
 cold expression of enforced impartiality. " Hast thou 
 aught to add to or amend in this account of the 
 matter? " 
 
 Colon recounted the history of the pretended men- 
 dicant, the ransom of the ring, and the use that 
 had been made of the bracelet to awaken his jealous 
 suspicions. Isabella was visibly affected. She frowned, 
 and whispered to Doiia Inez a few words, which in- 
 
AN AFTERMATH. 97 
 
 creased the young lady's agitation so much that she 
 could no longer restrain her tears, but withdrew into 
 the background witii her foce buried in her hand- 
 kerchief. 
 
 ** What hast thou to reply, Don Garcia?" said the 
 king, turning to the young nobleman with a look of 
 sympathy rather than reproach. 
 
 " I declare that this is a base conspiracy to injure me 
 in the eyes of your Highness," said Garcia, eagerly, in- 
 spired by the hope of the king's favor. " What wit- 
 ness have you but the words of a doting husband, who 
 is prone to jealousy as old men are if their wives are 
 young and beautiful? I obtained the ring as he de- 
 clares, and the lady ^av^ her bracelet to ransom it ; 
 but she gave it willingly, for the sake of the love that 
 was once between us, and did not chide me for my 
 presumption. All know her honor to be spotless. 
 None have suspected it but her own husband, who 
 eagerly swallowed the poisoned bait of the jest we did 
 contrive to test his constancy. It was a foolish jest, 
 for which I crave his pardon and your indulgence ; 
 but who should bear the blame rather than himself ? " 
 
 Ferdinand was ready to accept the explanation 
 and to end the inquiry ; but Isabella, reading his 
 purpose in his look, rose in offended majesty. 
 
 "As a woman I demand satisfaction for a woman," 
 she exclaimed. " Let not Don Garcia de Silva think 
 that he can with impunity lightly jest away a noble 
 lady's reputation, — one, too, whom he pretends to 
 have honored with his love. He has proved himself 
 unable to recognize the sacredness of love. I refuse 
 to consent to his alliance with one dear to me and in 
 my charge. I beseech you that your distinguished 
 
 7 
 
98 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 order shall not so lower its standard of chivalrous 
 duty as to accept into its brotherhood one whose 
 sense of honor is too dull to perceive what he owes 
 to the protection and defence of pure and noble 
 womanhood. As for my witness, the great Ximenes 
 de Cisneros has given his testimony against Don 
 Garcia." 
 
 The words of the queen, vibrating with emotion, 
 turned the scale. Ferdinand reluctantly declared 
 that the application of Don Garcia for admission to 
 the Order of Calatrava was refused. The conclave 
 was ended. Don Garcia retired with an air of proud 
 indifference, which did not betray the tumult of de- 
 spair and indignation which he felt. Colon returned 
 to his lodgings with a slow step and downcast head. 
 He did not notice that in a turning of the path Don 
 Garcia stood awaiting him. 
 
 "Are you satisfied with your revenge?" cried 
 Garcia, with fierce emphasis, laying his hand upon 
 his sword-hilt. 
 
 Colon fiiced him fearlessly. 
 
 "The revenge is not of my seeking," he said. 
 " You remember, Don Garcia, that you consented to 
 await my challenge of Heaven's judgment upon you. 
 That judgment has but now been given." 
 
 His tone of prophetic denunciation impressed 
 Garcia in spite of himself. He made no reply, but 
 remained lost in thought as the Genoese passed him 
 and entered his lodging. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 AN APPEAL. 
 
 T N one of the towers of a building near the Alcazar, 
 -*" reserved to the use of some favored prelates, and 
 to various personages who followed the court in an 
 unofficial capacity, Colon sat in the small apartment 
 assigned to him, in conversation with Francisco 
 Ximenes. This great man had thrown himself, heart 
 and soul, into the preparations for the Moorish cam- 
 paign which was to advance one step farther the 
 banner of the Cross. Amidst these absorbing in- 
 terests the conscientious and persevering priest did 
 not forget the duty of using his personal influence to 
 strengthen the power of the Church. He was already 
 oppressed with a sense of the decay of religion and 
 its need of revival. The monasteries, for the most 
 part, were sunk in sloth and sensuality. The 
 Moorish war was preached as a holy crusade ; but 
 Ximenes knew well that the prevailing motive that 
 urged it was greed for the rich cities and the fair 
 and fertile lands of the infidels. 
 
 The prelates who led their forces side by side with 
 knights and princes were often cruel, haughty, and 
 rapacious, advancing their ambition by the sacrifice 
 of their spiritual life. The Church was outwardly 
 rich and prosperous, but inwardly it was attacked by 
 
lOO COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 a mortal disease. The man who was to effect a re- 
 ligious revival and the reformation of the monasteries 
 by the power of his intense personality had, for the 
 time, fixed his thoughts upon the Genoese as a soul 
 fit to aid him in his work. He must first be brought 
 within the ranks of the priesthood. His devout but 
 undisciplined nature must be trained by austerity and 
 self-renunciation to attain the heights of spiritual life. 
 Then, Ximenes believed, the Church would gain a 
 leader, a saint, an inspired prophet, who might well 
 succeed in bringing countless heathen and newly 
 discovered regions into the kingdom of righteousness, 
 while he also aided in effecting the tremendous revo- 
 lution in the Church's life at home, of which Ximenes 
 dreamed. 
 
 With this great thought in his mind, Ximenes hesi- 
 tated for utterance. At last he said : " It can hardly 
 be chance, Sefior Colon, which makes me for the 
 second time a witness of thy humiliation for the same 
 cause, — a woman's love. Bear with me if my words 
 offend thee. The king who but lately favored thy 
 suit now looks coldly upon thee. He regrets the 
 disgrace of a young and promising man. The brave 
 knights who surround him blame thee. Judged by 
 the code of worldly honor, thou hast offended in 
 that, while thou didst take no notice of an affront at 
 the time it was offered, thou hast won for it at this 
 late day a terrible revenge." 
 
 " I cannot conform my conduct to the code of 
 worldly honor," said Colon. " My vows as a Tertiary 
 of Saint Francis forbid me to avenge an insult by a 
 resort to arms. The penalty Don Garcia suffers has 
 come through his own fault." 
 
AN APPEAL. loi 
 
 " Yet many say that it is disproportionate to the 
 offence," said Ximenes. " De Leon, since the young 
 man's disgrace, has refused him a place in his com- 
 mand. The king has given him an appointment in 
 the rear guard. It is said that De Silva is desperate 
 with the smart of his losses." 
 
 " I pity him," said Colon, ''but I hold myself in- 
 nocent of blame in the matter." 
 
 " Thou art blind to the true proportion of thy du- 
 ties and thy responsibilities," said Ximenes. "Thus 
 wilt thou fall and stumble in the way, while thou dost 
 grasp at once for the rewards of earth and heaven. 
 ' Anoint thine eyes with eye-salve, that thou mayest 
 see.' Thou hast no call to be a Tertiary of Saint Francis, 
 and the husband of a beautiful wife who needs de- 
 fence from insult. Thou art called, as was Aaron, to 
 be a priest of the Lord. The way of power and pro- 
 motion would be open to thy talents. Thou mightest 
 become bishop, cardinal. Pope, — who knows ? But 
 my ambition for thee would be what it is for my- 
 self, — remaining a simple priest to act as a regen- 
 erating power within the Church, to convict it of sin 
 and sloth, and to restore it as a spotless bride, in 
 glorious raiment, to Christ. How gladly would I 
 encourage the feeling of sympathy which draws me 
 to thee ! My soul is lonely as is thine own, if thou 
 didst but know it. What does thy wife know of 
 thine inner life ? How does love advance thy spirit- 
 uality? It is ever contrary to it. It is an earthly 
 passion, which all the saints have fought and over- 
 come. It debases, deludes, ensnares. It distorts 
 the clear light of truth, and it is accompanied by a 
 demon of jealousy that possesses a man's soul, mak- 
 
102 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 ing him desperate and vindictive, or weak from very 
 shame. Break thy chains at the voice of duty, 
 Cristoval Colon, and Heaven, that has so far thwarted 
 and buffeted thee in thine endeavors, will bless thee 
 from this day. Thy trials have been sent to teach 
 thee, and thou hast not learned." 
 
 "Spare me, my good father," exclaimed Colon, 
 with a quick gesture, as if to defend himself from fur- 
 ther importunity. " I would gladly accept the offer 
 of your friendship with which you honor me, but I 
 cannot follow you to your own lofty height. I can- 
 not give up my love. You have not well defined it, 
 noble Ximenes. A blind man cannot describe the 
 rainbow or the colors of the summer sunset. The 
 charm, the constancy, the ever- increasing tenderness 
 of a good woman's affection have taught me the 
 meaning of the words that bless true marriage : ' What 
 God hath joined, let not man put asunder.' This 
 love has depths of holy feeling as pure as the ecstasy 
 of a saint, and the hopes and solicitudes of paternal 
 affection bring us nearer the heart of God, who is our 
 father." 
 
 Ximenes sighed with upturned eyes ; then he pressed 
 his lips tightly together before he replied, — 
 
 " Marriage is honorable. The world can never be 
 one great monastery of devoted souls, though heaven 
 will be. But thou canst not know how keen is my 
 disappointment to lose thee, Senor Colon, to see thee 
 struggling on the common level, content with joys 
 that perish. Very great is my grief to have mis- 
 taken thy nature, — to find no response where I had 
 hoped for sympathy and understanding. Yet I can- 
 not believe that I have failed to read thee aright. 
 
AN APPEAL. 103 
 
 Thou art what thou dost not know as yet. The mo- 
 ment of consecration will come, and thou wilt accept 
 it. One day, Cristoval Colon, thou must choose 
 to forsake either thy love or thine ambition. The 
 paths will diverge, and Heaven will not smile on 
 both." 
 
 He left the room with a grave farewell. His last 
 words had the ring of prophecy ; and they remained 
 long in Colon's memory, in the substratum that 
 underlies consciousness, ready to return to the sur- 
 face when favored by opportunity, and thus to 
 work out their own fulfilment. For the present 
 Colon felt only the sting of pain which comes from 
 the disapprobation of one respected and admired. 
 The reserved and self-contained Ximenes had opened 
 his heart to him. He had thought him worthy of 
 his friendship, and the offer had been rejected. 
 Colon sighed regretfully ; but the thought of Beatriz 
 and of Fernando defended him from too great 
 self-reproach. 
 
 He rose and stood by the window, where he looked 
 down upon the smiling gardens, the housetops, 
 domes, and spires of the city rising from a sea of 
 verdure. Far away he caught the gleam of the Gua- 
 dalquivir flowing gently towards the sea, — the river of 
 Cordova, the home of his heart. The verses of a half- 
 forgotten love-song came back to him, and hummed 
 themselves over in his mind. Some doves were 
 cooing and pluming themselves in the vines by the 
 window. The soft spring air was full of the spicy 
 odor of bursting blossoms and fresh growing things. 
 The heart of Nature beat warm and strong. Life was 
 infinite in its complexity; it was a vain effort to 
 
I04 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 reduce it to a narrow rule. The saintly Ximenes was 
 mistaken in his premises, and the noble structure of 
 his character was like the straight trunk of an oak 
 with all its spreading branches lopped away, missing 
 the beauty of its green exuberance. 
 
 His look, which fell for a moment upon the wind- 
 ing alleys of the garden below him, was suddenly 
 arrested by the sight of a young man who entered 
 alone, and flung himself down in an attitude of dejec- 
 tion beside a fountain. Colon recognized Garcia de 
 Silva, and a quick impulse of regretful pity caused 
 him to descend hastily to the garden. 
 
 Garcia saw him coming, and frowning rose to es- 
 cape him ; but Colon detained him with an out- 
 stretched hand. 
 
 "Let us be friends, Don Garcia," he said; "let us 
 forget the past. God inflicts the penalty for our ac- 
 tions ; but weak human hearts must cherish mercy 
 rather than deal justice, and forgive as they hope to 
 be forgiven." 
 
 Garcia stood confronting him with a lowering face. 
 " It is easy for those who triumph to talk of forgive- 
 ness," he said. "The Moor who constructed my 
 horoscope spoke truth when he said that your star 
 met mine in baleful conjunction. You have robbed 
 me of all that is dear in life, — first of the love of Bea- 
 triz, without which all else was of little worth ; then 
 of my ambition, which you destroyed like a bubble at 
 a touch : still you would have me forgive you. It is 
 past reason. I shall hate you to my dying day, Sefior 
 Cristoval Colon." 
 
 Garcia spoke with a calmness which made the re- 
 strained passion of his words more terrible and con- 
 
AN APPEAL. 105 
 
 vincing. Colon bent his head, as if accepting with 
 patience an unmerited reproach. He reaUzed in part 
 the despair the young man suffered. Garcia's pur- 
 pose of becoming a knight of Calatrava had been 
 curiously compounded of selfish ambition and reli- 
 gious feeling, the latter basing itself upon his memory 
 of Beatriz's inspiring words. The spirit of the age 
 was rude, coarse, and unscrupulous, but full of belief 
 and enthusiasm. The example and character of Isa- 
 bella the Catholic had infused an intense ardor for 
 the faith into priest and knight alike, when they 
 fought under her banners in the holy war. They did 
 not vex themselves with analytic questionings of the 
 motives of action or the minutiae of conduct. They 
 expected to win heaven at the point of the sword 
 dripping with the blood of the infidel. 
 
 " I pity you — " began Colon. 
 
 Garcia started, and a flush of anger crimsoned his 
 cheek. 
 
 "I have fallen low," he exclaimed with a hollow 
 laugh. " Pity ! and from you ! " 
 
 He looked about him with a restless expression 
 of futile malice. His sword could strike the Geno- 
 ese dead at a blow, but that would not fill the 
 measure of his revenge. A sudden death is painless. 
 His enemy must feel the greater torture of a life of 
 misery. 
 
 "■ I am beside myself with the hurt of my wounds, 
 Seiior Colon," continued Garcia. " I have no time 
 to stay for compliments. When shall we meet again ? 
 Do you return at once to Cordova? " 
 
 " No," answered Colon ; " I must of necessity fol- 
 low the king till he gives me the audience he has 
 
I06 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 promised. I shall not wait inactive and useless; I 
 hope to fight for the Cross in this campaign." 
 
 "Then we may meet before Baza," said Garcia, 
 lightly. " I am given the honorable position of guard 
 to the illustrious ranks of the victuallers and chamber- 
 lains of her Highness the Queen, and the sumpter 
 mules and baggage-carts which bear her wardrobe and 
 jewels. If fortune favors you also, Colon, we may 
 fight side by side." 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 AT THE SIEGE OF BAZA. 
 
 DON GARCIA'S bitter jest contained a prophecy. 
 In one of the fiercely contested conflicts of the 
 siege of Baza the crest of a wave of battle broke over 
 the brow of a hill, and mingled victor and vanquished 
 in wild confusion. The Moors were repulsed in an 
 almost successful attempt to rescue the booty gained 
 by a bold stratagem of the Christian marauders. A 
 reinforcement had relieved the flying knights, and a 
 champion had arisen to lead them to victory. 
 
 In the ranks of the marauders Don Garcia had 
 obtained a place. He had been welcomed by the 
 hot-headed young nobles who contrived the enter- 
 prise, — one of the many individual sallies which 
 varied the siege, — with no regard to the formalities 
 of military etiquette. Colon found himself in a posi- 
 tion suitable to aid in the final rout of the enemy, and 
 it was by his side that Don Garcia sank wounded with 
 a sabre-cut across his temple. 
 
 Colon, at great risk, bore his wounded companion 
 out of the melee, and later obtained permission to 
 carry him to his own tent and attempt his cure. The 
 young noblemen who came to express their solicitude 
 for their once popular companion shook their heads 
 at the sight of his unconscious form. There was little 
 hope of his recovery; but Colon, who saw himself 
 
I08 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 once more appointed Don Garcia's nurse and pro- 
 tector, recognized again in it a leading of Providence 
 which he could not disobey. He was constant in his 
 care ; and the sick man recovered, but slowly, and 
 with alarming lapses into unconsciousness. 
 
 One evening Colon sat at the door of his tent. 
 The invalid was sleeping. The camp lay under the 
 light of a young moon, which revealed the long lines 
 of circumvallation with which the besieged city was 
 invested, — trench and palisado, and walls of earth 
 and stone. Desolate stretches of burnt grass and 
 blackened earth, with here and there a charred stump, 
 or a heap of smouldering tree-trunks, replaced the 
 groves and orchards which had once been the glory 
 and the pride of Baza. The luxurious silken pavilions 
 of the Spanish nobles were grouped in the valley under 
 their gayly fluttering pennons, their escutcheons point- 
 ing out the flower of the Spanish chivalry. A little 
 city of the booths and tents of merchants and artisans 
 had grown up about them to encourage and supply 
 their taste for gorgeous decoration and display. There 
 was everywhere the stir of bustling activity. 
 
 In the midst of this movement of busy life, which 
 seemed to Colon, as he watched it from his more re- 
 mote position on the hillside, to resemble the coming 
 and going of bees around a hive, there came a sud- 
 den commotion, like the swarming of the bees about 
 a common point. News, which flies fast, was not 
 long in passing from the centre to the outposts. 
 
 " Two friars from Palestine have brought a message 
 from the Soldan," said a foot-soldier, in answer to 
 Colon's inquiry. " He threatens to massacre every 
 Christian in his domains, unless the war against the 
 
AT THE SIEGE OF BAZA. 109 
 
 Moors be stopped. By Saint lago, an empty threat, 
 which our king and queen are not likely to consider 
 for the twinkling of an eye ! Let the Soldan and the 
 Grand Turk, be they friends or foes with each other, 
 look to manage their own affairs, as we Spaniards shall 
 manage ours, without their help." 
 
 This was the prevailing sentiment. A burst of 
 patriotic indignation was the answer which the army 
 gave, and it could not be doubted that their High- 
 nesses' reply would be in the same spirit. Meantime 
 the friars' weary pilgrimage had found a pleasant end- 
 ing. From the highest noble to the humblest esquire, 
 their audience of admiring listeners gave them sym- 
 pathy and encouragement. They heard with kindling 
 hearts their tales of the Holy Land and the sufferings 
 of the Christians there. 
 
 "What hinders us from beginning a new crusade?" 
 the champion Del Pulgar cried, striking his sword- 
 hilt, and looking into the enthusiastic faces about 
 him. " When Granada is ours, why not carry our 
 victorious arms into the fields of Palestine?" 
 
 The world had moved forward from the times of 
 the Crusades. The spirit of the Middle Ages was de- 
 parting ; and the Ufe that with all its faults had been 
 so vivid, intense, and picturesque, once gone, was 
 never to be revived. The chivalrous enthusiasm with 
 which the Spanish cavaliers welcomed the Soldan's 
 messengers was a last flicker of an expiring flame. 
 
 Its influence on one life alone was enduring. Colon 
 was predisposed by the temper of his mind to accept 
 an unusual event as an intimation of the divine will. 
 If the suggestion of the rescue of the Sepulchre had 
 come to him now for the first time, he would not so 
 
no COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 immediately have vowed his future to that end ; but, 
 having cherished for years the same purpose as an 
 ultimate goal to every path of ambition, he was over- 
 powered by this singular enforcement of its claims 
 upon him. He could not doubt that the two holy 
 Franciscans were messengers of Heaven, whether 
 they came in the likeness of men or of angels. 
 
 He spent the night of their arrival in prayer. He 
 made no attempt to seek them out. Their message 
 to the king concluded, they would come, if it were so 
 appointed, to him. If not, he had already heard, 
 and he would obey. He watched the enthusiasm of 
 the soldiers, and listened to their words with the calm 
 attention of one who might some day be their leader, 
 noticing this man's reckless valor and that one's more 
 dogged persistence, assigning each his place in an 
 imaginary army which was to sweep the land of the 
 infidel with the resistless power of the Lord. He 
 smiled as he recognized these dreams as such. It 
 was idle to plan the manner or the time of the new 
 crusade ; but that it was to be, and to succeed. Colon 
 did not doubt. 
 
 Don Garcia awoke from sleep while his protector 
 was on his knees praying in the moonlight. His lips 
 curled in contempt for the man who could fight val- 
 iantly on occasion, but who mumbled over his beads 
 like a woman or a priest. He could not reconcile the 
 contradictions of strength and weakness in Colon's 
 nature. He chafed beneath the sense of obligation 
 to the man he hated. The pain of his wound had 
 confused his head. He hardly remembered clearly 
 why he hated him ; but he clung to the idea in the 
 vacancy of half consciousness, when all the past 
 
AT THE SIEGE OF BAZA. ill 
 
 seemed slipping away from him, and it grew stronger 
 as health of mind returned. 
 
 One day Colon, when handing him a cup of water, 
 paused, as if repelled by the cold dislike his look ex- 
 pressed. The tramp of horses' hoofs was heard, and 
 a shadow fell across the tent. Placing the cup within 
 reach of his patient. Colon hurried out. He had 
 caught a glimpse of the two Franciscans, who were 
 departing with the king's letters for a further visit to 
 the queen at Jaen. As Colon reached them, the 
 prior's horse stumbled, and a packet fell from the 
 Franciscan's hand. Colon stooped and recovered it, 
 while the prior reined in his horse and received it 
 from him with a nod. 
 
 " Give me your blessing, father," said Colon. 
 " When you return to your convent, pray for me ; for 
 in the days to come I purpose, with God's help, to 
 deliver the Sepulchre from the hand of the Soldan." 
 
 The prior stared, as if the man who stood before 
 him in the garb of a common soldier were a harmless 
 lunatic. He looked at his brother friar, who stooped 
 with a friendly smile and asked, — 
 
 " What is thy name, good friend ? Thou shalt have 
 our prayers for thy worthy intentions." 
 " I am Cristoval Colon," was the reply. 
 *'I will try to remember the name," said the 
 amiable Franciscan. 
 
 " Some day," said Colon, *' I shall reach the Indies 
 by a route that Heaven has pointed out to me across 
 the western sea, and with the gold thus acquired I 
 shall equip an army or else purchase from the Soldan 
 the rescue of the Sepulchre." 
 
 The elder friar, prior of the convent at Jerusalem, 
 
112 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 pursed his fat lips and tapped his forehead, with a 
 significant glance at his companion. 
 
 " Let us pass, my friend," he said, "■ for we have far 
 to ride." 
 
 " Would God your plan might succeed ! " said the 
 other Franciscan. " There is need of rescue, let it 
 come how it may." 
 
 He nodded and smiled in the shadow of his cowl ; 
 and the two rode on, and were soon lost to sight. 
 Colon returned to his tent, struggling against his 
 disappointment. 
 
 "The purposes of God are not fulfilled as we 
 expect," he thought. " His ways are not our ways. 
 It is my human pride that has received a check, not 
 the enterprise he has commanded. It would have 
 been more to my liking to have had the brothers 
 recognize me as the one to whom, rather than to the 
 king, their message was sent. But why should I re- 
 quire a further sign ? It was not needed, and I erred 
 in seeking it." 
 
 The grandeur of Colon's views in regard to the 
 feasibility of his discovery, his unshaken confidence 
 and perseverance in the midst of discouragement, 
 have been much admired, because justified by success. 
 His achievement was of unexampled greatness, since 
 it was a new world to which he opened the road. 
 The globe was wider than he believed it, and a vast 
 continent lay as a barrier to the actual realization of 
 his hopes. This unforeseen and disturbing element 
 in his calculations was at once his glory and his ruin. 
 We cannot doubt that had the crossing of a narrow 
 sea led him to the rich shores of Eastern Asia, his 
 wildest hopes would have been realized. Gold would 
 
AT THE SIEGE OF BAZA. 113 
 
 have poured in upon him in lavish measure instead of 
 in shallow and uncertain streams. Discontent and 
 treachery would not so soon have attacked him, if 
 opulence had made him powerful ; and the false and 
 avaricious Ferdinand would have remained the friend 
 of the man who had fulfilled every promise, and di- 
 verted into his storehouse the treasures of the Khan. 
 
 Then, too, his purpose of rescuing the Sepulchre 
 would not have remained a visionary scheme to 
 awaken even in his admirers a half-pitying smile. 
 The age of the Crusades was over ; but gold was 
 then as now all-powerful, and with shrewd foresight 
 Colon had reserved to himself the alternative of pur- 
 chase should arms fail. He would, we may imagine, 
 have succeeded also in this. He would have gone to 
 his grave full of honors, the acknowledged champion 
 of the Church, rewarded with every dignity the Pope 
 had power to bestow upon the defender of the Sepul- 
 chre, the friend of kings, the powerful Viceroy of the 
 Indies and Cathay, the leader in the conversion of 
 the followers of Buddha and Confucius. 
 
 America owes honor to the man who in discover- 
 ing her "gave to Castile and Leon a new world," 
 and gained for himself a felon's chain. Through the 
 perplexities and confusion entailed upon his future by 
 the colossal mistake whose significance he never fully 
 realized, through the vexations and the heart-aches 
 of his later years, we can recognize the guiding Provi- 
 dence he trusted in, and the hand that led him by a 
 way he knew not. 
 
 Don Garcia roused Colon from his reverie by a 
 pettish exclamation. He had made an attempt to 
 rise from his bed, and had sunk back discouraged. 
 
 8 
 
114 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 " Why did you not let me lie there and die where 
 I fell?" he asked. "I should have been buried 
 with honor, perhaps, and my disgrace would have 
 been forgotten. Now I am helpless and in the way. 
 When the wounded are sent to Jaen, I shall be carted 
 off like useless rubbish. What lies before me? " 
 
 " You will recover in the hospital the queen has 
 established," said Colon. " When I obtain my com- 
 mission from the king, you shall, if you choose, com- 
 mand a ship in my fleet." 
 
 " I should run it aground and sink it," said Garcia, 
 with open defiance. " Why do you trust me ? I am 
 not your friend. Some day you will wish you had left 
 me to die." 
 
 Colon treated the words with the indulgence he 
 had given to the ravings of his delirium. When they 
 parted a few days later, De Silva said again : " Re- 
 member that I have warned you ; I have not deceived 
 you. I owe you thanks, but I am your enemy." 
 
 " Poor De Silva ! " exclaimed a young soldier who 
 overheard this speech. " A cut on the head is bad 
 for the brain. He will never be the same again." 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 A SILENT OR.A.CLE. 
 
 "DEATRIZ was seated in the patio of her house one 
 ^ morning, with the Httle Fernando by her side, 
 when her brother Rodrigo and his wife Antonia en- 
 tered. The former went to see his father in his 
 laboratory, while the latter remained with Beatriz. 
 Of late the alchemist's household had been mainly 
 supported by Rodrigo ; and this foct furnished Antonia 
 with a pretext for constant interference in its affliirs, 
 and for the gift of advice to Beatriz on all subjects, 
 especially the proper rearing of a child. She seated 
 herself with dignity beside her sister-in-law, and sur- 
 veyed Fernando with an inquisitorial gaze. 
 
 *' The child is dabbling his arm up to the elbow 
 in the fountain," she exclaimed. " It should not be 
 permitted. He has wet the sleeve of his coat, and 
 by night he will be in a fever, and will need a barber 
 to bleed him." 
 
 " He is trying to catch the goldfish," said Beatriz, 
 bestowing a radiant smile on the child. " He com- 
 plains that they slip through his fingers. Come to 
 thy mother, querido ?iinifo, and she will roll up the 
 sleeve of thy little coat." 
 
 The little fellow trotted toward her with both 
 hands held high in the air. Beatriz caught them 
 
Il6 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 and kissed them on the wet palms ; then she rolled 
 up the sleeves, and held him for a moment while she 
 kissed his mouth, eyes, and hair. Fernando cried 
 out half impatiently, though he was used to impetuous 
 caresses. 
 
 "Thou lovest thy mother, dost thou not?" she 
 asked, as she released him. 
 
 "Yes, indeed; and I love my father too," he an- 
 swered in broken baby accents. 
 
 Beatriz turned a look of maternal pride toward 
 her visitor. 
 
 " Poor child ! " said Antonia. " He knows not 
 what he says ; though it is true that a man can be at 
 the same time a good father and a bad husband." 
 
 " What dost thou mean ? " exclaimed Beatriz, 
 indignantly. 
 
 " Thou knovvest right well that thou art and hast 
 been most shamefully neglected," said Antonia. 
 " How long has thy husband been away from thee? " 
 
 " For seven months," answered Beatriz ; " but, as 
 thou knowest, at the king's command. He is engaged 
 in tedious and perilous marches, ambuscades and at- 
 tacks, like the bravest of the king's soldiers. When 
 the campaign is over, he will return." 
 
 "When here he is never content unless planning 
 to leave thee again," said Antonia. " If he loved 
 thee, would he not remain at thy side? What call 
 has he to fight the king's battles? He leaves thee 
 without support, to the charity of thy relatives ; while 
 he is at one time a Franciscan, then a soldier, then, 
 as he plans, a sailor for the Indies. Thy beauty will 
 fade like a flower which he has plucked and flung 
 away. It was thus that Geraldini spoke of thee in 
 
A SILENT ORACLE. 117 
 
 terms of pity to my husband. Colon's lack of love 
 for thee is common talk." 
 
 " Thou art cruel, Antonia ! " exclaimed Beatriz, 
 with rising tears ; " and thou canst not have loved, if 
 thou believest that absence destroys love." 
 
 *' But he never loved thee, silly child ! " said Antonia. 
 " He wedded thee wishing to rise by a noble alliance. 
 It is to be hoped for thy sake that he will return alive. 
 It is said that a flood has destroyed the camp at Baza, 
 supplies are cut off, hundreds have died, and all are 
 in danger of perishing." 
 
 "Why didst thou not tell me this at first?" cried 
 Beatriz, starting up and wringing her hands. 
 
 " To what end? " asked Antonia. " If dead, thou 
 canst not restore him ; if alive, thou canst not succor 
 him." 
 
 " Rodrigo is coming ; he will tell me the truth," 
 said Beatriz, approaching her brother with a white, 
 appealing face, and laying her hand upon his arm. 
 "What news of the army?" she asked. 
 
 "' I told her of the flood, the lack of supplies, and 
 the death of half the force ; but she will not believe 
 my words," said Antonia, pettishly. 
 
 " No more than that is known," replied Rodrigo, 
 gravely. " The floods have destroyed roads and 
 bridges. No tidings can come to us till the rains 
 in the mountains are abated ; but rumors of a great 
 calamity leave the worst to be feared." 
 
 Beatriz remained standing with bent head, motion- 
 less and silent. Fernando, alarmed by the serious 
 faces about him, ran to his mother, and hid his face 
 in the folds of her gown. 
 
 " I was about to speak to thee, Beatriz, concerning 
 
Il8 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 my father's health," said Rodrigo. " He is failing 
 fast ; and his mind is more diseased than his body." 
 
 Beatriz started. "Do you find him changed?" 
 she asked. 
 
 " Yes. He needs air and sunshine, more sleep, and 
 less reading of his musty books, which with their 
 ciphers and their occult calculations are enough to 
 bewilder his brains. I blame myself for so long 
 neglecting a proper oversight of his affiiirs ; since 
 remonstrance was of no avail, I held myself aloof. I 
 allowed him to waste his fortune and destroy his 
 health ; to bestow thee upon a needy adventurer. I 
 forbade with words, but I consented by my deeds. 
 I blame myself; but it is too late for remedy." 
 
 " Do not concern thyself for me, Rodrigo. I am 
 happy in my lot," said Beatriz. 
 
 " Happy ! " exclaimed her brother, with scornful 
 emphasis. " Go and look at the old man, who sits 
 alone there with whitening head and palsied hands. 
 Canst thou be happy to behold him ? Look at thy 
 child reared in poverty, with no future but that of de- 
 pendence and insignificance, since from his father he 
 will inherit neither wealth nor title. Consult thine 
 own heart, and see if no youthful pride of womanhood 
 and beauty revolts at neglect and loneliness. Thou 
 art buried here as if sealed in a tomb. Why cherish 
 hopes thou dost know to be false ? Face the truth 
 like the worthy daughter of a noble race." 
 
 " To what wouldst thou urge me by thy cruel words, 
 Rodrigo? " asked Beatriz. 
 
 " Forsake the Italian who has forsaken thee," an- 
 swered her brother. " I will take my father, thee, 
 and the child to my house. I will cherish the old 
 
A SILENT ORACLE. 119 
 
 man, rear the child as becomes the rank of our fam- 
 ily, give to thee a fixed sum for thy living, and an in- 
 dependent position, — like that of a widow, for as 
 such I shall regard thee. If thou dost choose to seek 
 peace in a convent, thou mightest become a prioress. 
 I have influence in the Church. This is the path of 
 honor, dignity, and such happiness as remains for 
 thee. If thou dost cling to thy empty dreams of 
 what young fools call love, all is lost ; for the old 
 man will not leave thee, the old house, and his perni- 
 cious studies. I would receive the child alone, but 
 I see by thy looks that thou wilt jealously retain him. 
 Make choice then, — sacrifice the dearest of thy blood, 
 or thine infatuation for the man who takes all and 
 gives nothing, who will, if his plans succeed, more 
 openly desert thee." 
 
 " I promised truth to my husband in my marriage- 
 vows," said Beatriz ; ''and that promise I shall keep 
 while I live." 
 
 Rodrigo turned on his heel with an exclamation 
 of grief and vexation. Antonia rose and joined 
 him. "In my young days," she said, "a girl had 
 no choice of how she should wed, or where her 
 old father should live or die. Her relatives might 
 put her by force into a convent, if she were willful 
 and disobedient." 
 
 She took her husband's arm, and led him to the 
 outer door. 
 
 "Thou mayst repent of thy decision, Beatriz," said 
 Rodrigo. " When thou art ready to fulfil my wishes, 
 my door is still open to thee." 
 
 Beatriz sank upon the floor weeping convulsively. 
 The child began to cry loudly in sympathy. " Hush, 
 
I20 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 dearest ! thou wilt disturb thy grandfather," said 
 Beatriz. Then she sat silent with fixed and dreamy 
 eyes ; and the child fell asleep in her arms. After a 
 time the young mother arose and laid Fernando in his 
 cushioned basket. She went to look at her father, 
 and found him sleeping in his chair. The house was 
 so silent that Beatriz could have shrieked to relieve 
 her overtaxed nerves and break the heavy stillness. 
 
 " Is he alive? " she asked herself. " Oh, if I could 
 but know ! " 
 
 She wandered into the garden, and sat alone under 
 the pomegranate- tree, whose leaves fluttered down 
 one by one when the autumn wind shook them. She 
 gazed at the Psyche ring on her finger. Had it 
 proved a jewel of evil omen? The wonderfully mi- 
 nute carving was as clear-cut as ever; the winged 
 Love was still departing. The ring recalled Don 
 Garcia and the banquet where he had told her the 
 story of the prophetic crystal. Could the Moor- 
 ish astrologer divine the fate of the army and the 
 present condition of her husband? Could he tell 
 whether he were alive and well, and at this moment 
 thinking with fondness of wife and child, or lying 
 drowned amid the debris of an inundated camp, his 
 blue eyes fixed and glassy? 
 
 Beatriz started to her feet, wrapped herself in her 
 veil, and hurried into the street. She knew the loca- 
 tion of the astrologer's house ; for in former days her 
 father had often consulted him. She passed through 
 the familiar streets like one walking in a dream. 
 Anxiety for her husband was mingled with distress 
 at Rodrigo's displeasure. Her brother, twenty years 
 her senior, had always been to her a model of per- 
 
A SILENT ORACLE, 121 
 
 fection and a guide to duty. She had never vexed 
 him until she had married against his wishes. 
 
 The house of Ben Hamet stood alone in a Httle 
 grove of orange-trees. Worn and broken brick steps 
 led to the arched entrance, where, immediately within, 
 a staircase descended to a cellar, and another led up- 
 ward to a turret, while the wide hall conducted to a 
 small patio completely shaded with the intertwined 
 branches of large evergreen trees, which made a cool 
 twilight within the court and under its arched colon- 
 nades. The door stood half open, hanging by one 
 rusty hinge. Weeds grew in the cracks of the pave- 
 ment. There was an air of desolation and decay 
 about the place. Beatriz ascended the stairs of the 
 turret, and knocked at the door of the room where 
 the astrologer had of old conducted his studies and 
 watched the stars. There was no response ; but a 
 noise of shuffling footsteps resounded in the hall be- 
 low. Beatriz looked over the balustrade as an old 
 woman appeared, who pushed back her hood and 
 curved her hand behind her ear to hear the response 
 as she demanded, "Whom do you seek?" 
 
 *' Ben Hamet, the Moor," answered Beatriz. 
 
 " He died long ago of the plague," said the old 
 woman. " Everybody is dead here. Do not make 
 so much noise." 
 
 With this she shuffled away, leaning upon her staff, 
 her palsied head shaking from side to side. Beatriz 
 stood for a moment irresolute. The door of Ben 
 Hamet's chamber was ajar. She pushed it, and it 
 opened on creaking hinges. She entered the little 
 circular room, where the sunshine fell from the win- 
 dows upon the deserted implements of the astrologer's 
 
122 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 industry, — a compass and an astrolabe, strange dia- 
 grams of the House of Life and the position of the 
 stars at various seasons, a small telescope, and on a 
 table draped with black a crystal globe in which each 
 of her movements made curious reflections. Dust lay 
 thick over all ; and spiders spun their geometric webs 
 in every corner. 
 
 A chair of carved wood stood before the black- 
 draped table ; and Beatriz seated herself and leaned 
 forward breathless, with half-fearful expectation of a 
 vision in the crystal as she fixed her eyes upon it. 
 It was dim, and she brushed the dust from its surface 
 with an unsteady hand. Here Ben Hamet had sat 
 and read the story of her future, while Don Garcia 
 had watched a cloud arise upon the glass. Neither 
 a cloud nor a moving picture now appeared ; nothing 
 but glints of light and patches of shade deep within 
 the globe, giving tantalizing suggestions of forms that 
 might appear to the eye of the seer. Beatriz sighed. 
 
 "Was the prophecy true?" she thought. "Are 
 we to be forever divided ? What but death can divide 
 hearts that love? " 
 
 She felt a pang of terror and despair. There was 
 a stir in the room behind her, a faint whir of flutter- 
 ing wings. Beatriz screamed and rose in alarm, over- 
 turning the table with her hasty movement. A bat 
 had left its lurking-place in a dark corner, and after 
 circling about her head it flew out into the dusky hall. 
 The crystal globe lay upon the floor, shattered into a 
 hundred fragments. 
 
 When Beatriz returned to her home, she found 
 Teresa soothing the Uttle Fernando, who was calling 
 for his mother. 
 
A SILENT ORACLE. 123 
 
 "Why, where have you been?" asked the old 
 nurse. " Don Pedro came to seek you with good 
 tidings. None but evil rumors have hitherto reached 
 the city, but now that the roads are repaired messen- 
 gers come crowding in. The queen — may the saints 
 bless her ! — has had six thousand foot-soldiers rebuild- 
 ing bridges and causeways. She has engaged great 
 store of supplies for the army, and, better than all, 
 has gone herself to the camp. The siege will soon 
 be raised now." 
 
 "And is my husband safe? " asked Beatriz. 
 
 " If not, the news would have reached us," said 
 Teresa, beginning a crooning lullaby. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE SAN CRISTOVAL. 
 
 "D AZA had surrendered. The campaign was over. 
 -■-^ The final attack against Granada was not to be 
 undertaken till the following year. The Spanish Court 
 was in Seville, engaged during the winter and spring 
 in a round of festivities in honor of the marriage of 
 the Princess Isabella with the heir of Portugal. The 
 suit of Colon had not yet been heard, and he returned 
 to Cordova. The welcome he received made him 
 forget his disappointment. 
 
 "Canst thou not be content with love ? " Beatriz 
 said to him one summer evening, as they sat together 
 upon the house-top, with Fernando asleep upon a 
 cushion at their feet. " Life is so sweet when it 
 passes thus tranquilly. Why need we by our own 
 choice disturb it? " 
 
 "Thus didst thou speak, dear one, when I went 
 to Salamanca, and I did chide thee then," answered 
 Colon. " I cannot chide thee now. My own heart 
 inclines so strongly to obey thee — to give up buffet- 
 ing the waves of life, to lay down my arms, and 
 take a truce from care. But I must obey the will 
 of God." 
 
 "Must we part again?" asked Beatriz, placing her 
 arm about his neck. " Say no, I entreat thee ! " 
 
THE SAN CRTSTOVAL. 1 25 
 
 " Not for many months, it may be," he repHed. 
 
 '* Months are Hke days when thou art with me, 
 Hke years when we are apart," said Beatriz. *' Some- 
 thing tells me that if thou leavest me again it will 
 be forever ! " 
 
 " It is thy foolish fear that speaks to thee," an- 
 swered her husband. " Thou art like a timid child, 
 afraid of the shadow that thou dost make thyself." 
 
 *' But thou wilt not plan nor scheme to leave 
 me," she urged. " How can we tell that we do 
 the will of God when we shape all to fit our own 
 wishes?" 
 
 " It is the spirit of God that urges our wills, and 
 drives us to desire hard things, and to forsake ease 
 and pleasure," answered her husband. " My wish is 
 never to leave thee, but the fulfilment of my destiny 
 often requires it." 
 
 Beatriz sighed. 
 
 " Have I saddened thy young life by linking it to 
 mine?" asked Colon, looking at her with tender 
 concern. 
 
 " No, no ! " said Beatriz, quickly. " Rodrigo has 
 been talking to thee." 
 
 •' I have not conversed with him," said Colon ; " but 
 I have heard that thy brother and his friends speak 
 harshly of me, as one who allows thy youth and 
 beauty to fade and pine in neglect. It cut me to 
 the heart." 
 
 " Do not listen to such words," said Beatriz, with a 
 playful smile. " Does it seem that I have grown so 
 ill-favored of late?" 
 
 "Thou art more beautiful than ever before," he 
 answered, " yet it is but a sad lot which thou dost 
 
126 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 share with me. I hoped ere this to spread the silks 
 and jewels of Cathay at thy feet." 
 
 " No jewel of the Indies could be more precious 
 to me than that which I possess," answered Beatriz, 
 pointing to her sleeping child. The eyes of Colon 
 shone with tears, while his heart expanded with 
 tender emotion. He took his wife's hand, and kissed 
 it with loving reverence. 
 
 This was a happy year. The persevering industry 
 of the Genoese made him renowned as a maker of 
 charts and maps, for which there was sufficient sale 
 to yield him a moderate income. The house in the 
 Court of Pomegranates became a resort for the lead- 
 ing minds in the brilliant society of Cordova, — sci- 
 entific men who were votaries of the new learning, and 
 freed from the shackles of ancient prejudice ; poets 
 and artists who found food for the imagination in the 
 inspired rhapsodies of the Genoese and the wonder- 
 ful beauty of his wife. The feeble old Don Fernando 
 was not neglected. The presence of his daughter's 
 husband consoled him for the absence of his sons. 
 Pedro had gone to study at Salamanca. Diego and 
 Rodrigo came only at rare intervals, to avoid the 
 appearance of a breach in the flimily. 
 
 Fernando's fourth birthday was celebrated by a 
 feast under the trees, and a sail upon the river. 
 When they returned from this excursion in the cool 
 of the evening, Colon and Beatriz entered the cathe- 
 dral for prayer ; while Fernando, happy but half asleep, 
 was carried home by his nurse. 
 
 "Dost thou remember?" Colon asked his wife as 
 they knelt before the shrine of the Virgin, where 
 since their first meeting their steps had often turned. 
 
THE SAN CRISTOVAL. 12 7 
 
 Beatriz made no reply, but her hand stole into his. 
 When they came out, they sought the bench under 
 the orange-trees, and sat there awhile, conscious of 
 sentimental folly and taking pleasure in it. 
 
 "All comes back to me as if it were yesterday," 
 said Colon. " Wonderful are the leadings of Provi- 
 dence ! It was at this season, and the breeze came 
 just as now from the river. Then I was a stranger 
 and alone. Now — " He finished the sentence with 
 a look more eloquent than words. 
 
 " It seems to me that I am greatly changed," said 
 Beatriz. "I look back upon my old self as upon 
 another being. My life was then like a shut bud ; it 
 is now like a rose full blown in the sunshine." 
 
 Colon took her hand and kissed it. 
 
 "A beautiful simile," he said. "I will give thee 
 another. Our life is like the stream of the Guadal- 
 quivir. The river is ever the same ; yet the water 
 that flowed then under its bridges has long since lost 
 itself in the sea, and that which we see to-day will 
 quickly pass and change." 
 
 "When we are sad, we long for change; when 
 happy, we fear it," remarked Beatriz. " I should like 
 to say to the river, 'Stand still;' and to the days, 
 * Remain ; let me ever sit here beside my husband, 
 under the orange-trees.* " 
 
 Their eyes met in a smile, and they rose and 
 walked slowly homeward. At the door of the house 
 Teresa met them. 
 
 " The reverend Sefior Antonio Geraldini is here," 
 she said. " He has brought with him his brother and 
 a notable painter from Seville. I lighted the candles 
 in the hall, and they are seated there about the table, 
 
128 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 though I had nothing to put before them but sour 
 wine and some fruit." 
 
 The sound of cheerful voices came from the wide 
 hall, which had often been the scene of gayety in 
 former years. Don Enriquez sat bolstered up in his 
 great armchair, smiling with an old man's vacant 
 good-humor at his guests. The two tall, smoking 
 candles upon the table cast long shadows across the 
 stone floor, and deepened the gloom under the arches 
 of the ceiHng. 
 
 Sanchez de Castro, the artist, was seated near 
 Enriquez and beside Antonio Geraldini. His long 
 gray beard and the scanty locks that shaded his fore- 
 head made him appear older than he actually was ; 
 but his large, deep-set eyes were full of fire. His 
 expression was that of repressed impetuosity. His 
 manner was quiet and reserved ; but an occasional 
 quick gesture, or a movement of the full, sensitive 
 mouth showed inward emotion. He had an inborn 
 love of the beautiful which amounted to a passion. 
 The revival of Greek learning had brought the influ- 
 ence of Attic grace and beauty from the storehouses 
 of ancient art and mythology. The nymphs and 
 goddesses, fauns and dryads, had left their ancient 
 haunts to trip and dance henceforth through the 
 productions of poet and artist. De Castro had caught 
 a glimpse of their gleaming forms and *' wreathed 
 smiles ; " but they would not stay for his pencil. 
 The traditions of the Spanish school of painting 
 required that he should walk in a straight and nar- 
 row path. Sacred subjects were considered to fur- 
 nish the only proper motive for the brush ; and the 
 beauty of the human form must be hidden by care- 
 
THE SAN CRISTOVAL. 129 
 
 fully adjusted draperies. The work of De Castro 
 was far from expressing his ideals. He was pained 
 by a sense of limitation, almost of failure. 
 
 He rose with the others when Colon and his wife 
 entered. His eyes were fixed upon Bcatriz with 
 such an intensity of admiration that she colored and 
 placed herself at a distance from him as she seated 
 herself. 
 
 "What beauty!" he murmured. Then he turned 
 to Colon. " I wished to see you, Seiior Cristoval 
 Colon," he said, " because, although you were but 
 lately brought to my notice, it seemed to me that 
 I had known you when I painted long ago my San 
 Cristoval in the church of San Julian in Seville." 
 
 " You know that gigantic work which is so worthily 
 admired," said Geraklini. 
 
 Colon nodded, and his eyes shone with the pleas- 
 ure of one who finds a secret thought sympatheti- 
 cally understood by another. 
 
 " I have knelt before that painting, and I have 
 said to myself, ' It is a prophecy,' " he answered. 
 
 ** Your name is Cristoval," continued De Castro, 
 '* and through the raging waters of the sea you will 
 bear the Christ to the heathen world." 
 
 Colon extended his hand to the artist, who sat 
 opposite to him. His face was full of emotion. 
 
 " How have you thus divined my interpretation 
 of the history of the blessed saint whose namesake 
 I am?" he asked. "You have continued, in the 
 words I should have used, the sentence I began." 
 
 De Castro smiled. " I have caught the enthusiasm 
 of our friends here who believe in your future," he 
 answered ; " and I have trained my eyes to look 
 
 9 
 
130 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 below the surface of my canvas and beneath the 
 exterior of life's events. An artist or a poet is a 
 prophet, as are all whose actions are guided by an 
 inward force which is superior to the laws of outward 
 being." 
 
 Beatriz looked at the artist as if puzzled by the 
 obscurity of his words. Colon's smile grew brighter. 
 Don Enriquez nodded. 
 
 " My son-in-law here is a prophet," he said ; "but 
 his words never come true." 
 
 "He succeeds where others fail," said Alessandro 
 Geraldini. " It seems otherwise, because his hopes 
 are more exalted than other men's." 
 
 " Yes," said Antonio. " I feel sure of final success 
 for you, Colon ; but this last struggle before Granada 
 engages the attention of all but a few men of peace, 
 like myself and our friends here, who care less for 
 the triumphs of arms, glorious though they be, than 
 for the conquests of science and art." 
 
 "Have you heard the latest news from the war? " 
 asked Alessandro. " Cordova is ringing with the 
 name of Hernando del Pulgar. He lately entered 
 the streets of Granada by night, — through the walls 
 and past the watch, none know how, — and nailed 
 with his dagger to the door of the infidel mosque 
 a tablet inscribed Ave Maria, thus dedicating the 
 temple to the Blessed Virgin." 
 
 "It was a noble deed," said Colon. 
 
 "A fine subject for a painting," said Geraldini 
 to the artist. 
 
 "Cordova rings, as you say, with his name," re- 
 marked De Castro ; " but it has only scorn or pitying 
 tolerance for that of our friend Cristoval Colon. The 
 
THE SAN CRISTOVAL. 131 
 
 world goes after noise and show like a crowd follow- 
 ing a box of marionettes with its tinkling bells. The 
 patient sentinel at his post on the plains of Granada 
 is forgotten ; but the dashing cavalier who rides 
 through the lines is a hero. Can you interpret this 
 parable as well as the other, Senor Colon?" 
 
 " You mean by your words to advise me to more 
 decided action?" asked Colon. 
 
 '' I have not known you long enough to dare to 
 give advice," said the artist. 
 
 ** Yet I would gladly listen to it," said Colon. 
 
 " Leave Spain," said De Castro, impetuously. 
 "Seek a field that will yield a better return than a 
 harvest of weeds for years of tillage." 
 
 " Let him wait but a little longer," said Geraldini. 
 " We have but lately sent a petition to the king and 
 to the prior of Prado, De Talavera, urging an imme- 
 diate decision from the Council, whose answer has 
 been nearly five years delayed. Such an answer has 
 been promised, and will soon reach us. Till then 
 he must be patient." 
 
 "I had not heard of this," said Beatriz, with a 
 quick glance at her husband, who was sunk in ab- 
 straction, and did not notice her words. 
 
 " Yes," he said at last, raising his head and looking 
 at De Castro, " that answer will decide my future. 
 If unfavorable, I shall bid farewell to Spain, and 
 begin anew my suit at the Court of France." 
 
 " Hast thou had this determination long in mind? " 
 asked Beatriz. 
 
 Her husband started as if he were for the first time 
 aware of her presence. "Since this campaign be- 
 gan," he answered. " Geraldini helped me write 
 
1^2 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 the letters and despatch them to the sovereigns at 
 Granada, three months ago." 
 
 Beatriz smiled, for De Castro's eyes were upon 
 her. She rose, and excused herself to her guests. 
 " My child is expecting a good-night from me," she 
 said. 
 
 De Castro followed her with his look as she left the 
 room. 
 
 " Oh for the power to transfer that face to canvas ! " 
 he exclaimed. 
 
 " Do so," said Geraldini. "Your renown will be 
 further increased by the choice of such a subject. 
 When Colon is more famous than Del Pulgar, the 
 world will crown with laurel the painter of the por- 
 trait of his beautiful wife." 
 
 De Castro shook his head. 
 
 " My pencil is only fit for rugged figures like the 
 San Cristoval ; " he said, " my mind is full of shapes 
 of beauty, but they escape my grasp." 
 
 " The Virgin in your Annunciation is a beautiful 
 figure," said Colon. 
 
 "You have seen it?" asked De Castro. "It does 
 not satisfy me. I wished to express a look of heav- 
 enly ecstasy, and I have caught only a woman's 
 gentle smile." 
 
 " Confess no lack in your performance even among 
 friends," said Antonio Geraldini. " When my verses 
 win praise, I do not declare how much better they 
 should have been ; but I well know that a haunting 
 spirit sings within my mind words that I can never 
 catch." 
 
 Meantime Beatriz, in her turret, was bending over 
 her sleeping child. A tear fell upon his pillow. 
 
THE SAN CRISTOVAL. 133 
 
 " Thy love, my Fernando, is complete, and in thy 
 heart I have no rival," she said. "Wilt thou ever, 
 with smiles and kisses on thy lips, plot to desert me, 
 and leave me desolate? " 
 
 Having said this, her conscience smote her, as if 
 she were accusing her husband to another. 
 
 « Why is it that a stranger wins his confidence sooner 
 than his wife? " she asked herself. " It is not from 
 any fault of his. No, it is because he fears that my 
 patience will not bear the test ; that he will find with 
 me no responsive sympathy, nothing but selfish oppo- 
 sition. Others recognize him as a saint and a prophet ; 
 the wife who loves him alone discredits his mission." 
 
 Beatriz took from a chest an illuminated manuscript 
 of the lives of the saints, a treasure which had de- 
 scended to her from her mother; and turning its 
 pages, she found the story of San Cristoval. The illu- 
 minated title showed the picture of a giant bearing 
 through the water the tiny Christ-child, crowned with 
 glory. Beatriz read : — 
 
 " The blessed Cristoval, whose name was once Ado- 
 kimos, the Unrighteous, was a native of Palestine, and of 
 prodigious size and strength. He was of twice the ordi- 
 nary stature of man. So proud was he of his mighty 
 frame that he would serve only the greatest and the one 
 feared by all. When the great Prince who was his mas- 
 ter let him see that he feared the Devil, Adokimos left 
 him to enter into the service of the Devil who was yet 
 greater than the Prince. One day, when walking with his 
 new master through a wood, Adokimos saw the Devil 
 tremble before an image of the Christ. Henceforth he 
 would find this new master, and serve him who was great- 
 est of all. Search as he would, he could not find him. 
 For penance for his past sins a holy hermit set him the 
 
134 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 task of carrying Christian pilgrims over a deep and angry 
 stream. One day a child came to the stream. The giant 
 gladly took him on his shoulders; but soon he began to 
 sink beneath the weight of his burden. He struggled 
 on, and when the shore was reached, the Christ shone 
 in glory before him. ' Be thou called henceforth Cristo- 
 fero, the Christ-bearer,' said he, ' and carry my name to 
 the heathen world. Thou shalt suffer a martyr's death, 
 but on earth thou shalt be worshipped as a saint, and in 
 heaven receive a martyr's crown.' " 
 
 Returning the manuscript to its cover, Beatriz sat 
 thinking deeply. Then, with a sudden impulse, she 
 fell upon her knees, and prayed for faith and the power 
 of self-renunciation. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 A VOW TO LOVE. 
 
 n^HE artist, De Castro, had asked and obtained 
 permission to paint the portrait of the Italian 
 chart-maker. He would take no return in money, but 
 a carefully executed map of the world was his fee in 
 advance. The isle of St. Brandon was depicted on 
 the map at a convenient distance from the Cape de 
 Verde Islands, and almost on a parallel with it the al- 
 luring outline of Cipangu, rich in spices, precious 
 stones, and gold ; then the Indian Archipelago, full 
 of islands abounding in gold ; and the outline of the 
 mainland, drawn at a less distance from the shores of 
 Europe than other cosmographers had allowed. In- 
 stead of the monsters and dragons which usually filled 
 the vacant spaces with suggestions of terror, De Castro 
 himself drew about the margin scrolls, and wreaths of 
 laurel, and in each corner a cornucopia, emblem of 
 plenty. 
 
 Colon enjoyed the sittings for his portrait ; for the 
 artist was no less sympathetic and encouraging than at 
 the first, and his talk helped to beguile weary hours of 
 despondency. Beatriz and Fernando would look in 
 upon the work now and then ; and De Castro, pausing 
 with uplifted brush, would fix his fiery eyes upon them 
 and exclaim, — 
 
 " Remain as you are without moving. Oh that I 
 could paint your faces ! Some day I will make the 
 
136 COLUMBUS AND BEATKIZ. 
 
 attempt." But the shapes of beauty in the master's 
 mind never took form upon his canvas. The portrait 
 of Colon, however, grew and was completed. 
 
 " It is my father," said Fernando, when the picture 
 was placed on view before the family, " but he does 
 not smile at me." 
 
 " He does not see thee," said Beatriz. " His eyes 
 look far away from us." 
 
 "You have divined my purpose," said De Castro. 
 " Iwery work of art should have its inner meaning. A 
 picture without a soul is canvas and paint, and naught 
 besides. The eye is the loophole whence the soul 
 looks out. In this case Senor Colon is represented as 
 gazing forward across the sea, from the prow of his 
 vessel let us say, whence he is soon to behold the 
 shore of Cipangu rise in a blue line across his sight." 
 
 " De Castro, I shall never forget thee and thy words 
 of cheer," said Colon, giving him his hand. 
 
 The day of the unveiling of the portrait was full of 
 excitement. A royal messenger came in with de- 
 spatches, and among them a letter to Senor Cristoval 
 Colon, written by the secretary of the prior of Prado, 
 informing him that although the final opinion of the 
 Council was unfavorable to his project, which was con- 
 sidered to be vain and impossible, nevertheless, such 
 was their Highnesses* interest in him and his under- 
 taking, that when relieved from the cares and expenses 
 of the wars they should have both time and inclina- 
 tion to treat with him concerning it. 
 
 Colon had opened his letter with trembling fingers. 
 He read it while Beatriz stood near in anxious sym- 
 pathy. It fell from his hand, and she picked it up and 
 mastered its contents. Then they both remained 
 
A VOW TO LOVE. 137 
 
 silent. It was as if a terrible calamity had occurred, 
 whose consequences could not at once be foreseen. 
 Beatriz lightly touched her husband's shoulder, as he 
 sat with his head bent upon his hands. He lifted his 
 face to hers. 
 
 " Do not lose courage," she said. " Thou must 
 succeed. At the Court of France thou wilt be treated 
 with more consideration, and more quickly heard. 
 Thou hast many powerful friends who will help thee 
 there as they could not at home. When one door is 
 shut, another opens." 
 
 " Thou hast cast a soothing balm upon my hurt," 
 exclaimed Colon, with ardent gratitude. " What pained 
 me most was the thought that thou wouldst seek to 
 hold me now when I must go, and that to tear myself 
 from thine arms would be to lose all comfort in part- 
 ing. A holy man once said to me, ' Some day thou 
 must forsake either thy love or thine ambition.' It 
 seemed to me that the hour had come, and it cut me 
 to the heart with cruel pain." 
 
 " No, no," cried Beatriz, with tears in her eyes ; 
 " that hour shall never come. I will consider thee 
 alone ; I will be patient. Trust my love ; imagine 
 not that it can ever fail thee in any test thou mayst 
 put it to. I have been weak and self-seeking ; I 
 mean now to uphold thee with my strength, if the 
 Blessed Virgin, who suffered pain through love, will 
 grant me aid." 
 
 Her husband pressed her hand. 
 
 " May God bless thee, my wife ! " he said. " Live 
 for thy child ; bring him up well. He will be a com- 
 fort to thee ; and my little Diego — not so little now 
 — I will send to thee. He needs a mother's care. 
 
138 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 The worthy friars of La Rabida, who have so long 
 benevolently sheltered and instrueted him, will receive 
 me again when I seek their port to take passage for 
 France. Then I will say farewell to my Oiego, and 
 send him to thee. Thus all the treasures of my heart 
 shall be in one home nest, sheltered and safe." 
 
 " Thou wilt return to us? " said Beatriz, suppressing 
 a sob. 
 
 " When the Lord wills," answered Colon, gravely. 
 
 Beatriz took his hand and beckoned with an impe- 
 rious gesture. 
 
 " Come with me," she said. 
 
 He rose and obeyed ; and she led him to an inner 
 room, where Fernando was sleeping, his arm under 
 his head, and the golden curls straying about his tem- 
 ples, while the hand that fell at his side grasped an 
 unstrung bow. De Castro would have seen in him a 
 motive for a sleeping Cupid. Beatriz knelt beside 
 the couch ; and her husband, following her silent com- 
 mand, fell on his knees beside her. 
 
 "Thou must make a vow with me," she said. ** I 
 am afraid of the cruel words of that holy man thou 
 speakest of. Take my hand and Fernando's." 
 
 He obeyed ; and Beatriz, clasping the other hand of 
 the unconscious cliild, gave her husband her own, and 
 the three completed a circuit electric with love. 
 
 " Promise before God, as I do," said Beatriz, " that 
 only death shall divide us ; that though waves may 
 roll between us, and distant may be the day of our 
 reunion, thou wilt be true to me as I to thee ; that 
 ambition shall not lead thee to forget me ; that 
 whether success or failure attend thee, thou wilt re- 
 turn to me, before all others, for comfort or applause. 
 
A VOW TO LOVE. 139 
 
 Thou wilt find waiting for thee a heart of love, whose 
 depths thou hast never sounded." 
 
 Colon repeated the words of the vow, and said, " I 
 promise." 
 
 lieatriz leaner! her forehead upon their clasped 
 hands, and they Ixjth rennained for a time in silent 
 prayer. Then she arose with an exalted look of self- 
 forgetful determination. 
 
 " Make a list of the articles thou shalt need for thy 
 voyage," she said. " 1 will purchase thern in the city. 
 I will sell my jewels, for I shall not deck myself with 
 gems while I am widowed and alone. If thou bring- 
 est me from the Indies those which thou dost prom- 
 ise," — here a smile lighted her grave face, — "I shall 
 make myself splendid with them to greet thy return." 
 
 " Thy beauty needs no adornment," said Colon. 
 
 Beatriz treasured the compliment, as she did every 
 rare word of love from her husband, whose feelings 
 were deep and silent, and seldom found the outward 
 expression a woman delights in. Even now he spoke 
 half aVjsent-mindedly. Great thoughts were pressing 
 upon him. The lessening years of life seemed all too 
 short for the work that remained to be done. Already 
 he was gazing forward with the look of intense eager- 
 ness which De Castro had caught and fixed upon his 
 canvas. He accepted gratefully, but mechanically, 
 the daily sacrifices that Beatriz made. Enriquez la- 
 mented the coming change in his household. All 
 change vexed him now. Beatriz soothed the fretful 
 old man, and calmed Fernando's childish impatience 
 and regret at the idea of losing his father, who was at 
 once his hero, his playmate, and his friend. 
 
 "When will he come back? " he asked with child- 
 
I40 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 ish reiteration, a dozen times a day, as he followed his 
 mother about the house. Each time the question 
 caused a quick pain in Beatriz's heart. Into every 
 garment which she folded, she dropped a tear. The 
 purse of gold which she had obtained from the sale of 
 her jewels, she stowed away with loving wishes in the 
 depths of the aljorjas which the mule was to carry at 
 the saddle-bow. 
 
 She attended with cheerful patience to the guests 
 who came to bid farewell, from motives of curiosity or 
 interest. Since the singular Genoese was to desert 
 them, those who had known him in Cordova awoke to 
 the fact that his eccentric genius included the possi- 
 bilities of future greatness. They regretted that he 
 was to carry his plans to a foreign court. In case 
 there should be an element of truth in his project, 
 Spain would be a loser. Rodrigo de Arana — ** the vir- 
 tuous gentleman," as the chronicler calls him — came 
 among the others. He was secretly pleased with the 
 decision of his sister's husband, which would leave 
 Beatriz free for an indefinite period. Even should 
 she still refuse to leave her home for Rodrigo's house, 
 he knew that she must be to a greater extent under 
 his influence, and he looked forward to having at some 
 future time the guardianship of her son. 
 
 Rodrigo, therefore, expedited the departure of Co- 
 lon, procuring for him passports and letters which 
 recommended him to persons of influence in the 
 court of Charles VIII. 
 
 At last the day arrived, which Beatriz dreaded as if 
 it were to witness her execution, — the day of Colon's 
 departure from Cordova. The trivial details of life 
 seemed intolerable to her at such a time. The eating 
 
A VOW TO LOVE. 141 
 
 of the breakfost ; the clatter of the servants' shoes 
 about the room; the harnessing of the mule, and 
 Fernando's gay comments upon his appearance, and 
 his flither's looks when mounted, — all were like 
 painful intrusions upon the sacredness of the grief of 
 parting, which had its one supreme moment when 
 her husband held her in his arms for the last kiss. 
 The moment was supreme; but it passed, and he 
 was gone. She watched him out of sight. The 
 sound of his mule's hoofs grew fliinter. It was no 
 longer heard. Beatriz flung her arms into the air. 
 She did not see Fernando, as she ran past him and 
 into the garden like one distracted. 
 
 "Has my mother gone too?" asked the child, 
 beginning to cry. 
 
 " Hush ! " said old Teresa. " She has gone away to 
 weep, and tears will do her good. She will come back 
 to you again in an hour." 
 
 An hour must suffice for tears among the duties of 
 life ; but time is kind, and each day adds a drop from 
 Lethe to the bitter draught of pain. Fernando, ful- 
 filling the mission of childhood, laughed, and played, 
 and coaxed his mother to smile. 
 
 " My father is going to bring me a bag-full of sea- 
 shells," he said. " When I am a man I am going with 
 him in his ship. Then you shall have everything you 
 want, and dress as fine as the queen." 
 
 Two weary months passed with a monotony which 
 Beatriz accepted as the rule of her life henceforth. 
 Expectation and hope were fixed on a future point so 
 indefinite that it could not come within the horizon 
 of the present. One morning she sat with her father 
 
142 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 and her brother Rodrigo in the hall, where some coals 
 burned in a brazier ; for the air of early winter was 
 chill. Teresa came running in with an agitated face 
 and stammering tongue, and Beatriz clasped her hands 
 together, waiting for the message with a mother's quick 
 anxiety for her child. Had harm befliUen Fernando? 
 But Teresa smiled, and held up a letter. 
 
 " From Seiior Colon," she said. " A letter from him 
 to you, Dona Beatriz." 
 
 Beatriz grew pale, as she broke the seals with 
 trembling fingers. Rodrigo concealed his uneasy 
 impatience as best he could, and Fernando jumped 
 up and down to manifest his joy at news from his 
 father. 
 
 " Read it, read it," cried Don Fernando. 
 
 Beatriz could have wished to keep the words sacred 
 for her own perusal ; but she yielded to the wish of 
 the others, and read aloud : — 
 
 To MY WELL-BELOVED WiFE, — I write in an upper 
 room of the convent of La Rabida, where I have spent 
 happy weeks of spiritual exercise, aided by the fervor of 
 the worthy brothers here who live in the sanctity of the 
 Lord. My Diego received me with respect and affection 
 Thou wilt liave no trouble with his education. The good 
 friar, Juan Perez de Marchena, has bestowed great pains 
 upon him, and he is imbued with the gentle and holy spirit 
 which the blessing of Our Lady gives to the dwellers here 
 who guard her image which she miraculously revealed to 
 them — 
 
 " What is this? " interrupted Rodrigo, with a frown. 
 " Monkish tales when we look for tidings." 
 
 " Be patient," said Beatriz. " There is more to 
 come." 
 
A VOW TO LOVE. 143 
 
 My hand trembles as I write. I know not how to ex- 
 press myself to thee. If I were with thee, I could tell of 
 divine leadings and outward urgings which have changed 
 my purposes ; but, briefly, it is this : I no longer mean to sail 
 for France. I start, at break of day, for Santa Fe, whither 
 the queen has summoned me by a letter written in her own 
 hand. She has pledged her royal word to listen to me 
 favorably. The end will be as the Lord wills. Give 
 paternal greetings to my dear Fernando, and good 
 wishes to thy father and brothers. The Virgin's bless- 
 ing remain with thee. 
 
 By my own hand, at the convent of Our Lady of La 
 Rabida. 
 
 Cristoval Colon. 
 
 Rodrigo struck the table with his fist. " Folly and 
 madness ! " he exlaimed. 
 
 Beatriz smiled with delight, without heeding him. 
 
 " I may see him again," she said to herself. 
 
 Fernando, reflecting her looks, burst into joyous 
 exclamations. 
 
 ** What is it? Where is he going? I do not under- 
 stand the letter," said Enriquez. 
 
 Rodrigo leaned back in his chair and laughed 
 scornfully. 
 
 " He still pursues a madman's whim," he said. 
 " It is as all declare : his mind is not right." 
 
 Beatriz looked at her brother, with flashing eyes. 
 
 "Thou knowest it to be a falsehood," she ex- 
 claimed. " Thy anger, Rodrigo, hath made thee forget 
 the courtesy thou dost show to all besides my husband. 
 He is the best judge of his own course. I beg thee 
 never to speak ill of him again before his child." 
 Then, turning to her father, she re-read the last part 
 of the letter, and added : " He goes to the camp 
 
144 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 before Granada. The city will soon surrender, it 
 is said. The queen has promised to hear him, and 
 she was never known to foil in her word. Thus all 
 promises well. At last he will succeed." 
 
 Rodrigo rose with a sigh and an expressive ges- 
 ture. " Some day thou wilt see the justice of my 
 opinion," he said, as he took leave. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF THE CROSS. 
 
 THE influence of the weeks passed at La Rabida ^ 
 in a fever of suspense and newly awakened 
 hope amid the regular life and peaceful seclusion of 
 a religious community, was potent to affect Colon's 
 intense nature at this crisis of his life. Friar Perez 
 had urged him to reconsider his decision of leaving 
 Spain, and to await the result of one last effort for a 
 hearing with the gentle queen, who had never yet 
 been personally solicited in his favor. Perez, having 
 been at one time her confessor, still had her confi- 
 
 1 This visit of Colon to the convent of La Rabida has often 
 been described ; but the story is related with singular discrep- 
 ancies, as is the case with every detail of this portion of his his- 
 tory. The same is true of the account of Granada's foil. Each 
 chronicler seems to follow his own judgment, without consulting 
 the records of others. Irving and Prescott disagree no less than 
 De Lorgues, Tarducci, and the various minor writers, who fol- 
 low most often in the footsteps of Irving. The writer of fiction 
 is not burdened with proof of historical sequence ; but that 
 six years intervened between Colon's first visit and the one 
 we are concerned with, seems by all means most probable. 
 It was not as a needy wayfarer, begging bread for his son 
 Diego, that he came to La Rabida on his way to France. The 
 young Diego had been left to be educated at this convent, and 
 was, shortly after this time, sent to Cordova to be given into 
 the maternal care of Beatriz Enriquez. 
 
 10 
 
146 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 dence and access to her attention. He appealed so 
 earnestly, by letter and in person, for his friend the 
 Genoese, that Isabella granted his request, and or- 
 dered Colon to appear before her at Granada, while, 
 as usual, a sum of money was sent him to defray the 
 expenses of his attendance at court. 
 
 It was at La Rabida, while awaiting the queen's 
 reply, that Colon for the first time became deeply 
 imbued with the spirit of the monastic life. The 
 convent of Franciscans of which Juan Perez was 
 guardian had preserved in their far-away corner of 
 Andalusia the pure enthusiasm of the early converts 
 to the rule of Saint Francis. Mingling freely with the 
 people of the busy ports of Palos and Moguer, they 
 were beloved and respected by all. Their rule of ab- 
 solute poverty had been in more than two centuries 
 somewhat relaxed. They owned their lands and vine- 
 yards, and needed not to solicit alms, for free gifts 
 poured in upon them. Their possession of a miracu- 
 lous image of the Virgin made their chapel a goal of 
 pilgrimage, and once a year the scene of a religious 
 festival for the whole of the neighboring country, when 
 the image was carried in a grand procession, dispensing 
 a blessing to the participants which the dwellers on the 
 most distant hacienda would not willingly forego. 
 
 Colon, dressed in the garb of the Third Order of 
 Saint Francis, with a girdle of knotted rope, and bare, 
 sandalled feet, took his place among the brothers, and 
 threw himself with enthusiasm into the routine of their 
 daily work and worship. While Juan Perez was plead- 
 ing his cause at Santa F6, he was absorbed in studying 
 the lives of Saint Francis and Saint Benedict, and in 
 keeping fasts and vigils in imitation of the heroes of 
 
THE TRIUMPH OF THE CROSS. 147 
 
 the fliith. The queen's letter calHng him to Santa F4 
 announced Juan Perez's triumph ; but it was with 
 some regret that Colon prepared to obey the sum- 
 mons. Once more he must encounter the delays of 
 royal favor, and the ridicule of courtiers, whose jests 
 at his expense gained in potency with age. He half 
 regretted yielding to Juan Perez's persuasions, and 
 thus giving up the dignity of his position as a silent 
 accuser of Si)ain's perfidious monarch to assume once 
 more that of a needy suppliant for his assistance. 
 
 The journey was a tedious and difficult one. The 
 country he passed through showed everywhere traces 
 of the ravages of war. Orchards were burned ; vil- 
 lages were in ruins. The triumph of the Spaniards 
 and the dejection of the Moors were vividly con- 
 trasted as each day's progress brought him nearer 
 Granada, — the pomegranate so ruthlessly plucked by 
 the hand of the conqueror. 
 
 At the last stage of his journey, in a small village 
 where he stopped for the night, Juan Perez met 
 Colon with news of the surrender, and the following 
 day they journeyed on together. It was a morning 
 of brilliant sunshine. The pure, cold air of the up- 
 lands was exhilarating ; and the triumph of the Cross 
 swelled the hearts of both with gladness. The snowy 
 crest of the Sierra Nevada shone in splendor in the 
 sunlight ; while numerous streams leaped and flashed 
 from its sides on their way to join the waters of the 
 Darro. The purple mist still hung in the valleys. 
 
 At the summit of a rocky pass a party of fugitives 
 met and passed them, so remarkable in their appear- 
 ance that both men paused and watched them curi- 
 ously. Several Moorish women, shrouded in veils, 
 
148 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 rode on white palfreys, while before them a train of 
 sumpter mules was driven by turbaned slaves. The 
 animals were loaded with precious stuffs, — gold and 
 silver vessels, caskets and carpets, — as if they be- 
 longed to a Damascus caravan. At either end of the 
 slow procession rode a small guard of Moorish vete- 
 rans, with scarred faces and flashing eyes, — the he- 
 roes of many a battle, who were now reduced to guard 
 the flight of their king's household riding as exiles 
 from their palace home. 
 
 The women wailed and wrung their hands like 
 funeral mourners. At every turn of the path they 
 looked behind, and every glimpse of the receding 
 view caused a fresh burst of grief. One tall woman 
 who rode ahead of the rest alone preserved a digni- 
 fied imperturbability. She pushed back her veil, and 
 gazed across the valley with tearless eyes ; then she 
 turned with scornful looks and voluble reproaches to 
 the others, and shaking her horse's jingling bridle, rode 
 on again in silence. 
 
 They passed and were hidden behind the project- 
 ing buttresses of rocks ; the sound of their wailing 
 voices and the measured tramp of hoofs was borne 
 faintly by the wind, until the depths of the wilderness 
 enclosed them. 
 
 " By Our Lady, it is the household of Boabdil flee- 
 ing from Granada ! " said Perez. " Let us hasten, 
 that we may witness the surrender. Praise to God, 
 the victory is achieved ! The infidel is cast down 
 from his throne, the ungodly is despoiled of his in- 
 heritance, and the righteous enter into the city ! " 
 
 The vega of Granada was full of the stir of troops 
 defiling to their different positions in the advance. 
 
THE TRIUMPH OF THE CROSS. 149 
 
 The king and queen, leaving Santa F^, took the road 
 across the meadows of the Xenil, surrounded by their 
 household attendants, the royal guards, and a train of 
 monks and friars of various orders. Perez and Colon 
 joined themselves to the Franciscans, among whom 
 Francisco Ximenes was conspicuous ; and at his invi- 
 tation they followed him to a post near De Talavera, 
 who bore in his own hands the magnificent silver cross 
 which was to lead the advance and signalize the occu- 
 pancy of the city. With him they joined Mendoza's 
 splendidly accoutred soldiery, and climbed the steep 
 and winding path outside the city walls, where Boab- 
 dil and his fifty cavaliers came clattering down, after 
 delivering the keys of the fortress to the Count de 
 Tendilla, turning their backs upon the palace they had 
 lost at the moment that the silver cross shone from 
 its topmost tower. 
 
 As the sunlight struck this splendid symbol of their 
 faith and triumph, the Spanish sovereigns fell upon 
 their knees, and the whole victorious army followed 
 their example. The Te Deum — that grandest Chris- 
 tian hymn — burst from a thousand throats. Colon, 
 who stood with De Talavera and the others upon the 
 great watch-tower of the Alhambra beside the dazzling 
 cross, looked with delight upon the view beneath and 
 around him, — the snow-capped mountains, the neigh- 
 boring heights crowned with towers and palaces, the 
 turrets and domes of the city rising at the base of the 
 hill, the sparkling rivers in the valley, and the deep 
 blue sky of Andalusia over all. 
 
 The palace of the Alhambra nestled like a gem in 
 the centre of the line of fortifications, upon the hill 
 overlooking the city. Unspoiled as yet except by its 
 
150 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 exiled inmates, who had carried off what treasures 
 they could, unshattered by war or earthquake, it de- 
 served its reputation for matchless beauty. When, 
 four days later, the sovereigns entered and took pos- 
 session, the Te Deum was chanted under the arches 
 of the great Hall of Justice. The censers in which 
 perfumes had been burned for the enjoyment of the 
 dainty and luxurious Moors, were taken from their 
 niches and dedicated for use in the Christian service 
 of thanksgiving. The palace was sprinkled with holy 
 water. The exquisite delicacy of this structure, the 
 flower of Moorish architecture, representing the high- 
 est point of an over-refined and declining civilization, 
 did not atone for the profanity of the sentences of the 
 Koran wrought with the arabesques upon the walls, 
 nor for the voluptuous appeal to the senses, which 
 made its perfumed chambers, its baths and fountains, 
 seem to the severe asceticism of the Spanish priests 
 things of evil. 
 
 Colon shared their ideas. Self-denial, for its own 
 sake, had been impressed upon him by his studies at 
 La Rabida, as the highest good, — an end rather than 
 a means. The exultation of triumph that animated 
 the court and army was intensified, in his case, by 
 delight at the approaching completion of his hopes ; 
 but in contrast to this, the inner voice of monastic 
 discipline seemed to say, "Trust not in princes; 
 rejoice not in earthly hopes." 
 
o 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 TWO VOICES. 
 
 NE more disappointment awaited Colon, when, 
 as every one knows, the negotiation with the 
 sovereigns was broken off as it appeared to be pro- 
 gressing to a favorable conclusion. The needy Italian 
 had the audacity to treat on princely terms, and to 
 require a princely reward. He was dismissed, only 
 to be recalled at the last moment, when Isabella, 
 yielding to her generous impulses, undertook the en- 
 terprise for her own kingdom of Castile, offering, if 
 necessary, to pledge the crown jewels for its expenses. 
 These cruel alternations of hope and despair could 
 not fail to leave a visible effect upon a sensitive na- 
 ture. Colon returning at the queen's command from 
 the bridge of Pinos, was not the same man who had 
 followed in her train to the siege of Malaga. Even 
 the moment of triumph lacked something of its com- 
 pleteness from having been so long delayed. The 
 buoyancy of youth was gone, as was youth's keen 
 delight in achievement. 
 
 When Colon returned to Cordova, on his way to 
 Palos, a joyful family circle welcomed him. The dig- 
 nity of success is equal to that of inherited rank. 
 Since Senor Colon was appointed by royal patent 
 Admiral of the ocean, and Viceroy of the lands he 
 was to discover, all things connected with him rose in 
 
152 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 value. Friends were found who had hitherto nour- 
 ished in secret an unfaltering belief in his future 
 which they hastened now to manifest by acts of cour- 
 tesy to his family. Rodrigo forgot that he had ac- 
 cused him of mad delusion, and Antonia became the 
 affectionate sister which, as she assured Beatriz, she 
 had always longed to prove herself. Diego, Rodrigo's 
 young brother, who lived as an adopted son in his 
 house, and young Juan, Rodrigo's son, reminded 
 Beatriz that Colon had long ago promised them a 
 command in his fleet. Old Don Fernando looked 
 forward to the immediate possession of boundless 
 wealth. *' When my son-in-law returns from the 
 Indies " was his preface to every plan for the future. 
 
 The welcome that Colon received on the farewell 
 visit he made to his home was therefore proportional 
 to the genial atmosphere that reigned there. Popu- 
 larity is sweet, and sympathetic friendship is a con- 
 solation for long neglect. Colon accepted his new 
 place as hero with the simplicity of a nature inde- 
 pendent of praise but rejoicing in it. His wife was 
 unchanged. Her tenderness was unfailing, and her 
 proud affection sacrificed her sorrow at parting upon 
 the altar of his triumph. She took the brief hours of 
 his presence, interrupted as they were with business 
 and the ofificiousness of friends, as a boon from 
 Heaven, given in answer to her prayers. The fare- 
 well moment, when it came again, was not so hard to 
 bear. 
 
 Diego and Juan accompanied Colon, and their 
 youthful ardor of expectation raised the hopes of all. 
 A large escort rode with them as far as Seville. Sup- 
 plies were everywhere furnished to them by the 
 
TIVO VOICES. 153 
 
 queen's command. The alcalde of every village 
 welcomed them as persons of importance. Gaping 
 peasants came to stare along the roadsides, and crowds 
 filled the church of San Julian in Seville, where Mass 
 was celebrated upon their arrival. 
 
 Colon knelt once more before the picture of San 
 Cristoval. It was a keen delight to his fervent mind 
 to trace out the first fulfilment of a prophecy con- 
 cerning himself. To his overwrought fancy the lips 
 of the saint seemed to move, and the halo about the 
 head of the Christ-child to expand and scintillate. 
 
 When he was once more a guest at La Rabida, 
 there was no time for religious meditation, unless it 
 were taken from the hours of sleep. Midnight often 
 found him kneeling in the chapel, but the days were 
 full of anxious care. The queen's command to fur- 
 nish the Genoese with ships and men for his purpose 
 was received in the little village of Palos with a tumult 
 of half-open rebellion. The sturdy sailors of that 
 seaport were ready enough for ordinary service, — a 
 cruise against the Turks, or a descent upon the Afri- 
 can coast ; but the best of them refused to risk life 
 and limb to follow a stranger across the boiling waters 
 of the torrid zone, and the impenetrable darkness 
 that shrouded the abysses of a sea full of monsters 
 and whirling waterspouts, through which, if a man 
 could live to make his way onward, he could never 
 return, for he would be engulfed in the precipitous 
 fall of waters where the ocean itself ceased and was 
 swallowed up. 
 
 Friar Perez preached to the villagers, and argued 
 for his friend. Colon was unceasing in his efforts 
 at persuasion. The officers of the queen, when ap- 
 
154 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 pealed to, invoked the thunders of their sovereign's 
 wrath ; but all was for a time in vain. 
 
 ''This delay is meant to discipline thy soul," said 
 Perez to his friend, as he joined him, late one even- 
 ing, upon the convent roof, where Colon was pacing 
 up and down, with his eyes fixed upon the sea. 
 " Embrace the trial, and good will come to 
 thee." 
 
 " You are right," answered Colon, humbly. " It 
 is sent, no doubt, as punishment for some motive of 
 pride or some unrecognized sin within me." 
 
 Perez hesitated before he said : " When at Granada 
 I met the worthy Ximenes, a man of exalted mind, 
 who spoke with me concerning thee. He would not 
 address thee again, he said ; but when he cast his eyes 
 upon thee his bowels yearned for thee as Joseph's for 
 his brother Benjamin, and he longed to snatch thee 
 as a brand from the fire. ' One thing thy friend 
 lacks,' said he : 'it is not wealth that he refuses to 
 the Lord ; but having a beautiful wife, the love of her 
 has ensnared his soul.' " 
 
 Colon flushed, while he frowned slightly. " Do 
 you also, Friar Perez, regard as sinful the purest love 
 of the human heart? " he asked. 
 
 The prior spread his hands deprecatingly, and 
 shook his head. " Where one may eat with a good 
 conscience, another may offend in his meat," he said. 
 " I cannot judge for thee. Thou hast confessed thy- 
 self to me. I know thy heart. Thou art absolved 
 from thy sins, which at the most are venial. But it 
 may be, as Ximenes urges, that the Lord has chosen 
 thee as a special vessel, and that he calls thee to a 
 special sacrifice. Inquire of the Lord, not of me. I 
 
TWO VOICES. 155 
 
 Speak not, like Ximenes, with authority. I am not, 
 like him, a power in the Church." 
 
 Colon, when left alone, hurried to the chapel, and 
 flung himself upon his knees before the shrine which 
 enclosed the miraculous image of the Virgin. Here, 
 if anywhere, he should be able to perceive the truth. 
 As the time for the realization of his life-long hopes 
 approached, a trifling delay was harder to bear than 
 years of suspense hitherto. No sacrifice seemed too 
 great when weighed in the balance with this ambi- 
 tion, which was entwined with every thought and 
 fibre of his being, to relinquish which would be to 
 give up life itself. What was the will of God ? Had 
 he for years been raising obstacles in his own path ? 
 Was Ximenes an inspired messenger of Heaven, or 
 did he speak from his own strong prepossessions, 
 without authority to bind or loose? 
 
 No answer came, though Colon prayed long and 
 fervently, trying to empty his nature of self-will, and 
 to listen for the voice of God. He rose, feeling the 
 despair of one who is an outcast from grace, unwor- 
 thy to receive a divine intimation. The agony of 
 this thought to a mind devout by nature and by the 
 training of circumstances was supreme. Colon lay 
 sleepless and miserable upon his pallet in the upper 
 chamber reserved for his use. 
 
 At last there came to him a sudden memory of the 
 vow which he had taken kneeling with Beatriz beside 
 Fernando's couch. He felt again in fancy the warm 
 touch of her hand, and calm fell upon his mind. 
 
 " My path is chosen for good or ill," he said to 
 himself. " A vow taken before God cannot be 
 broken." 
 
156 COLUMBUS AND BEATKIZ. 
 
 Once more he was a man of courage and resolu- 
 tion, capable of bearing delay and opposition, and of 
 repressing tumult and mutiny by the sheer power of 
 manly strength. 
 
 " Selfish impatience, not unrepented sin, has made 
 me weak," he thought, recalling with quick compunc- 
 tion the depth of Beatriz's love and confidence in 
 him. " A simple woman, taught by pure affection, is 
 sometimes wiser than the doctors of the Church." 
 
M 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE PATH OF DUTY. 
 
 "ANY a sailor's wife wept in Palos when the little 
 fleet of three vessels weighed anchor, crossed 
 the bar, and set sail for the unknown sea; and 
 IJeatriz spent night after night of sleepless anxiety 
 waiting for an assurance that the long-expected hour 
 had come, and that her husband was gone on a voy- 
 age from which he might never return. 
 
 No letter came ; but one day a sandalled friar and 
 a tall, sturdy youth reached the house in the Court of 
 Pomegranates with recommendations from Senor Don 
 Colon, the Admiral, to Dona Pcatriz Enrifiuez Colon. 
 "Art thou Diego?" asked Beatriz, taking the boy's 
 reluctant hand, while Fernando hung back, shyly mak- 
 ing a critical survey of the new-comer from a distance. 
 " I am thy mother now. Wilt thou love me? " 
 
 Diego met her look. " You are only a girl," he 
 said. Then he turned away and hung his head, as if 
 conscious that he had been rude, and regretting it. 
 
 " She is the best mother in the world ! " cried Fer- 
 nando, running forward. " She can play ball as well 
 as a boy. Can you shoot with a cross-bow? " 
 Diego made no answer. 
 
 " He is tired and hungry," said Beatriz. " Take 
 him to Teresa, and ask her to give him his dinner." 
 
158 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 As Diego passed her, Beatriz laid her arm for a 
 moment caressingly about his neck. Diego blushed 
 crimson. Then he took her hand in both of his, and 
 stooped and pressed a kiss upon it. Friar Martin 
 Sanchez watched him in surprise as he left the room, 
 conducted gayly by Fernando. 
 
 "■ The lad is gentle and courtly in his ways," he 
 said. " I never knew him to be short of speech one 
 moment and over forward the next." 
 
 " He pleases me," said Beatriz. " He has a nature 
 like his father's ; I shall love him well." 
 
 Beatriz found pleasure in lavishing affection upon 
 the Admiral's son who had received his last greeting, 
 and in overwhelming with courtesies the friar who had 
 the latest tidings to give concerning his voyage. 
 
 As they sat about the table for the mid-day meal, 
 the whole household hung breathless on the words 
 of Friar Sanchez, who told with deliberation, in the 
 pauses of his eating, the story of the long-delayed 
 equipment, and the sailing of the fleet. Beatriz grew 
 red and white by turns. Tears filled her eyes ; and 
 she drew Fernando to her side, where he stayed to 
 listen, leaning on her knee. The good friar had no 
 perception of sentiment or romance. He abated 
 nothing of the hardships, discouragements, and prob- 
 able dangers of the undertaking. Like his brothers 
 of the convent, he was convinced that Cristoval Colon 
 was correct in his opinions concerning the shape and 
 size of the earth ; but Friar Martin had his own opin- 
 ion as to the folly of being the first to venture where 
 man had never sailed before. The opposition felt 
 throughout the district to the proposed expedition, 
 and the necessity of impressing ships and men by 
 
THE PATH OF DUTY. 159 
 
 force for the service, had weakened the confidence 
 of many who had always been friendly to the 
 undertaking. 
 
 " It were well for you to resign yourself to the 
 worst, Senora," said Friar Martin, folding his hands 
 in the contentment succeeding a good meal. " Should 
 he live to return, well and good ; if not, you have 
 two fine boys here who will be famous men some 
 day, no doubt, since, as Don Colon told me, the 
 queen has promised to take them both, when they 
 are older, into her service as pages to the young 
 Prince Juan." 
 
 *' Did he tell you that?" asked Beatriz, in a tone 
 of agonized apprehension, drawing Fernando closer 
 to her side. 
 
 " He spoke of the promise her Highness had made 
 him, as another token of her wish to please and honor 
 him," answered Friar Sanchez, deliberately. 
 
 " My Fernando shall never leave me," exclaimed 
 Beatriz. 
 
 "No, I will not," said the child, beginning to 
 cry. 
 
 "There, there, what folly is this?" cried Don 
 Enriquez, petulantly. " Few honors and emoluments 
 have come to our house of late. At the rumor of one 
 thou dost start and fret as at some new misfortune. 
 Bring up thy son to be a man, not a whining 
 coward." 
 
 " Heaven help me," exclaimed Beatriz, " if I must 
 part from my child ! " 
 
 " No, no," cried Teresa, sympathetically. " Since we 
 have not heard it, it is not true. Moreover, in two 
 years he will still be too young to be a page, and Don 
 
l6o COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 Diego would not be sent to you if the queen were very 
 shortly to require him." 
 
 Beatriz tried to smile, and to forget the threatened 
 evil. She determined to live in the present, and to 
 be happy for the sake of Fernando, who reflected her 
 moods with the fond sensitiveness of an only child. 
 She encouraged games with Diego which left her out, 
 already beginning by choice that course of self-immo- 
 lation through which every mother passes sooner or 
 later. 
 
 ** If Fernando must leave me," she thought, shud- 
 dering, " he must not love me too well, for love is 
 torment." 
 
 She worked unceasingly, trying to crowd the days 
 too full to leave time for thought. When she was not 
 occupied in directing the boys' studies, she was sew- 
 ing for them, or contriving unexpected pleasures as a 
 reward for good behavior. Teresa's jealousy of the 
 little monk, as she called Diego, failed to introduce 
 an element of discord into the family, for the two 
 boys became devoted to each other. Diego had an 
 elder brother's gende consideration for the younger, 
 and Fernando profited by it to extend his youthful 
 tyranny over a new subject. Beatriz held the scales 
 of justice between them with an impartial hand, in- 
 clining to Diego rather than to her own son if a 
 controversy arose ; but in the end Diego's generosity 
 was always in excess of hers. 
 
 "Thou art a comfort to me, Diego," she said one 
 day to the boy, with the beaming smile he valued as 
 his best reward. "Thou dost remind me of my 
 dear brother Pedro, whom I now so seldom see, when 
 we were young together. Those were happy days." 
 
THE PATH OF DUTY. i6i 
 
 "You are not happy now," said Diego, quietly, 
 looking at her with the serious expression which he 
 
 often wore. 
 
 " Oh, yes, very happy," said Beatriz, with a smile, 
 « but I am too old to be gay as I used to be. Thou 
 must enjoy thy youth, my dear Diego, and laugh and 
 play while thou canst. Do not sit here with me and 
 look so full of care." 
 
 "You work too hard," said Diego, with conviction, 
 " and you are uneasy about my father." 
 
 Beatriz took the boy's hand, and pressed it with 
 hers against her side. 
 
 "Dost thou feel how my heart beats when thou 
 dost mention his name?" she said. 
 " You will be ill," said Diego. 
 "So he returns unharmed, I shall be well," she 
 answered. "At night I have fearful dreams about 
 him. But yonder goes a man with a cart-full of 
 oranges. Run and choose me a basket of fine 
 
 ones." 
 
 Diego did her bidding mechanically, musing all 
 the time upon a problem which was too difficult for 
 him to solve. 
 
 " What is the little monk thinking about? " asked 
 Teresa, when he carried the oranges to her in the 
 store-room. 
 
 " About my step-mother," he answered frankly. 
 
 "And what of her? " 
 
 "That I would gladly die if it would make her 
 happy," replied Diego. 
 
 When Beatriz heard this answer from Teresa, she 
 held council with herself how she could avoid impress- 
 ing her own intensity of feeling upon the children, 
 II 
 
1 62 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ, 
 
 whose lives she wished to brighten, not to cloud. As 
 a result of hours of meditation, she sent for Rodrigo. 
 When he came, she said, — 
 
 *' I have been thinking, my brother, that the quiet 
 life which suits me well, and which my father loves, is 
 not good for Fernando and Diego, who are, as we 
 have heard, to be received some day into the queen's 
 household. They love me so well that such a change, 
 if sudden, would cause them much pain. I propose 
 therefore to accept for a time the offer thou madest 
 me long ago, and to leave our house here empty until 
 my husband's return, living meantime with thee, if it 
 pleases thee and Antonia to receive us." 
 
 " Thou wilt be more than welcome," said Rodrigo, 
 in a tone of triumph. " Antonia mourns for our son 
 and for our brother Diego. She will be glad to have 
 the children to divert her." 
 
 The decision which it cost Beatriz so much to make 
 was carried out. Don Fernando had grown too child- 
 ish to give much heed to his surroundings. Teresa 
 was glad to be in a great house, where there was always 
 plenty to eat and to drink ; and the children were happy 
 in a larger playground and finer rooms, since their 
 mother was still with them. Beatriz alone regretted 
 the home of her youth. In the midst of a gay com- 
 pany in Rodrigo's grand saloon, she would sit silent 
 and abstracted, seeing in fancy the little tinkling foun- 
 tain in the patio ^ and the deserted bench under the 
 pomegranate-tree. 
 
 Her beauty, which was more striking than ever in 
 its ripe perfection, made her the centre of observa- 
 tion in every circle. Her husband's new position 
 attracted new deference of attention, and his adven- 
 
THE PATH OF DUTY. 163 
 
 tiiroiis enterprise was discussed from every point of 
 view. This subject alone could win Beatriz's undi- 
 vided attention. Her eyes would kindle with pleas- 
 ure at a word of praise for him, and her most grateful 
 glances were the reward of the speaker who espoused 
 his cause. 
 
 <* To win a smile from the wife of Don Colon, — one 
 must give him a title now, — it is necessary to com- 
 pliment her husband," said a young noble, discontent- 
 edly, in his neighbor's ear. " Speak of her beauty 
 and she frowns like an angry Juno. Compare this 
 visionary, who has sailed away to attempt the impos- 
 sible, .to ^neas or Ulysses, and she will melt into 
 tenderness; but it is all for him." 
 
 One evening Antonio Geraldini seated himself be- 
 side her as if he had news to communicate. Beatriz 
 never saw this man, who when in Cordova was a fre- 
 quent visitor at Rodrigo's house, without fearing that 
 a message had been sent through him concerning Fer- 
 nando. Geraldini was instructor to the young princess, 
 and Beatriz had had many serious conversations with 
 him concerning her son's future. Geraldini was un- 
 wearied in his praises of the gentle queen, the piety 
 and order of her household, and the sense and no- 
 bility of her views concerning the education of her 
 children and those who were brought up with 
 them as attendants and companions. But this 
 evening Antonio did not begin as usual. He asked 
 abruptly, " When did you last see Don Garcia de 
 Silva, Senora?" 
 
 Beatriz blushed. 
 
 " It is long since I have seen him," she answered ; 
 "■ but I have heard that he has taken the vows of a 
 
1 64 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 Dominican, and means to study for the priesthood. Is 
 it true?" 
 
 " What he will do in the future I know not," said 
 Geraldini. " He is in the last month of his novitiate ; 
 but he tells me that to go further will be impossible 
 until he has spoken with you." 
 
 "With me? " exclaimed Beatriz. *' Wherefore? " 
 
 " I know not," said Geraldini ; " but I carried the 
 message, since I pity him. His is a promising life 
 wasted like a riv^er that has lost itself in the sand. One 
 by one his ambitions have failed him. He has no vo- 
 cation for a religious life, I fear ; but he has grasped at 
 it as the last road to power or to peace, whichever it 
 may be. He asks to see you alone in the cathedral 
 gardens after matins to-morrow." 
 
 Since the worthy Geraldini acted as his messenger, 
 Beatriz could not refuse Don Garcia's request, which 
 was thus urged upon her as a duty. Early in the morn- 
 ing she took Fernando with her to the cathedral ser- 
 vice ; and afterwards entered the garden, where a black- 
 and-white-robed friar was waiting beneath the trees. 
 
 Garcia strode to meet Beatriz with an eager scrutiny 
 of her face. Fernando, frightened by the cowl and 
 mantle, clung to his mother's hand and scanned him 
 critically. 
 
 " I do not like that man," he said. 
 
 "Run and play by the fountain a moment, my 
 love," said Beatriz, noticing the cloud on Garcia's face. 
 "What will you with me?" she added, returning 
 Garcia's greeting with dignity. 
 
 " Have I but a moment to tell you what my heart is 
 bursting with? " said Garcia. " I tried to forget you. 
 I chose to marry another, to satisfy my ambition and 
 
THE PATH OF DUTY. 165 
 
 bid fixrewell to the past. Your husband interfered like 
 an evil genius, and made my future a blank. I then 
 embraced a soldier's death in the heat of conflict at 
 the head of a victorious assault. Cristoval Colon gave 
 me back the life which he had made of no value. One 
 path of power remains. As a Dominican I may in 
 time become a familiar of the Holy Oflice. Princes 
 may tremble at my decision. Already I have kindled 
 at Valladolid the fagots of an auto da fi, and watched 
 a heretic shrivel in the flames." 
 
 Beatriz shuddered. 
 
 " I returned to Cordova for a brief visit to my de- 
 serted home," continued Garcia, " and I saw you. You 
 did not recognize the cowled friar ; but at the sight of 
 your flice the dark and evil present passed like a cloud, 
 and once more I was the youth who loved you. Bid 
 me decide. Am I to follow the path that leads through 
 fires of vindictive passion — enjoying nothing, hating 
 my very existence — only to gain the power to wreak 
 vengeance and to destroy life ; or am I to live for 
 your friendship, hoping in the future for a dearer tie? " 
 
 " You rave," said Beatriz. '^ What can be your 
 meaning? " 
 
 " Should your husband never return — " began 
 Garcia. 
 
 " I should pass my widowed existence mourning for 
 him," said Beatriz. " I scorn you, but I pity you, 
 Don Garcia. You are beside yourself to speak thus. 
 Surely you have some good purpose in taking the vows 
 of an order containing many holy men." 
 
 Garcia laughed scornfully. 
 
 " You do not see the hidden baseness of these holy 
 lives," he answered. 
 
l66 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 " I have heard the noble Ximenes preach in this 
 very cathedral," said Beatriz, " concerning the need 
 of a reformation in the monasteries. Yet good will 
 attract good. We see in others what we find in our 
 own hearts. You would not make a vow before God 
 with a lie in your right hand." 
 
 " You would shrink from gazing at the depths of 
 evil into which I shall plunge when I take that vow," 
 said Garcia. " The punishment of the hypocrite 
 may be mine hereafter; but life owes me revenge 
 if not success. You alone can save me from this 
 course." 
 
 " How is it possible? " said Beatriz. 
 
 **Give me a hope that one day in a future when 
 thou art once more free to choose, thy thoughts may 
 turn with affection to the one man who has truly loved 
 thee." 
 
 " Say no more ! " commanded Beatriz. " Come, 
 Fernando, we will go." 
 
 *' Nay, hear me," urged Garcia; " I have no will to 
 offend thee. Thou canst not now foresee the future 
 of thy wishes ; but I will forsake my evil purposes, will 
 live for thy sake a humble life in the world, working as 
 a cobbler on a bench if need be, so thou wilt tell me 
 thou couldst love me were Cristoval Colon lost in 
 the sea." 
 
 " Surely you are mad, Don Garcia," exclaimed 
 Beatriz, haughtily. " I have listened with patience, 
 hoping to divert you by my counsel from an evil choice, 
 since there is no greater sin than to make a religious 
 profession from an unholy motive. But you abuse my 
 kindness. How is it possible that you can so misjudge 
 me ? Have I since my husband's departure encour- 
 
THE PATH OF DUTY. 1 67 
 
 aged in any the belief that I love him less than with 
 my whole heart and soul? " 
 
 " Thou art as ever a goddess of perfection," an- 
 swered Garcia. '' The world would not know if thy 
 heart were breaking. I alone believed that time had 
 opened thine eyes, that indifference and neglect had 
 shown thee the truth of Ben Hamet's prediction, and 
 that pride alone deterred thee from the avowal of thy 
 disappointment." 
 
 Beatriz blushed deeply as she said : " Must I avow 
 then to you, who have no right to my confidence, that 
 I love my husband better each day I live ; that were 
 he capable of neglecting, even of injuring me, my 
 constant affection would cling to him, for it is so rooted 
 in my heart that death alone can end it? " 
 
 She bent her head in a distant farewell, as she took 
 Fernando's hand and hastened from the garden. Gar- 
 cia flung himself upon a bench, and groaned, with his 
 face hidden in his hands. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE STORM. 
 
 'T^HE history of the great Admiral's first voyage has 
 -■■ been often told by abler pens. Every child is 
 familiar with its details ; and of all its varied fortunes 
 only two periods of supreme importance concern this 
 story, as they alone left an indelible impress upon the 
 life of its hero. 
 
 Who can measure the exultation and devout thanks- 
 giving with which he first set foot upon the virgui shores 
 of a new world ? The perfection of that moment was 
 an ample atonement for the past. When the Arctic 
 traveller stands triumphant at the long-sought Pole, 
 with all its terrors vanquished, he will be able in a 
 measure to enter into those emotions ; but with the 
 sympathy of the civilized world for his motive and 
 support, he can never know what it would be to 
 achieve such a conquest single-handed and alone ; nor 
 can any one repeat, in this age of restless self-analysis, 
 the whole-hearted surrender of a life to a principle of 
 action which is justified equally by scientific intuition 
 and intense religious enthusiasm. 
 
 Colon knelt under the banner of the Cross, and 
 kissed the soil with tears of joy. He had gained 
 one conquest ; he looked forward to another, when he 
 should plant that banner within the walls of Jerusalem, 
 and kiss the stones worn by pious feet before the 
 
THE STORM. 169 
 
 Chapel of the Holy Sepulchre ! The joy he felt was 
 that of angels who perfectly fulfil the divine will, 
 mingled with the human leaven of self-justification, 
 which is so sweet to wounded pride. He felt it to be 
 only fitting that his repentant companions, who had 
 to the last thwarted and contradicted him, should 
 kneel and kiss his feet and the hem of his mantle. 
 Yet he was gentle and humble, and ready to forgive. 
 
 It was necessary for the rescue of the Sepulchre to 
 have gold in abundant measure. Spain's avaricious 
 monarch, too, must have the lion's share. It would 
 not do to linger in a delightful climate, nor to at- 
 tempt, as yet, to bring the gentle, simple-minded 
 natives within the Christian fold. The sordid condi- 
 tions of life required, even for the noblest purposes, 
 this golden Mammon as their price. The rich cities 
 of Manghay and Cathay must be found. Each inlet 
 penetrating the coast might lead to them; each 
 clump of dense, primeval forest might hide their 
 ivory cupolas and glittering domes. Far from the 
 simple natives of the unfrequented coast, there must 
 be great seaports in whose harbors the strange-shaped 
 vessels of the East lay at anchor to discharge their 
 precious cargoes. Each breeze that came off the 
 shore, laden with tropical fragrance, might bear the 
 secret of the spice islands to the eager searchers for 
 wealth in this unpromising wilderness, rich only in 
 beauty. 
 
 The vain quest lured them on. The Admiral with 
 his lofty, disinterested ambition needed gold for its 
 gratification ; and " Gold, Gold ! " became the sailors' 
 cry. It would purchase the Holy Sepulchre, it would 
 also gratify the basest passion. The return was de- 
 
170 COLUMBUS AND BEATRJZ. 
 
 layed, that fruitless expeditions might be undertaken 
 into the interior, with greed for a watchword. Dis- 
 content and treachery were aroused. The kindly 
 natives were despoiled of their ornaments, and by 
 strenuous exertions enough precious metal was ob- 
 tained to convince the king that another expedition 
 would be desirable; but the great Khan remained 
 remote and inaccessible, the rumors of his where- 
 abouts proving as uncertain guides as will-of-the- 
 wisps. 
 
 At last, with one vessel shipwrecked, and his fleet, 
 consisting only of two leaking caravels, the Admiral 
 gave the order to return to Spain. The favoring 
 breezes and sunny skies, which had seemed a provi- 
 dential assistance to his outward voyage and subse- 
 quent explorations, were exchanged for variable and 
 uncertain winds. One evening the sun set in a dull 
 red haze, clouds gathered quickly until the stars were 
 obscured ; and the wind, which had blown in fitful 
 puffs, increased momentarily to a gale. 
 
 Juan de Arana, Rodrigo's son, approached the Ad- 
 miral as he stood on the castle of the Niila looking 
 anxiously forward. 
 
 " I dreamed last night that my mother stood at my 
 bedside and wept over me," said Juan. " I fear, 
 Sefior, that we shall not weather this storm ; and if we 
 fail to reach Spain, what a cruel fate will befall my 
 uncle Diego and the men under his command who 
 are left behind in the new country ! They will be 
 forever lost and forgotten." 
 
 " Fie upon thee, Juan ! " said Colon. " Thou hast 
 been the bravest of the brave. Can a dream affright 
 thee?" 
 
THE STORM. 17 1 
 
 Juan looked about, as the Admiral did, upon the 
 churning waves and lowering clouds. 
 
 " I believe that it was sent as a warning," he said. 
 " Do you think our leaking vessels can long withstand 
 the force of seas like this? " 
 
 " We are in the hands of the Lord," answered 
 Colon ; " he will not fail us in the hour of need." 
 
 As the storm increased in violence, others of the 
 crew felt the apprehension that Juan expressed. The 
 interpreter of the expedition, a converted Jew, sat on 
 a pile of cushions in the corner of the small cabin, 
 steadying himself as best he could from the irregular 
 motions of the vessel, his swarthy face showing 
 ghastly pale in the dim light 
 
 " Our Indians and our parrots, our gold and our 
 more precious selves, will all go to the bottom to- 
 gether, it seems," he said. " It is a pity that a man 
 like myself, who can speak eight languages with ease, 
 should perish thus ignominiously, having served as 
 interpreter only to a few naked chieftains whose jar- 
 gon is that of monkeys. Had my name been in- 
 scribed on brass tablets in the court of the Khan, to 
 be remembered like that of Marco Polo, the Venetian, 
 I should not so bitterly complain." 
 
 "You speak like a fool, Luiz de Torrez," remarked 
 a companion. " What good would a brass tablet do 
 you, if you were food for fishes? A few feet of dry 
 ground were worth more to us now than all the riches 
 of the Khan." 
 
 " As for fame," said the king's notary, " the notice 
 of their Highnesses of Spain is of greater value than 
 that of any heathen potentate. You may console 
 yourself with that, good Hebrew." 
 
172 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 " But should we founder here in mid-ocean, who 
 is to tell the tale to their Highnesses?" answered 
 De Torrez. *' By the straining and the creaking of 
 the ship's timbers, and the report the sailors make of 
 the water's entrance at every seam, it will not be long 
 before all that is left of the ' Nina ' is an eddy and 
 a bubble on the surface of the sea. The * Pinta ' 
 has left us, and, being the weaker, is no doubt lost 
 ere this." 
 
 *' A curse on our Admiral, who has brought us to 
 this pass ! " muttered a sailor, as he paused breathless 
 in his work, wiping the sweat and the salt spray from 
 his forehead. " It is a tempting of Providence to sail 
 where no man has ever sailed before. How do we 
 know that the storm will ever cease? It may blow 
 here always in great gales like this, as the east wind 
 blew without shifting on our outward voyage." 
 
 Colon's anxiety was equal to that of his com- 
 panions ; but he assumed a cheerfulness that he did 
 not feel. When the storm had raged in unabated 
 violence for two days and nights, the stoutest hearts 
 lost hope. The Admiral had been indomitable in 
 courage. Every resource of ingenuity and skill had 
 been exhausted to keep the frail vessel afloat ; but 
 at last it seemed that only a miracle could preserve 
 ship and crew. Colon's devotional nature sought 
 refuge instinctively in prayer, and rough seamen 
 prayed as they had never done before. Vows were 
 offered to each patron saint, and a special act of 
 devotion was promised by the sailor to whose lot 
 it should fall to perform it. 
 
 Hearing of this intention, and desiring to encour- 
 age it, the Admiral called the crew about him, and 
 
THE STORM. 173 
 
 himself cast the lot. Some beans were placed in a 
 seaman's cap, one marked with a cross. 
 
 " Whosoever shall draw the marked bean," said 
 Colon, "shall undertake a pilgrimage to the shrine 
 of the Virgin at Guadalupe, bearing as offering a 
 candle of pure wax of five pounds' weight." 
 
 The beans were shaken together. The Admiral 
 himself made the first trial, and drew forth the 
 marked bean. 
 
 "Gladly do I accept it," said Colon. "It is 
 by the favor of Heaven that I, your leader, am 
 chosen, and a sure token that we shall survive the 
 storm." 
 
 He left them with these encouraging words; but 
 they were words of hypocrisy, urged by the need 
 of the situation. As Colon stood alone in the roar 
 of the tempest, clasping the mast to steady himself 
 against the rush of wind and water, an agonizing 
 thought forced itself insistently upon him. "Thou 
 art the man," said this inner voice. " Thou art the 
 Jonah upon whom the lot has fallen, and for whose 
 sins this evil has come upon all." 
 
 The frail and leaking vessel beneath his feet was 
 alone in the turbulent ocean. The " Pinta " had 
 been parted from its companion, and was no doubt 
 lost with all on board. Of what avail were the toil 
 and perseverance of years, the glory and complete- 
 ness of his triumph, if all knowledge of his discovery 
 should be swallowed up in the envious sea? Why 
 was the cup of joy so soon to be dashed from his 
 lips? 
 
 " Thou hast tried, like Jonah," went on the inner 
 voice, " to flee from the presence of the Lord. Great 
 
174 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 was thy ambition ; but thy faith and self-sacrifice 
 were less than that of the least of the saints." 
 
 Worn out with fatigue, anxiety, and the loss of 
 sleep, drenched with the waves, and suffering agonies 
 from the gout. Colon was too weary in mind and 
 body to defend himself against the reproaches of 
 conscience, or to distinguish them from fantastic 
 blendings of memory and an over-excited imagina- 
 tion. The warning of Ximenes de Cisneros, his read- 
 ings in the quiet library of La Rabida, his scruples 
 of conscience excited by Juan Perez's admonition, — 
 all had left a deep impression upon his mind ; and 
 at the critical moment forgotten feelings started forth 
 with fresh power of conviction. He returned to the 
 cabin, and was met by Juan de Arana. 
 
 ''The sailors have drawn the lots again," he said. 
 " This time it falls to Pedro de Villa to undertake 
 a pilgrimage to Our Lady of Ivoretto." 
 
 " It is a long road to go," said Pedro, reluctantly. 
 " I am a poor man with a family, — if I ever live to 
 reach them." 
 
 " I will willingly pay the costs for thee, Pedro," 
 said Colon. " If the Blessed Virgin will pity us, we 
 will honor her by every means in our power." 
 
 " Let me take a turn at the beans," said a stalwart 
 sailor. " If the lot falls on me, I will promise a pil- 
 grimage to the convent of Santa Clara de Moguer, 
 and I will watch all night there in the chapel." 
 
 Pedro shook the cap, and held it toward the would- 
 be devotee. He drew an unmarked bean, and turned 
 it over in his hand with an air of unmistakable relief. 
 
 "The chapel is a lonesome place, and worse at 
 night," he said ; " but in such a time as this there 's 
 
THE STORM. 175 
 
 naught I 'd refuse to please Our Lady, if so be she 
 will show us favor." 
 
 Each man drew a bean till the turn came to Colon, 
 and he again drew the bean marked with a cross. 
 
 All exclaimed in surprise. Colon felt a sudden 
 pang ; but he smiled and said, " It is I who will 
 watch all night in the convent of Santa Clara, imme- 
 diately upon our safe arrival at Palos. Can you 
 doubt that Heaven hears our prayers ? Since I must 
 live to pay my vows, you, my companions, are as- 
 sured of safety through my consecration to do this 
 penance." 
 
 " It looks to me as if we were sure of naught save 
 of going to the bottom," said a sailor. '' Do not 
 depend too much on the Admiral's reaching shore, 
 men ; but let us all vow to go together, barefoot and 
 in our shirts, to the first church we find on landing, 
 carrying each one a candle, and giving thanks to the 
 Virgin. So shall our Lady be more likely to look 
 to saving each one of us, than if we left all for an- 
 other to do for us." 
 
 This suggestion was received with unanimous ap- 
 probation, and the vow was taken by all on board. 
 These religious exercises being concluded, the men 
 were satisfied that everything possible was done which 
 could assure their safety, and they waited in sullen 
 resignation the moment of death or the prospect 
 of relief. Colon had been much impressed by the 
 drawing of the second lot. He doubted not that his 
 end was near; and while he preserved the appear- 
 ance of cheerfulness, he made preparations for death 
 with characteristic vigor of action. He shut himself 
 up alone in his cabin, and hastily wrote an account 
 
176 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 of his voyage to San Salvador, his discovery of the 
 Indies, and the events that had occurred up to the 
 time of writing. Directing this document to their 
 Highnesses of Spain by the hand of the finder, who 
 was promised a reward of a thousand ducats for bear- 
 ing it safely to its destination, he enclosed it in a 
 waxed cloth and placed it in a cask, which he threw 
 overboard ; thus committing to the waves what might 
 be the only tidings of his great achievement. 
 
 Then he continued his usual diary of every day's 
 events, in a more leisurely vein of reflection ; writing 
 with a double consciousness of what it became him, 
 in his character of the successful Admiral, to assume 
 of courage and hope, and with the inner, unexpressed 
 torment of warring emotions. Should he live, the 
 diary would be read by his sovereigns. It was pre- 
 pared in view of this possibility ; but none but his 
 confessor should know the cause of his despair. At 
 midnight the storm began to abate, and when 
 morning dawned the sailor at the lookout shouted 
 *' Land ! " 
 
 P'or two days contrary winds prevented their mak- 
 ing the welcome harbor ; but during this time Colon 
 enjoyed a relief from anxiety which was like the 
 cessation of acute bodily pain. As the waves sub- 
 sided, he began to believe that the vows already 
 made were sufficient ; that Heaven required no 
 greater sacrifice of him than those which he had 
 promised. 
 
 The little ship lay at last at anchor in the harbor 
 of San Lorenzo, one of the Azores, and belonging to 
 the crown of Portugal. Half the crew were de- 
 spatched to discharge, as a first and most pressing 
 
THE STORM. 17 7 
 
 fluty, the vow of the barefooted pilgrimage. They 
 were detained by the treachery of the Portuguese 
 governor, who attempted also to secure the person 
 of the Admiral. Colon's clear mind and vigorous 
 action enabled him to defeat the plots of his enemies, 
 and to regain his men ; but the fury of wind and 
 wave still pursued him. The " Nina's " cables parted 
 in the stress of weather, and she was driven from her 
 anchorage, and forced to beat about two days and 
 nights before being able to return to the harbor ; and 
 when the homeward voyage was fairly begun, another 
 and a worse storm struck her, tearing the sails as if 
 they had been paper. 
 
 The sailors, in desperation, renewed their vows to 
 the Virgin, and for the third time the lot fell upon 
 Colon to perform the act of penance. The signifi- 
 cance of this remarkable pointing of the finger of God 
 to him as the Jonah for whose sake the tempests were 
 sent could not fail to be felt by all on board. Mutter- 
 ings of distrust and discontent were heard. The unruly 
 members of the crew, who had been subdued by the 
 Admiral's success, now railed against him as a possible 
 criminal who hid an evil life under a cloak of piety. 
 The night closed in with clouds and darkness, with 
 vivid flashes of lightning and the continuous roar of 
 the thunder. The '' Niiia " tossed at the mercy of the 
 waves. Colon shut himself into his cabin, and fell on 
 his knees in an agony of mind. 
 
 " It is now made plain," he said to himself, " that 
 in my case acts of outward penance and piety do not 
 avail. Will the gift of a taper suffice when God de- 
 sires the consecration of a soul? Too long have I 
 shut my eyes and ears to the leadings of Providence. 
 
178 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 God no longer speaks through the gentle voices of his 
 servants or the quiet pleadings of conscience, but in 
 the sound of the thunder and the threatened terrors 
 of death. I, who have vowed my life to the rescue 
 of the Holy Sepulchre, have not the consecration of 
 the meanest monk ; I, who would lead the armies of 
 the Cross, am bound by the ties of earthly affection 
 hand and foot. Truly did Ximenes warn me of this 
 hour. Should I still remain disobedient to the voice 
 of Heaven, I know full well that this night's tempest 
 will end all. The envious Portuguese will tell King 
 Ferdinand how my shattered vessel anchored in their 
 harbor, bearing a wild and improbable story of the 
 discovery of a western world, which would seem to 
 be the invention of desperate and disheartened men. 
 My credit will be gone, my name forgotten. The 
 road that I have opened to the kingdom of the Khan 
 will be lost again to the world. The Sepulchre will 
 remain in the hands of the infidels till a worthier than 
 I be raised up to reclaim it. But no ! This cannot 
 be. I yield my stubborn will. Deliver me, O God, 
 in this hour of peril, and to thee I vow henceforth 
 the consecration of my life. I sacrifice at thy altar, 
 
 blessed Virgin, all hopes of earthly happiness, the 
 tender ties of conjugal affection, wife and children, 
 home and kindred, and embrace the strictest rules of 
 religious service. Under my garments I will wear, as 
 
 1 now do, the cord of Saint Francis ; but it shall affili- 
 ate me more closely to the spirit of the saint. Lead 
 me, O blessed Francis, by the hand as a brother. 
 Hitherto I have touched but the hem of thy garment. 
 Let me know the spiritual joys which belong to the 
 members of thy Seraphic order who follow thy rule 
 
THE STORM. 179 
 
 with devotion equal to thine own. When my toil- 
 some voyages are over, when the ransom of the Sep- 
 ulchre is achieved, I will utter before men the vows 
 I now take in the presence of God and his angels. I 
 will end my days in a convent. Till then, O Lord, 
 sustain me in the path that I have chosen." 
 
 He fell forward prostrate upon the floor. Thought 
 became inarticulate. Visions of ineffable splendor 
 gleamed before his eyes. He remained in a trance- 
 like swoon, knowing nothing that passed about 
 him. 
 
 When toward midnight the Admiral came on deck, 
 the storm had not abated, but land was discovered 
 dimly outlined in the east. Colon spoke and moved 
 mechanically, like one in a dream; but there was 
 something in his serene composure which reassured 
 the crew. He seemed incapable of fatigue and un- 
 touched by fear. The magnetism of his presence 
 once more aroused unquestioning obedience. When 
 day broke, it found them at the mouth of the Tagus, 
 and in imminent danger of shipwreck on the rocky 
 coast ; but the Admiral took the helm, and with an 
 unerring hand guided his vessel amid the dangerous 
 breakers into the channel of the river and to a safe 
 anchorage. 
 
 History tells how the news of his discovery spread 
 far and wide, how the King and Queen of Portugal 
 did him honor, how he sat in state covered in the 
 presence of royalty, and how when he departed on 
 his homeward course under fair skies he went loaded 
 with gifts and honors. But beneath his velvet coat 
 and glittering decorations Colon's heart was heavy. 
 
i8o COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 He was like a man who has been maimed, and though 
 conscious of his loss is incapable of realizing it, since 
 he still feels in the stump of arm or leg the same sen- 
 sations as if the limb remained intact, the severed 
 nerves not yet having learned to take cognizance of 
 new conditions. He could not picture the future 
 without Beatriz at his side ; and he dared not imagine 
 what her judgment of him would be. He must stop 
 his ears to the voices of warm-hearted impulse which 
 denounced the decision he had made as selfish and 
 cruel. It was torment to him to recall the vow he 
 had taken with Beatriz beside the couch of their child. 
 Her looks and words came back to him with fatal per- 
 sistency. He longed for the shelter of the convent 
 of La Rabida and the spiritual counsel of Juan Perez. 
 He needed a higher authority than his own judg- 
 ment to sanction his course, and to assure him that in 
 trampling under foot the most sacred of earthly affec- 
 tions he was in reality fulfilling the will of God. 
 
 Nothing new can be related of the landing at Palos, 
 — the tumult of astonishment and joy which it ex- 
 cited ; the delight of the reunited families of the 
 sailors, who were heroes henceforth in their neigh- 
 borhood ; and the speeding of the tidings as fast 
 as post could bear it from one end of Christen- 
 dom to the other. The Borgia on his pontifical 
 throne heard of and approved the good fortune and 
 the pious aims of the Genoese. The monarchs of 
 Europe were envious of Spain's acquisition at so slight 
 a cost of so vast a territory. Cristoval Colon, the 
 obscure chart-maker of Cordova, was in the hour of 
 his triumph the equal of princes. 
 
 The full realization of the sweetness of power and 
 
THE STORM. i8l 
 
 the favor of the great came later. Colon's first 
 thought upon his landing was to regain the inward 
 peace which had hitherto been the strength of his 
 religious life. He fulfilled, with all their grotesque 
 conditions, the vows of pilgrimage which he had 
 made, walking barefooted and clad only in his shirt 
 to the shrine of Our Lady of the Cincture, bearing 
 the five-pound taper to Our Lady of Guadalupe, and 
 passing a night in prayer in the chapel of the Fran- 
 ciscan convent of St. Clair. These acts of penance 
 failed to soothe the anxious doubts with which he was 
 beset ; and he hastened to the convent of La Rabida, 
 and poured into Juan Perez's ear, in the confidence 
 of the confessional, the secret of the vow which he 
 had made, with God alone for witness. The prior 
 gave him consolation and sympathy. '* How canst 
 thou doubt that God will bless this sacrifice to thy 
 eternal as well as thy temporal welfare?" said Juan 
 Perez, embracing him tenderly. " Dost thou remem- 
 ber the night when I spoke to thee on the convent 
 roof, and quoted the words of Ximenes concerning 
 thee ? He will rejoice as I do to welcome thee as a 
 brother. Thou hast been called, as was the blessed 
 Saint Francis, to leave home and friends. The Lord 
 will be thy exceeding great reward." 
 
 " But when regret overpowers me, when life seems 
 empty and desolate, when I have no comfort in 
 thoughts of the future, and shrink from my happiest 
 memories of the past, how am I to be assured that 1 
 have a calling for the new life? " asked Colon. " May 
 it not have been that the fear of death unnerved me 
 and overpowered my choice ? " 
 
 " These temptations of doubt beset every saint on 
 
l82 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 his entrance to the rehgious hfe," said Juan Perez. 
 " Do not expect comfort till thou hast passed through 
 the vale of misery, nor peace till thou hast been tried 
 by every assault of the enemy of souls." 
 
 " But the keenest torment is the thought of the 
 sorrow I shall cause a gentle, trusting heart," said 
 Colon. " Beatriz Enriquez has been to me a faith- 
 ful wife — " 
 
 " Mark well my words," interrupted Friar Perez. 
 '* Had thy vow remained unuttered, thou wouldst now 
 be many fathoms deep beneath the stormy waves of 
 the ocean. Beatriz Enriquez would be a widow, and 
 desolate. It is as if thou hadst been parted from her 
 by death, and then restored to life by the intercession 
 of the saints, and the new life is not thine own. It is 
 devoted to the service of God." 
 
 Colon caught Juan Perez's hand and was about to 
 press it to his lips, when the worthy friar withdrew it 
 quickly, and clasped his friend in his arms. The eyes 
 of both were moist with tears. 
 
 " Since thou hast broken with the love which too 
 often imperils the soul," said Perez, " thou wilt find 
 that there is a friendship which is like the love of 
 angels." 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THROUGH DEEP WATERS. 
 
 "DEATRIZ sat one morning in her room in Ro- 
 ■*-^ drigo's house with Fernando, who leaned against 
 her knee, while a gayly illuminated manuscript was 
 spread upon her lap from which the child was learn- 
 ing his letters. In the deep embrasure of the arched 
 window Diego sat upon a cushion, busy also with a 
 book, from which now and then he directed a glance 
 of loving admiration towards the mother and child ; 
 and often his look was returned with a smile, in the 
 pauses of the lesson. 
 
 " Did you in truth study out of this book when you 
 were a little girl?" asked Fernando, willing to divert 
 attention from too strict an enforcement of his duty. 
 
 " Yes," answered Beatriz ; " my dear mother held 
 me just so, with her arm about me, and pointed out 
 the A's and the O's and that great yellow T, with the 
 dragon curled about it. That seemed to me a beautiful 
 letter. I wondered at the patience of the good monks, 
 who worked so faithfully with pen and brush to preserve 
 these old stories for us. Now they print the letters, 
 and it is much easier and quicker ; but they are no 
 longer beautiful." 
 
 "The stories are the same," said Diego. "That 
 legend of San Cristoval is in this study-book of mine ; 
 
184 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 but here it is told in Latin. At La Rabida they had 
 more than a hundred books, — some written, some 
 printed." 
 
 Beatriz nodded, with a sudden wistful dilating of 
 the eyes, as if she saw a vision from the past. She 
 mechanically continued Fernando's lesson ; but she 
 no longer responded to his childish remarks. 
 
 *' Here comes Don Rodrigo home from Seville ! " 
 exclaimed Diego, looking from the window. " The 
 horse he has ridden is white with foam, and all the 
 servants are running to meet him." 
 
 "Can there be bad news?" exclaimed Beatriz, 
 rising and hurrying to the window. Her brother 
 saw her, and waved his hat three times about his 
 head. He was smiling, and talking eagerly. Beatriz 
 ran through the house and into the courtyard, fol- 
 lowed by the two boys. Half a dozen voices were 
 by this time retailing the story that Rodrigo had 
 brought. 
 
 " Cristoval Colon has returned ! The tidings have 
 come from Lisbon. He found a vast new country in 
 the Western sea, and has brought back from it plants 
 and animals, gold and jewels, and some of the natives 
 of those strange lands." 
 
 Beatriz ran to her brother, and clasped his arm. 
 
 " Is it true ? Has my husband returned ? Is he 
 safe and well?" she asked. 
 
 ** Yes, yes," answered Rodrigo, while he kissed his 
 wife and Beatriz, and gave a hand to Fernando and 
 Diego. 
 
 " And our Juan? " asked Antonia. 
 
 " Safe too," he answered ; " though only one ship 
 returns, and my brother Diego remains behind. He 
 
THROUGH DEEP WA TERS. 185 
 
 is left in command of a fortress in the island of His- 
 paniola, until the Admiral shall return again to relieve 
 him and enlarge the settlement, — the first made in 
 the new world. It is a glorious triumph for the Ad- 
 miral ; and thou, my sister, art the wife of a man whose 
 name is sounded from the Tagus to the Guadalquivir, 
 and farther still, throughout the countries of Europe. 
 The King of Portugal received him as if he had been 
 a prince, and made him sit covered beside him. 
 Doubtless the King of Spain will do him yet greater 
 honor, since it is he who will profit by Colon's suc- 
 cess ; while King John is vexed with envy that Portugal 
 has had no hand in the achievement." 
 
 " And our Juan will share in the distinction," said 
 Antonia. "We, too, who aided and abetted Colon, and 
 sent our son and brother with him, — we shall not be 
 forgotten, I hope? " 
 
 " No one is much regarded in the matter save the 
 Admiral himself," said Rodrigo. " To hear the talk 
 of the people, thou wouldst think him a demi-god ; 
 but nothing is known as yet with certainty. The king 
 and queen are at Barcelona, and Colon is reported to 
 be still with his ship, and now on his homeward way. 
 When we see him, we shall know all ; but no doubt, 
 their Highnesses will summon him first to them, as is 
 but fitting, since he is their Viceroy." 
 
 Fernando was running about among the servants, 
 telling each in succession that his father had come 
 home, and was now a man as great as the king. 
 Beatriz stood leaning on Diego's arm, while tears 
 of joy fell from her eyes. 
 
 " Thank God, thank God ! " was all that she could 
 say. 
 
1 86 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 Diego held his head proiully, and smiled trium- 
 phantly. In Rodiigo's household his place had been 
 given him by sufferance, and he was often reminded 
 that he had no share in the noble f:imily of the En- 
 ritpiezes de Arana. They were now basing their 
 future hopes on the connection with the despised 
 Genoese, who had achieved, as they had never done, 
 world-wide distinction. 
 
 After the news had been discussed and commented 
 upon with every note of admiration and wonder, the 
 little circle broke up to spread it further among friends 
 and neighbors. Eeatriz hastened to the cathedral to 
 offer her thanksgivings under its solemn arches. Her 
 heart was full to overflowing, as she knelt at the shrine 
 which was doubly consecrated to her as the place where 
 she had first met her husband. The memory of that 
 day came back vividly, and that of the last time they 
 knelt here together, hand in hand. She could hardly 
 wait now for the days to pass which must elapse be- 
 fore he should again kneel at her side, and join with 
 her in praise to the God who had blessed and pre- 
 ser\^ed him. 
 
 " Joy ! joy ! " the swallows seemed to sing, as they 
 darted and twittered outside, under the arches of the 
 courtyard. Every one she met as she went homeward 
 seemed to Bcatriz to recognize her as the wife of Don 
 Colon the Admiral, and to congratulate her with a 
 friendly smile. Rodrigo's house was decorated at 
 doors and windows with fluttering pennons, and at 
 night with candles and torches. Old friends and 
 new crowded the house to hear more of the strange 
 tidings, which were scanty at the best, but which 
 included the great and amazing fact of the discovery 
 
THROUGH DEEP WATERS. 187 
 
 of a new world, and offered unlimited scope for 
 conjecture. 
 
 "You are a great lady now, Seiiora," said old 
 Teresa, as she assisted her mistress to disrobe for the 
 night, — an office which she refused to depute to any 
 of the younger maids. " You will live in state like 
 one of the queen's ladies, or the princesses themselves 
 maybe, for they tell that King John treated Senor 
 Don Colon like a prince of the blood." 
 
 Beatriz took up her polished mirror, and gazed 
 earnestly into it, with a smile on her lips. 
 
 "Have I changed, Teresa, in all these months?" 
 she asked. " Do 1 look older than when he left 
 me?" 
 
 " Now that you smile in that joyous way, you look 
 for all the world as you did when you sat beside Senor 
 Colon at your wedding-supper," said Teresa. " I 
 never saw you look so beautiful before or since till 
 now. Oh, he will be happy to see your face once 
 more ! I warrant he has seen none like it in travelling 
 over half the world." 
 
 " Fie upon thee, Teresa, for a flatterer ! " said 
 Beatriz. " If happiness can make one beautiful, I 
 shall seem so. No one can know the weary pain of 
 parting when there is no certain day of return to look 
 forward to. Could I have known, even a week ago, 
 that to-day he would be in Spain, — for he has doubt- 
 less ere this landed safely in Palos, — could I have 
 counted the hours and minutes, it would have been a 
 solace to me, for never has my heart been so heavy 
 as of late." 
 
 " You will look well in robes of velvet and satin, 
 decked with the jewels he will bring," said Teresa. 
 
1 88 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 " I have heard no account of what treasures he has 
 found ; but at any time a courier may arrive with a 
 laden pack- mule, that Senor Colon will surely send in 
 advance of his coming. I hope I may have the un- 
 doing of the packages. Pearls I warrant there will 
 be as big as hen's eggs, — for such 1 have heard they 
 have in the Indies, — and diamonds and carbuncles 
 to outshine the queen's." 
 
 " Thou mayst be disappointed in thy fine dreams, 
 Teresa," said Beatriz. " I ask none of the riches 
 thou dost picture, if I but have my husband once 
 more beside me. I have been lonely without 
 him." 
 
 She leaned her head upon her hand and sighed. 
 
 " He will come fiist enough," said Teresa. " Do 
 not lose your smiles, Seiiora. Grief and tears make 
 wrinkles which laughter smoothes out. He will have 
 many affairs to attend to, for great men's time is 
 never their own, and the king and queen must be 
 served first, let a man be ten times married." 
 
 Beatriz smiled through unshed tears. 
 
 " I am too impatient," she said ; "■ but can I be 
 sure, Teresa, that he longs to come to me? I would 
 not doubt his affection ; but now that he is great and 
 triumphant, will not the notice of the king and the 
 praise of the world suffice for his reward, and the life 
 of the court be more to his taste than the quiet home 
 in Cordova? " 
 
 "You do but talk that I may contradict you," said 
 Teresa. "Would you not fly to him if you had 
 wings? Surely he loves you as well as you love 
 him." 
 
 " Ah, Teresa, do men ever love so well as women? " 
 
 I 
 
THROUGH DEEP WATERS. 189 
 
 asked Beatriz. " How soon, thinkcst thou, will he 
 write to me?" 
 
 "When he can first obtain the use of paper and 
 ink," answered Teresa ; " but if he is like me, it will 
 take him some time further to fill a sheet. I once 
 had the parish priest write a letter for me to my son 
 in Salamanca ; but though the carrier was waiting to 
 bear it, I had to let him go and send it by the next, 
 for with all I had to say, I could not get beyond the 
 ' God bless thee's ' and ' How is thy health? ' and the 
 priest had no time to sit all day at my bidding. So, 
 with this and that, it was a week ere it was finished." 
 
 " I would go to him did I dare venture," said 
 Beatriz ; " but to meet him unbidden, — perhaps un- 
 welcome, amid the cares he is burdened with, — that 
 would not be the meeting I should choose." 
 
 " Wait but a day or two, a week at the most," 
 said Teresa. " If you do not hear in that time, I will 
 forfeit my week's earnings and buy myself a fool's 
 cap and bells." 
 
 The letter upon whose arrival Teresa had staked 
 her reputation for sagacity came one day, together 
 with a sealed casket from Seville, brought by the 
 royal post messenger. The whole family gathered in 
 delighted expectation to see the seals broken, the 
 gifts displayed, and the more precious letter unfolded. 
 Beatriz opened it with trembling hands. It was the 
 second letter which her husband had addressed to 
 her; and, as before, the household surrounded her 
 with an eager desire for tidings. Old Don Fernando 
 sat in his great chair, his wasted frame propped up 
 with cushions, and his thin hands clutching nervously 
 at the tassels of his robe. 
 
190 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 " It is only a small casket," he said, in a child- 
 ish tone of petulant disappointment. "Were it 
 full of gold, it would not be the half that I ex- 
 pected." 
 
 " It is light," said Teresa, weighing it in her arms. 
 " It holds pearls and emeralds, mayhap, of which a 
 few would make a fortune." 
 
 "Hold thy peace!" commanded Rodrigo; "the 
 letter is to be read." 
 
 "There is an inner folded sheet for me," said 
 Beatriz, '* which I will read alone if it please' you ; 
 and here are only a few words to mention the gifts in 
 the casket, and to whom they are sent. Open it, and 
 distribute them, Rodrigo." 
 
 She handed the sheet of paper to her brother, and 
 ran to her room, full of eager happiness. Rodrigo 
 opened the casket, and displayed to the inquisitive 
 spectators first a small stuffed bird of gorgeous 
 plumage. 
 
 " The bird," he read, tracing the place with his 
 finger upon the written sheet of directions, " is for 
 my little Fernando. It cannot sing, but it may tell 
 him of the strange land where it built its nest. The 
 carved gourd is for my son Diego ; perhaps the 
 water he quaffs from it may have an unwonted power 
 of refreshment. The golden cincture and the brace- 
 lets of gold are for Beatriz Enriquez. The solid 
 ingot of gold is for her father. The iron-wood spear- 
 head is for Pedro de Arana. The two chains of shells 
 are for Don Rodrigo and Antonia his wife. Other 
 gifts to them will be carried by their son Juan, who 
 will shortly return to his home in Cordova. The ball 
 of spun cotton is for the good Teresa. Be assured of 
 
THRO UGH D EEP WA TERS. 1 9 1 
 
 my affectionate remembrance, and pray for the good 
 of my soul." 
 
 It was signed with a curious cipher, which indicated 
 the initials of his name and of the saints he especially 
 worshipped. 
 
 " What ! " cried Don Enriquez, " only this pitiful 
 lump of gold in place of the vast riches he promised 
 me?" 
 
 " It is an earnest of more," said Rodrigo, conceal- 
 ing his own disappointment. *' It is absolutely pure, 
 and of greater value than one would think. Then, 
 see the odd-shaped girdle and bracelets which he has 
 sent his wife. They are of pure gold, though thin, 
 and chiefly of worth from their rarity." 
 
 " No jewels, no pearls ! " exclaimed Teresa, " and 
 only a ball of cotton for me. The linen I spin is far 
 finer." 
 
 " It is something to show to thy grandchildren," 
 said Rodrigo. " It was spun by the fingers of the 
 strange natives of unknown regions. And here, 
 Antonia, is the chain he sends thee." 
 
 "Worthless shells ! " said Antonia, almost in tears. 
 " I hope our Juan has more than this to show for his 
 travels ! " 
 
 *' Thou dost not consider that these are but tokens 
 which Colon , has hastily collected and sent in ad- 
 vance," said Rodrigo, reassuringly. " He will bring 
 when he comes things of greater value, too heavy to 
 be carelessly transported. Further explorations in a 
 country so rich in gold on a first essay will doubtless 
 load a ship to the water's edge. The talk is already 
 of a second expedition. Beatriz will have more to 
 tell us when she has read her letter, and Juan will 
 soon be here to answer all our questions." 
 
192 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 Meantime Beatriz had locked herself within her 
 room, and falling upon her knees beside her couch, 
 she spread the sheet of paper upon it, kissing the 
 letter, and pausing to wipe the tears of joy from her 
 eyes. As she read it she sank upon the floor, and 
 held it more closely before her. What did it mean? 
 Was she dreaming? The letter ran : — 
 
 To Beatriz Enriquez, to whoin my constant friendship 
 is and shall ever be given : 
 You will rejoice with me that I am brought by God's 
 grace safely to the conclusion of my enterprise. 
 
 '' What ! " thought Beatriz, while a sudden pang 
 pierced her heart. *' Does he write thus coldly, and 
 no longer say ihotc to me?" She read on hastily, 
 with growing anguish, as if each word made part of 
 her death-warrant : — 
 
 I write in the Franciscan convent in Seville, where I 
 have but now received a letter from our sovereigns or- 
 dering me to come at once to meet them in Barcelona, 
 and authorizing me to make all needful arrangements for 
 a new expedition, which I am to conduct forthwith to the 
 lands of the Indies. I have opened the way. Others 
 may follow. But I must still lead, since it may require 
 more than one weary voyage to gather the gold needed 
 to ransom the Sepulchre. When that purpose is achieved, 
 I have taken a vow to end my days in a convent ; and 
 until that time to lead, as much as may be, a life apart 
 from the world, since in answer to my prayer in a time of 
 peril I was delivered and brought safely to the end of my 
 voyage. The vow which I made in the hour of need is 
 the duty which I must perform. This you will confess, my 
 friend, when you consider that the life thus saved by a 
 miracle is no longer mine, nor yours, but, being the new 
 
THROUGH DEEP WATERS. 193 
 
 gift of God, belongs henceforth to him. Juan de Arana 
 will relate to you more fully the danger we were in. But 
 for my vow, I and all with me would have perished. Yet, 
 I pray you, guard the secret of it, which none knows but 
 my friend. Friar Juan Perez; for since I must live for 
 weary years in the tumult of the world, I cannot as yet 
 openly declare it. I now wear the Franciscan garb; but 
 when the king gives me audience, I must hide it under 
 robes of state. This is pain and torment to me. I would 
 that the quiet walls of a convent already enclosed me. 
 Pray for my soul's good, as I shall ever do for yours. 
 Turn to God for your consolation, and may his blessing 
 ever be with you ! 
 
 Cristoval Colon. 
 
 Beatriz read the letter again and again, but she 
 could hardly grasp the fatal truth that it contained. 
 Could it be her husband who wrote thus? Was the 
 tie between them severed, and by his choice? At 
 first, indignation mingled with the storm of grief that 
 overwhelmed her, — the instinctive anger that rebels 
 against an unmerited blow. 
 
 " Cruel, heartless man ! " she cried, wringing her 
 hands. '* Thou hast never loved me. Thou knowest 
 not what it is to love." But the past was too full 
 of happy memories to enable her to maintain this 
 charge. " If he still loves me, he must suffer as I 
 do," she thought, with a quick change of feeling, — 
 '' nay, more, since he must grieve to inflict such pain 
 on one beloved." 
 
 Again she read the letter, and thought she could 
 detect, beneath its careful repression of emotion, an 
 undertone of sadness. Forgetting self, she was filled 
 with an infinite pity for the man who had injured her. 
 
 " Poor soul ! " she sobbed, " homeless and lonely, 
 13 
 
194 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 weary and sad, in the midst of his triumph. Will he 
 find peace in the new life I cannot share? Will he 
 be happier in his convent than in our quiet home? " 
 
 She sprang to her feet, and paced the floor. Fer- 
 nando came and tapped upon her door, calling her 
 name. She clinched her hands, and pressed them 
 to her heart ; but she made no answer. P'ernando's 
 confidence in his f^ither must not be shaken. 
 
 " It is no sin to love one's child," she said to her- 
 self with bitter irony. " Fernando is not cast off and 
 denied ; he may still love and be loved. He must 
 not know that his father can be cruel." 
 
 The thought that time was passing, that her secret 
 must be kept, that her lips must smile while her heart 
 was breaking, made her nerve herself to gain the com- 
 posure which seemed impossible of attainment. There 
 was a sudden sound of lamentation in the house, and 
 Beatriz flung open her door in terror. Rodrigo was 
 calling her. 
 
 " Come quickly, Beatriz, to my father ! " 
 
 Beatriz ran at his summons. She found him in the 
 hall bending over Don Fernando, who still sat in his 
 cushioned chair. The old man held the ingot of gold 
 tightly clutched in his fingers ; but they were stiff and 
 motionless. He was dead. 
 
 Antonia was wailing, and wringing her hands. " We 
 left him alone, as it chanced," she said. " I asked 
 before I went if he would return to his chamber, but 
 he shook his head and seemed about to fall asleep. 
 It was Diego who found him thus, dead, with Colon's 
 gift still in his hand." 
 
 Beatriz sank upon the floor in a swoon. Fernando 
 and Diego both cried out that she was dying ; and 
 
THROUGH DEEP WATERS. 195 
 
 the house that had been so full of joy was for a time 
 in the confusion of the wildest grief. Beatriz, who 
 had revived only to fall again into a stupor, lay uncon- 
 scious upon her couch ; and in the great state cham- 
 ber the priests, who had been hastily summoned, 
 prayed beside Don Fernando's bier. Rodrigo de- 
 voted himself to Antonia, who was overcome by her 
 feelings, and required her husband's constant attend- 
 ance. The servants sat whispering in the kitchen. 
 Teresa was sobbing beside her mistress's bed. 
 
 In the midst of this disorder a Dominican friar 
 entered the house of mourning, and took upon him- 
 self the relinquished authority of its head. He sent 
 the two boys, who were frightened and forgotten, to 
 the house of a neighbor. He gave each servant a 
 necessary task ; and entering Beatrix's room, he took 
 her hand, felt her pulse, and rebuking Teresa's loud 
 demonstrations of grief, ordered her to bring a cup of 
 wine of an old and strong vintage. 
 
 "■ Her heart is weak," he said. " She needs a stim- 
 ulant to assist its action." 
 
 Teresa hurried to do his bidding, impressed by his 
 tone and manner, which commanded obedience. 
 When she had gone, the cowled friar took her seat at 
 the bedside, his fingers still lightly touching the wrist 
 of his unconscious patient. Suddenly he stooped and 
 picked up a letter which lay open upon the floor. He 
 read it with a quick, devouring gaze, then folded it and 
 slipped it beneath Beatrix's hand. The touch aroused 
 her. She sat up and opened her eyes as Teresa en- 
 tered the room, and she stretched out her arms to the 
 old nurse, like a child who wishes to be comforted. 
 
 " Father ! Cristoval ! " she cried, and sank back 
 
jgS COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 among the pillows with a burst of tears. Teresa 
 smoothed her hair with a caressing touch, and offered 
 her the wine, which she swallowed obediently. 
 
 " Do not weep for your father, my daughter," said 
 the friar ; " though he died unshriven, let us hope 
 that he was prepared, and that his soul is in 
 Paradise." 
 
 Beatriz for the first time noticed the Dominican. 
 She started in alarm, and her fingers closed instinc- 
 tively upon the letter which lay within her grasp. She 
 looked at it, and then thrust it hastily within her 
 bosom. 
 
 " Leave me alone with the senora," said the friar 
 to Teresa, with a commanding wave of the hand. " I 
 have words of consolation which are for her alone." 
 
 ^' Do not go," said Beatriz ; " Don Garcia may 
 speak before you what he has to say." 
 
 " Holy Virgin ! " cried Teresa, raising her eyes in 
 amazement. " Is it really you, Don Garcia de Silva? " 
 
 " Friar Garcia," he corrected her. " I have taken 
 the vows of the Dominicans, and no longer live in the 
 world. I was about to say, Senora, that the letter 
 which I found upon the floor, and have just read, does 
 not surprise me." 
 
 " Go, Teresa," said Beatriz, quickly ; " but first help 
 me to the window. The air is stifling." 
 
 She walked with tottering footsteps to the window- 
 seat, where she sank upon the cushion and leaned 
 half fainting upon the sifl. 
 
 " Go ! " she repeated. " I wifl call thee when I 
 need thee." Then she turned to Garcia. " Why are 
 you here?" she asked. "How dare you read the 
 letter which was for my eye alone?" 
 
THROUGH DEEP WATERS, 197 
 
 Garcia rose and paced the floor before her, with 
 his head bent, and his hands clasped behind his 
 back. 
 
 " I came to you because you were in trouble," he 
 said. " I am never ignorant of what concerns you. 
 The vision of Ben Hamet is thus fulfilled. We have 
 now a common cause to hate the man who has wrecked 
 both our lives. It may console your wounded pride 
 to know that he who has injured you shall not escape 
 with impunity. He is now great and triumphant, on 
 the topmost wave of success. I am a poor obscure 
 friar ; but justice will be done in the end. I shall fol- 
 low him with my vengeance, though half the world 
 lies between us. To my hatred of him is added the 
 flame of righteous anger, since henceforth I champion 
 your cause. I will track him as the wolf tracks its 
 prey. I will rend his heart with anguish, such as you 
 suffer now. He shall give tear for tear, pang for pang. 
 He shall find no peace in living, or comfort in death. 
 His age shall be without honor, and his hopes in Ufe 
 shall be blasted." 
 
 He had spoken with a fierce rapidity which Beatriz 
 tried in vain to interrupt. She now straightened her 
 slender figure, and looked at him with an expression 
 of courageous self-renunciation. 
 
 " I love the man whom you denounce," she said. 
 " Your words, contrary to your purpose, have given 
 me a new object in life. Instead of the empty black- 
 ness of despair to which I looked forward, I now see 
 a divine mission prepared for me. I will heal the 
 wounds that you inflict. I will warn him against your 
 machinations. I will spend my days in working for 
 his happiness, and in furthering his ambitions," 
 
198 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 *' Foolish one ! " exclaimed Garcia. *• How blind 
 is a woman's love ! Hope not to oppose thyself to 
 me. Thou canst not mingle with the world, nor inllu- 
 ence the intrigues of court politics. Already Seiior 
 Colon has been in danger from a whisper which 
 reached the sovereign's ears, that while he lingered in 
 Portugal, it was more from choice than necessity, and 
 that he was plotting to relinquish the fruits of his 
 discovery into the hands of King John. How the ru- 
 mor started who can tell? It foiled of the mark, but 
 other poisoned arrows sent by an unseen hand may 
 prove more f:ital. And thou in thy retirement, igno- 
 rant of all that passes, — thou wouldst attempt the guar- 
 dianship of thy recreant husband, the man who has 
 cast thee off in the hour of his triumph, as a wanton 
 child in the heyday of his sport plucks a flower but 
 to fling it aside." 
 
 Beatriz did not lose her composure. 
 
 " I have suffered too much to be hurt by words," 
 she said, " though yours contain a poignant sting. 
 For myself, there is nothing to fear. I am stronger 
 than you think. You can only hurt me by injuring 
 him ; and I beg you will remember, Garcia de Silva, 
 that when you assail with secret malignity the noblest 
 of men, you are giving me the anguish you pretend 
 you would willingly spare me." 
 
 "If thou wilt cling to the man who discards thee, 
 I can spare thee no pain, thou art foredoomed," said 
 Garcia. *' Pride, self-reliance, a scorn for him who 
 has given thee the crudest wound a woman can suffer, 
 a willingness that he should pay the penalty he has 
 deserved, — this would make thee free to live a Hfe 
 of happiness. Thy beauty would make thee renowned. 
 
THROUGH DKKP WATERS. 199 
 
 Thou couldst crmimund influence to advance thee in 
 any sphere of life, even the highest. Poets would sing 
 thy i)raises. Artists would c(;[;y thy features. Do not 
 embrace a dead past. Forget it. Rise in thy wo- 
 man's pride, and trample it under foot." 
 
 " My husband has done no purposed wrong," said 
 Beatriz, ignoring his words concerning herself. " A 
 mistaken devotion has forced him to a decision, for 
 which I must innocently suffer ; but I blame him not 
 for the grief he inflicts. If his vow were necessary to 
 preserve his safety, should I not willingly accept this 
 suffering, that he may live? " 
 
 CJarcia looked at her with wondering admiration. 
 
 " He was never worthy of thee," he said. " No man 
 can deserve such love." 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE TRIUMPH. 
 
 T ITTLE Fernando came home the day after his 
 ■^ grandfather's funeral. He was oppressed by 
 the quiet of the house, his mother's tears and mourn- 
 ing robes. He asked a hundred questions with child- 
 hood's innocently cruel bluntness. 
 
 *• I do not like it here," he said. '* When will my 
 father come? When shall we live in the old house 
 again? " 
 
 " I cannot tell. Run now and play with Diego," 
 said Beatriz. 
 
 " Diego will not play," answered Fernando. " He 
 has grown so old, and he is as quiet as a priest ; and 
 every one weeps now. Aunt Antonia chides me if I 
 make a noise. I wish my father would come and 
 make me a kite. He will be surprised to see how 
 well I can shoot." 
 
 At this moment Diego came running into the room. 
 
 "Your cousin Juan has come, Fernando," he said. 
 " Mother, Juan is here." 
 
 "And my father too? " cried Fernando, leaping for 
 joy. " Has he come too? " 
 
 He did not wait for an answer, but rushed to wel- 
 come the wanderers. When Beatriz joined the family 
 circle, Fernando was weeping loudly for a disappoint- 
 
THE TRIUMPH. 201 
 
 ment which no one understood. Juan de Arana had 
 not heard of his grandfather's death until he reached 
 Cordova. He preserved a proper solemnity of man- 
 ner, but he was not deeply affected by the old man's 
 death. His joy at reaching home far outbalanced his 
 grief, and by degrees the others caught the contagion 
 of his gay humor. Beatriz alone was unable to smile 
 in the general happiness which Juan's return diffused. 
 She listened eagerly to his stories, and begged him to 
 tell the details of the storm, which, with a young man's 
 neglect of past danger, he was disposed to pass over 
 as of Httle consequence. 
 
 " But tell me, Juan, were you not in danger of 
 death? " she urged. 
 
 " Oh, yes, we were saved as if by a miracle," he 
 said. " For days we would not have given a real for 
 our chances of weathering the storm. But now that 
 is forgotten. The Admiral wished me to go with him 
 to Barcelona ; but I did not care to march in proces- 
 sion with Indians and monkeys to make a show for the 
 pleasure of their Highnesses. Home was the place I 
 longed for." 
 
 Antonia pressed her son's hand with a delighted 
 smile. Rodrigo looked with pride at the stalwart 
 young man. 
 
 "Do not take it as showing great love for his 
 parents," said Rodrigo to his wife. " I wager, our 
 boy stopped at a house by the gate for a kiss or two 
 first on his way here." 
 
 Juan blushed, but he laughed with frank good- 
 humor. " Not one or two, but a hundred," he said. 
 " My Anna has promised soon to fix the day for our 
 wedding." 
 
202 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 " Since thy grandfather has died, it must not be too 
 soon," said Antonia, repressing her smiles. 
 
 "But what of Colon?" asked Rodrigo, quickly. 
 "Why is he not with thee?" 
 
 Beatriz leaned against the back of the large carved 
 chair she sat in, and grasped the arms of it for 
 support. 
 
 " Oh, the Admiral," said Juan, " is too great a man 
 to think first of home." Here he recollected himself, 
 and cast an apologetic look at Beatriz. " Of course 
 he must wish to come, but he is no longer his own 
 master. The king and queen will have him satisfy 
 their ears with the account of all I have related to 
 you, and more besides ; for no one but Don Colon kept 
 the exact reckoning of our course, and no one could 
 well retrace it without his guidance. Thus he is to 
 be sent back at once with more ships and men ; and 
 more wish to go than the whole navy of Spain could 
 carry. They may go this time without me." 
 
 "Thou wilt then give up all thy hopes of riches?" 
 said Rodrigo ; " for the profits of the first venture seem 
 but scanty." 
 
 " Gold is not there to be had merely for the carry- 
 ing of it," said Juan, "and others are welcome to 
 what they find. I am content to stay in Cordova with 
 my Anna." 
 
 " He is a lovesick boy," said Antonia, laughing. 
 
 " I am not sick with love," said Juan, stoutly ; " but 
 if love is not worth more than gold, the poets have 
 told lies." 
 
 " Love is the gold of youth," said Rodrigo ; " enjoy 
 it while it is lavished upon thee. When thou art 
 old, experience will teach thee that the yellow metal 
 
THE TRIUMPH. 203 
 
 lasts when smiles have faded, and hearts have grown 
 
 cold." 
 
 " Will not Colon come to see his wife and children 
 before he again leaves Spain?" asked Antonia, with 
 severity. 
 
 '' Heaven pity me for my forgetfulness ! " exclaimed 
 Juan ; " and do you, Aunt Beatriz, forgive me. The 
 Admiral desired me to say that the cares of business 
 would prevent his coming to Cordova, but that he 
 begged you to send his sons, Diego and Fernando, to 
 Palos, where he could embrace them and take farewell 
 of them before he sailed again. Friar Perez will send 
 an escort for the boys, and will engage to return them 
 in safety to you again." 
 
 " How is this?" exclaimed Antonia. " Has he sent 
 no message to his wife? " 
 
 Juan shook his head with a deprecating look. An- 
 tonia and Rodrigo looked at Beatriz's pallid face and 
 trembling lips with anxious curiosity. 
 
 *' My husband has explained the matter to my satis- 
 faction in his letter to me," said Beatriz, struggling to 
 maintain her composure. 
 
 "Thou art more easily satisfied than I should be," 
 said Antonia. " What ! send for his children, and not 
 for his wife ! I have always told thee he did not love 
 thee well." 
 
 The tears overflowed Beatriz's eyes, but she wiped 
 them hastily away. 
 
 <'Thou hast no right to misjudge him thus, be- 
 ing ignorant of the necessity of his position," she 
 replied. 
 
 " Be quiet, Antonia ! " said Rodrigo, with a warning 
 look at his wife. 
 
204 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 *'Thou canst not stop my mouth," said Antonia. 
 " I declare it to be a crying shame that Colon's wife 
 is not now at his side. Now that he sits in the pres- 
 ence of kings, she too should be honored, and her 
 family with her, the more so since an Enriquez 
 stooped low to marry the wool-comber's son. Thus 
 does good fortune change a man. I can never for- 
 give him." 
 
 Pedro Enriquez had finished his studies in Sala- 
 manca, and was visiting a friend in Barcelona when 
 the news of his father's death reached him too late 
 for him to return to the funeral. Having heard of 
 his brother-in-law's triumphant success and expected 
 arrival in Barcelona, he deferred his departure in 
 order to meet and congratulate the famous Admiral. 
 
 On the day of Colon's entrance Barcelona was 
 decorated as if for a royal progress. Every balcony 
 was gay with garlands and banners, and rich tapes- 
 tries were stretched from house to house across the 
 narrow streets. The day was bright with sunshine, 
 and the soft spring breezes stirred the floating pen- 
 nons, and the fluttering mantles of the ladies, who sat 
 in every window and balcony. The streets were 
 thronged with a pushing and struggling but good- 
 humored crowd. Peasants and villagers, with eyes 
 and mouth agape, elbowed citizens and artisans fresh 
 from their shops and work-benches. Those were 
 fortunate who could from the house-tops obtain the 
 earliest tidings, and watch the movements of the cav- 
 alcade of nobles and grandees who were deputed 
 to wait by the gates and welcome the Viceroy of 
 the Indies. 
 
THE TRIUMPH. 205 
 
 At the royal palace great preparations had been 
 made for the reception. A side wall of the audience 
 hall had been removed, and a platform built which 
 extended toward the square, while the two royal 
 thrones and the seat of the Prince Royal were re- 
 inforced by a richly decorated arm-chair destined 
 for the Admiral. Over all extended a canopy of 
 gold brocade. 
 
 When a shout from thousands of throats announced 
 Colon's entrance into the city, and the royal messen- 
 gers sent from the gates confirmed the tidings, the 
 king and queen took their places on their thrones, 
 with the dignitaries of the kingdoms of Castile and 
 Aragon on either side, and the attendants of their 
 households about them in their proper places. The 
 nobles and prelates with the ladies of the palace 
 crowded the spaces reserved for them in the great 
 hall ; and Pedro de Arana, by the favor of a friend, 
 obtained a place among the foremost. 
 
 The little procession which wound through the 
 streets made no show of pomp or splendor. Sail- 
 ors with sunburned and weather-beaten faces followed 
 the royal standard, which was carried by a pilot. 
 They bore branches of strange trees, tree-like ferns, 
 great calabashes, and tall reeds ; various mineral and 
 vegetable products suited for use in medicine or in 
 the arts ; a show of golden ornaments and weapons 
 of different sorts. Then came cages, carried by 
 poles at the four corners, filled with living animals, 
 and platforms where stuffed beasts and birds were 
 arranged in strange juxtaposition. An enormous alli- 
 gator divided the attention with a huge snake. But 
 the most striking feature of the parade was afforded 
 
2o6 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 by the seven Indians, with their dark skins almost 
 hidden by red and white paint, their singular costumes, 
 including strange decorations of the hair, broad brace- 
 lets and anklets, and strings of beads. The Admiral 
 walked last, with a firm step and a calm face, un- 
 moved by the shouts of the crowding multitude, who 
 were with difficulty kept at a distance by his squires. 
 
 When he ascended the platform, the procession 
 had formed on two sides, and remained standing while 
 he advanced through the hall to the royal thrones. 
 The sovereigns rose at his approach, and insisted 
 that he should be seated in the chair reserved for 
 him before they resumed their places, and that he 
 should wear his hat in their presence as a grandee 
 of Spain. They listened with eager attention to the 
 account he gave, at their command, of the new world 
 he had discovered, which he illustrated by the dif- 
 ferent products he had brought with him. These 
 were presented at the appropriate moment, at the 
 foot of the throne, by the native Indians, who ad- 
 vanced at his signal, and displayed their gifts to 
 the sovereigns. The Admiral was willing to deepen 
 the impression he had made by every legitimate 
 means; and these strange children of the unknown 
 world were of more interest to the devout Isabella 
 than any of its richest productions. It was for their 
 salvation from the darkness of heathenism that the 
 expedition had been undertaken, as Columbus re- 
 minded the king and queen. Countless multitudes 
 were waiting the message which the servants of the 
 Cross would carry to them by the path which he 
 had opened. It was a glorious prospect, which 
 would redound more to their credit than the acqui- 
 
THE TRIUMPH. 207 
 
 sition of the vast territories which he had gained 
 for them. 
 
 Isabella, with a sudden impulse of religious enthu- 
 siasm, fell upon her knees ; and all present, moved 
 by sympathy, followed her example, praising God for 
 the glorious achievement, while the choir of the 
 royal chapel chanted the " Te Deum." Then the 
 Admiral was conducted to the lodgings prepared for 
 him, and the pageant was over, though never to be 
 forgotten by those who had witnessed it. 
 
 Colon was wearied by the events of the day, but 
 he could not deny himself to the friends who came 
 to congratulate him. Alonzo de Quintanilla, Luis 
 de Santangel, the two Geraldinis, and the painter 
 De Castro were among the rest. At a late hour 
 Pedro Enriquez presented himself. He had been 
 delayed by difficulties surrounding his admission, and 
 he had found it necessary to press his claim of re- 
 lationship before he obtained a grudging permission 
 to enter from a Franciscan friar who seemed to be 
 of chief authority in the Admiral's household. 
 
 " He has seen many people, and is about to retire 
 to rest," said the friar; "but since you will take no 
 denial he will, perchance, receive you." 
 
 Pedro found Colon alone in his bedchamber. The 
 Admiral had divested himself of his splendid gar- 
 ments, and was clad in the gray robe of a Franciscan 
 friar, with sandalled feet and a hempen girdle. No 
 one would have recognized the triumphant Viceroy of 
 the Indies and Admiral of the Ocean Sea, so strangely 
 metamorphosed. He blushed deeply, as Pedro sprang 
 forward to greet him. He gave his hand to the 
 young man, but did not offer to embrace him. Pedro 
 
2o8 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 was chilled by his reserve ; and his pride took alarm, 
 thinking that in the hour of success he was regarded 
 as an unwelcome intruder. 
 
 " Have you forgotten me ? " asked Pedro ; " have 
 I outgrown your remembrance?" 
 
 " I know you," said Colon ; '' you are the same, 
 though you are now a man. Are your family well?" 
 
 "My family?" repeated Pedro, in surprise; *'of 
 course you have heard of the death of my father." 
 
 "No," exclaimed Colon. " Is the old man dead? 
 Alas, alas ! Life is full of sorrow. Heaven alone can 
 console us." 
 
 He uttered the last words mechanically, as if they 
 were a set phrase, said from a sense of duty ; then, 
 as he met Pedro's fixed and wondering look, he rose 
 from his seat, and paced the floor in agitation. 
 
 " I grieve for your loss ; it will leave the house 
 lonely," he added. " How does your sister support 
 it?" 
 
 " My sister ? Beatriz ? It is a great grief to her, 
 of a certainty. But has she not written to you?" 
 
 "Since my return I have been ever moving," re- 
 plied Colon. " I wrote to her, but have as yet had 
 no answer." 
 
 " There must have been messages sent to you full 
 of joy at the good news which was afterward so 
 quickly saddened by my father's death," said Pedro. 
 " I return at once to Cordova, and will bear any 
 tokens you choose to send. When will you go 
 thither?" 
 
 " I am the servant of God and of the king," an- 
 swered Colon. " Everything is moving quickly for- 
 ward to a new expedition which I am to lead. 
 
THE TRIUMPH. 209 
 
 Life offers no rest for me. Say to your sister that 
 I sorrow for her loss ; that I will pray for God's 
 richest blessing upon her." 
 
 " She would rather hear the words from your own 
 lips," said Pedro, impatiently. " Can it be that you 
 will not hasten to console her in her bereavement? " 
 
 *' I dare not," repHed Colon, impulsively. He 
 regretted the words as soon as they were spoken, but 
 feeling it necessary to explain himself, he went on : 
 ** I have chosen a path of duty, Pedro, that leads me 
 away from love and happiness. Should I see Beatriz, 
 it would be but to distress her heart, as I have yours, 
 by repressed affection which shows like indifference." 
 
 " I cannot understand you," said Pedro, in be- 
 wilderment. " Is it possible," he added, with a sud- 
 den perception of the truth, " that you have taken the 
 vows your costume would indicate. You once wore 
 the garb of a Tertiary — " 
 
 '' But now that of a consecrated follower of Saint 
 Francis," continued Colon. "At present, Pedro, I 
 cannot openly declare it, for I am in the king's ser- 
 vice, and subject to conditions which interfere with 
 a formal profession ; but the vow is none the less 
 binding." 
 
 "Why have you done this?" cried Pedro. "It 
 will kill my sister." 
 
 Colon grew pale. " The vow was taken in a mo- 
 ment of great peril, when we were in danger of ship- 
 wreck, and no other promised penance availed," he 
 said. " My life was at stake ; and more than that, 
 the success of my life-long work — " 
 
 " What is that, compared with your duty as a 
 man?" interrupted Pedro, white with anger. "My 
 14 
 
210 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 sister placed her happiness in your hands, and you 
 basely sacrifice it to preserve your life. Better that 
 you were sunk in the depths of the ocean — " 
 
 The curtain was parted ; and Juan Perez, the gray- 
 haired Franciscan who had admitted Pedro, strode 
 into the room, with an uplifted hand. 
 
 *' Stop, impious youth ! " he cried in a voice of com- 
 mand. " Dare not to impeach with guilt the chosen 
 of Heaven. Look abroad through Barcelona to-day, 
 and you will see the value put upon the life which you 
 count as of less worth than a woman's contentment. 
 Hearts must bleed when death severs the ties of love 
 or kindred. Let one suffer, if need be, that a world 
 may rejoice. Cristoval Colon is the messenger of the 
 Lord to bear his name among the heathen, — to con- 
 vert a world lying in darkness to the knowledge of the 
 truth. Shall such a man be subject to the ordinary laws 
 of frail humanity? Must he be bound by any ties but 
 those of spiritual service, — the easy yoke and the 
 light burden of the Lord? Your sister is a worthy 
 woman, whom all praise for beauty and modesty. Let 
 her rejoice that she is found worthy to suffer for the 
 cause of humanity and the triumph of the Cross. Let 
 her think of her husband as one dead, yet raised by 
 a miracle to a new life, which is given in answer to 
 his vows. Thus shall she share in the rejoicing of the 
 Christian world. The Pope, the kings of the earth, 
 and all princes unite to-day in giving glory to God, 
 and praise to his servant Cristoval Colon. Will you 
 alone vex his noble spirit with unjust blame? " 
 
 Pedro was moved, in spite of himself, by this ap- 
 peal. He could not forget the gorgeous pageant of 
 the day, and the great honors paid to the Admiral by 
 
THE TRIUMPH, 21 1 
 
 the king and queen. He was silenced by a sense of 
 his own insignificance ; yet his indignation was not 
 lessened. Certain fundamental principles of justice 
 had been violated, it seemed to him. A law of hu- 
 manity had been broken. The subtleties of argu- 
 ment which appeared so unanswerable to Friar Perez, 
 and to which Colon turned for consolation and de- 
 fence, were to him no more than idle words. He 
 sighed, and twirled his hat in his hands. 
 
 " I must go with this for an answer, then," he 
 said. " I know not how I shall meet my sister with 
 the tidings." 
 
 "■ She knows my decision," said Colon. '* I have 
 written to her." 
 
 " Then she has already felt the blow," said Pedro ; 
 " and added to this is the death of our father, and 
 the possible loss of our brother Diego, whom you left 
 among the savages. How can a tender woman sur- 
 vive all this? I shall look to find her in her coffin ; 
 and were that the case, doubtless your friend the friar 
 here would assure me that we should rejoice in her 
 martyrdom, which has ministered to your fame." 
 
 " Thou art angry, Pedro," said Colon, kindly, with 
 the old affectionate manner of address, laying his hand 
 upon the young man's shoulder. " Dost thou not 
 credit me with human feelings? Dost thou not know 
 that my heart is torn with grief ? I must take up my 
 cross and bear it. Beatriz Enriquez must do the 
 same. But tell her for me, Pedro, that above ambi- 
 tion, above the hope even of the rescue of the Sep- 
 ulchre, far above all earthly glory, I cherish the ex- 
 pectation of that moment when, the sorrows of earth 
 being ended, I shall meet with her in Paradise." 
 
212 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 He turned away with tears running down his cheeks. 
 
 Tears rose also in Pedro's eyes. 
 
 '' I will tell her this," he said. *' Farewell." 
 Friar Perez conducted him into the outer hall, and 
 
 parted from him with a silent gesture of dismissal. 
 
 The moon rode in splendor through fleecy clouds. 
 
 The stars were bright points in the deep blue sky. 
 
 Pedro clinched his fist and shook it above his head, 
 
 as if accusing their immovable serenity. After 
 
 a sleepless night, he started at early dawn for 
 
 Cordova. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 A MESSAGE. 
 
 BEATRIZ'S delight at the arrival of her favorite 
 brother was the first reUef to her sorrow. Pedro 
 held her in his arms, and kissed her with such sym- 
 pathetic tenderness that Beatriz, laying her head upon 
 his shoulder, burst into tears. The weeping relieved 
 the tension of her feelings. She looked up with a 
 
 smile. 
 
 '* Thou art as ever an angel," said Pedro. " Come 
 with me for a walk in the garden." 
 
 Little Fernando ran after them, with a whoop and 
 halloo. Pedro caught him with pretended violence, 
 kissed him, and set him down, rolling him over and 
 over on the grass. 
 
 " Run and play with thy bow and arrow while I 
 talk to thy mother," he said; " then I will come and 
 show thee how we shoot at a target at Salamanca." 
 
 He took his sister's arm, and led her to a retired 
 seat in the shade. Fernando marched up and down 
 the garden alleys, now and then casting a wistful 
 crlance at his tall uncle, whose command he did not 
 dare to disobey. ^^ 
 
 " Thy child is left to be a comfort to thee," said 
 Pedro, speaking as his thought prompted him. 
 
 '' He is a lovely boy," said Beatriz, " noble and 
 generous, affectionate and brave. He is the sunshine 
 
214 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 of my life ; but before long I am to send him to Friar 
 Perez at Palos, where he is to meet his father and 
 take farewell of him. Later the queen has offered 
 to receive him into her household, and I must let 
 him go." 
 
 Beatriz spoke quietly ; but Pedro looked at her with 
 such an intensity of pity in his expression that her lip 
 quivered, and she turned her head away. 
 
 " A curse on the meddling monks ! " exclaimed 
 Pedro, with apparent irrelevancy. " I hope they will 
 not make a whining friar of the boy." 
 
 " As a page in her Highness's household, I hope 
 he will grow up to be a noble gentleman," said 
 Beatriz, " worthy to share with the good Diego his 
 father's legacy of honorable titles and emoluments. 
 But tell me, Pedro, what news dost thou bring from 
 Barcelona? " 
 
 Her question and her anxious look implied a hun- 
 dred urgent inquiries which she hesitated to utter. 
 
 *' I saw Colon, and spoke with him," said Pedro. 
 
 Beatriz changed color. " Tell me all," she said, — 
 " what he spoke, how he looked. I wish to picture 
 it to myself as if I had been there." 
 
 " Thou shouldst have been there, seated near the 
 queen, under the golden canopy," said Pedro, vehe- 
 mently ; " thou shouldst have shared his triumph, as 
 thou hast shared his struggles and his poverty." 
 
 Beatriz made a deprecating gesture. 
 
 " I will tell thee all just as I saw it," said Pedro, 
 swallowing his wrath ; and he described minutely the 
 entrance into Barcelona, the reception accorded to 
 the Admiral, and the honors which were paid him 
 by the sovereigns. 
 
A MESSAGE. 215 
 
 " Such a triumph was never seen before," he 
 added. " No conqueror of a kingdom, no hero 
 of battle, was ever welcomed with such an outburst 
 of enthusiastic exultation. From the king to the 
 meanest peasant, all unite in praising him and giving 
 him honor." 
 
 Beatriz's eyes shone with pleasure, and she smiled 
 proudly. " He is worthy of it," she said. " No 
 man ever lived before who was so inspired by devo- 
 tion to the service of Heaven and of mankind, and 
 so nobly indifferent to his own gain or glory, except 
 so far as it advances the glory of God." 
 
 " Or so indifferent to the wounds he inflicts upon 
 those who love him," added Pedro. 
 
 "What dost thou mean?" exclaimed Beatriz, her 
 smile changing to a look of pain. 
 
 Pedro's fingers worked nervously. 
 
 " I found him in the dress of a barefooted Fran- 
 ciscan," he said. " I surprised from him a con- 
 fession of the secret which concerns his vow and 
 which wrecks thy happiness. I reproached him for 
 his conduct toward thee ; and a friar who is his friend 
 stunned me with a torrent of eloquence, to prove how 
 happy thou shouldst be to suffer a grief inflicted by the 
 hand of so great a man. After this all that remained 
 for me was to say farewell; but before I left him, 
 Colon had the grace to weep. Some pang of con- 
 science touched him ; and he sent thee a message 
 of sympathy for the loss of thy father, and another 
 that I will repeat word for word. * Tell her,' he 
 said, * that above ambition, above the hope even 
 of the rescue of the Sepulchre, far above all earthly 
 glory, I cherish the expectation of that moment 
 
2l6 COLUMBUS AISFD BEATRIZ. 
 
 when, the sorrows of earth being ended, I shall meet 
 with her in Paradise.' " 
 
 Beatriz buried her face in her hands and remained 
 silent; while Pedro, with a face full of concern, 
 watched her, without daring to intrude upon her 
 emotion by a word. At last she lifted her head with 
 a look of noble resignation. 
 
 " God bless thee, Pedro, for delivering to me the 
 words I was longing to hear," she said. " He loves 
 me ; he will never forget me ; I must be content." 
 
 Fernando, who had approached by degrees, now 
 ran forward. 
 
 " I have waited too long," he said. " I think that 
 I can shoot already quite as well as they do at Sala- 
 manca. My father taught me how, long before he 
 went away ; and when I go to Palos, I am going to 
 beg him to take me with him to shoot the Indians." 
 
 Pedro laughed, and began to construct a target 
 for his nephew's amusement, while the rest of the 
 family gathered in the garden to hear Pedro's account 
 of the great day at Barcelona. Beatriz escaped to 
 her room. 
 
 Little by little the household of Rodrigo regained 
 its accustomed cheerfulness. Don Fernando's death 
 and Diego de Arana's indefinite absence having be- 
 come familiar facts, had lost their power to cause 
 more than a passing sigh. The two young men, 
 Pedro and his nephew Juan, filled the house with 
 gayety ; and Anna, Juan's betrothed, — a beautiful, 
 lively girl, — brought sunshine with her visits, and oc- 
 cupied Antonia's mind with congenial subjects for 
 reflection by asking her advice concerning her bridal 
 outfit. She was an orphan, a rich ward of Don 
 
A MESSAGE. 217 
 
 Alonzo Aguilar. The connection was one that would 
 advance the family. 
 
 Beatriz endeavored not to cloud the happiness 
 of others by an outward show of grief. The por- 
 trait of her husband hung in a recess of her room 
 carefully protected by silken curtains. When alone 
 she would seat herself before the portrait, and re- 
 main for hours sunk in a melancholy revery, study- 
 ing its features. Then she would rise and go 
 about her household duties, or attend to the di- 
 rection of the children's studies with energy and 
 cheerfulness. 
 
 The gay young Anna regarded her with a sort 
 of awe mingled with affectionate admiration. It had 
 become the general opinion that the Admiral, spoiled 
 by good fortune, had deserted his wife, whom, An- 
 tonia maintained, he had married only to advance 
 his ambition. Since no defence of his conduct was 
 offered, this story was accepted, and Beatriz became 
 the object of universal pity. It was a matter of com- 
 ment, however, that she bore her grief with the proud 
 serenity becoming her noble birth. No one could 
 detect a trace of repining or a tone of accusation 
 in her manner when she mentioned her husband. 
 She seemed to have sunk her individuality in an 
 unselfish sympathy with his success, and to look for 
 no other happiness than this, and that which she 
 enjoyed in her child. 
 
 Her influence with the boys, Fernando and Diego, 
 was that of a mother and an admired and beloved 
 friend. They learned from her at once a gentle 
 tenderness and a fearless rectitude. Fernando was 
 too young to feel the enthusiastic love for his mother 
 
2l8 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 which made his half-brother Diego join the thought 
 of her with his mental image of the Virgin ; and 
 when the time of parting came, it was Diego who lay 
 awake at night, anticipating its grief by drenching his 
 pillow with tears. 
 
 The good friar Sanchez came from Palos at the 
 appointed time to conduct the boys to their last 
 meeting with their father before he sailed on his 
 second voyage. Friar Sanchez gave a surprising 
 account of the greatness of the fleet which was to 
 sail for the new world. Instead of the little " Santa 
 Maria," the Admiral had now a large carack for his 
 flagship, bearing the name of the "Gracious Mary; " 
 and two other caracks and fourteen caravels were 
 under his command. 
 
 "The Admiral has taken the Blessed Virgin, the 
 patroness of our convent of La Rabida, to be also 
 the patroness of his expedition," said Friar Sanchez, 
 " and he has promised to dedicate to her all the 
 lands he shall newly discover. The godly zeal of the 
 man is amazing. One would think he was wholly 
 occupied with heavenly meditations, yet no one has 
 so wise and practical a mind. He forgets nothing, 
 omits nothing. If he had the sole guidance of affairs, 
 I believe he could superintend all better than those 
 who are appointed under him to render him assist- 
 ance. The queen has the utmost confidence in him. 
 She treats him as a friend. She will have all done 
 to please him, and as he shall order." 
 
 Beatriz was never weary of listening to praises of 
 her husband ; and Fernando and Diego were de- 
 lighted to think that they should see with their own 
 eyes this grand armament, and the horses and sol- 
 
A MESSAGE. 219 
 
 diers, the priests, artisans, and gentlemen, who were 
 to go on board. This feeling helped them to bear 
 the parting with fortitude. Their mother assured 
 them that they should soon return to her, and 
 charged them to bring her back a minute account 
 of everything that happened. 
 
 The night before they left, Beatriz spent in de- 
 bating what message she should send her husband. 
 She wished it to be a greeting which should cheer 
 his heart ; but in the solitude of the night, and the 
 anxiety of her first parting with her child, a rush 
 of selfish sorrow overpowered her. Her cheerful 
 patience was, for the time, at an end. She wondered 
 how she could bear the weary days and years which 
 were to come, with nothing to look forward to but 
 the vague hope of the conscious renewal of a broken 
 tie in the mysterious world of the dead. There was 
 little in the prospect to cheer a heart hungering for 
 human companionship and sympathy. It seemed a 
 cruel thing that she was not permitted to go with 
 the boys to Palos for a last word and look; that 
 she was so entirely thrust aside in every calcula- 
 tion concerning the Admiral's affairs. Did no one 
 remember that, seven years before, the obscure 
 chart-maker had wedded the beautiful daughter 
 of the noble house of Arana, causing a nine 
 days' wonder that his bride had so condescended 
 in her choice? 
 
 Beatriz still wore the Psyche ring. She took it 
 off now, and held it in her hand while she reviewed 
 the events of her wedded life, — the brief seasons of 
 happy, united home life, and the long, painful, oft- 
 recurring partings, each of which had seemed more 
 
220 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 cruel than the last ; the days when the young bride 
 sat alone while the bridegroom was lodged in the 
 convent of St. Stephen's, pleading his cause before 
 the learned doctors of Salamanca; the weary time 
 of pain and danger when the young mother was left 
 to greet her new-born infant with a regret that his 
 father was not near to receive him in his arms ; the 
 anxious days when the army at Baza were reported 
 destroyed by the floods, when every footstep seemed 
 to announce a messenger of evil, when the sight of 
 her child tortured her with the fear that he might 
 be fatherless ; then this climax of evil, this incredible 
 sorrow of a parting without a farewell. 
 
 " It is strange what pain the heart can bear 
 without breaking," thought Beatriz. " Don Gar- 
 cia too well interpreted the design of this ring, 
 too well invented — if he did invent — that fatal 
 prophecy." 
 
 Following a sudden impulse, Beatriz wrapped the 
 ring in tissue paper, placed it in a tiny casket, and 
 added the following note : — 
 
 I thank thee, my husband, for thy messages brought 
 by Pedro. Never shall I relinquish my right as thy 
 wife ; but I will patiently abide thy decision, since I owe 
 thee obedience. Do not doubt my love, since it is able 
 to survive this cruel test. I love thee above all else, and 
 thou canst not so injure me that I can wish thee aught 
 but good. I will work ceaselessly for thine advantage. 
 Wear this ring, I pray thee, in memory of the tears thou 
 hast caused me to shed. If thou shouldst wish them to 
 cease, send it again to me for a token ; and if living, 
 I will come to thee. 
 
 Beatriz. 
 
A MESSAGE. 221 
 
 At the moment of parting Beatriz regretted the 
 reproach contained in her letter ; but it was too late 
 to recall it. The travellers were ready for the start, 
 and the casket was packed in the depths of Diego's 
 alforjas. So she gave a last kiss to Fernando, who sat 
 full of importance before Friar Sanchez on the horse 
 that had been sent to carry him to Palos, and she 
 said to him, " Tell thy father, Fernando, that I send 
 him, through thee, this kiss as a token of my love 
 and forgiveness." 
 
 When Fernando ran into his father's arms at Palos, 
 he remembered these words, and cried out, "You 
 have kissed me on my lips just where my mother did, 
 and she said it was a kiss she sent you to show that 
 she forgave you." 
 
 Then Diego presented the letter he was charged 
 with, and Colon understood the tender generosity 
 which prompted this later message. He slipped 
 the ring upon his finger, and looked at it with mois- 
 tened eyes, remembering the happy hour of his be- 
 trothal, when he had given it to Beatriz. He wrote 
 an answer to the letter, which he confided to the 
 faithful Diego, to be delivered upon his return. 
 The letter ran : — 
 
 Dear Friend, — I shall wear the ring you send me 
 as part of my penance, the more wilHngly because it is 
 imposed by you. The kiss we have exchanged through 
 the medium of our child has thereby acquired, as it were, 
 a spiritual form, and is a fit token of our new relation- 
 ship, which is no less than the old sublimed to an ethereal 
 perfection. So far as you can grasp this truth by patient 
 acceptance of the divine will, you will be to me, though 
 parted by time and space, a help-meet for my soul. I 
 
2 22 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 thank you that you do not add to my trial the pain of 
 your reproaches. It is but a new proof of the generous 
 affection that you have ever shown me ; and it encourages 
 me to believe that the fulness of God's blessing will 
 sanctify to you, as to me, the years that are to come : 
 leading us by a way that we know not to the eternal rest 
 and rapture of the saints. 
 
CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT. 
 
 GARCIA DE SILVA had gained from his last 
 conversation with Beatriz an added motive to 
 revenge himself upon her husband. His hatred of 
 the Genoese had now become an imperative motive 
 of action, since the success of Colon had made him 
 an object of envy. Garcia himself had not risen to 
 distinction in his new calling. He had been em- 
 ployed as a secret agent of the Inquisition in services 
 from which a more scrupulous man would have shrunk, 
 and he was treated in some quarters with a deference 
 which was founded upon fear. He was believed to 
 be a dangerous man, whose friendship even was to be 
 avoided. Rumors of his dissolute life offended the 
 strict members of his order, and those who might in- 
 wardly be willing to condone his faults wished to gain 
 credit for themselves by denouncing him. 
 
 At last he gained the notice of the Archdeacon of 
 Seville, Don Juan de Fonseca, — a man to whom the 
 favor of King Ferdinand had lately given the office of 
 Director of the Marine, and who enjoyed through the 
 royal gift the benefices of several episcopal sees in 
 succession, while he remained a bishop only in name. 
 He lived in princely state in his palace in Seville, 
 where he dispensed patronage and wielded arbitrary 
 
224 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 power among the train of satellites who surrounded 
 him. Friar Garcia obtained the vacant place of 
 secretary to this great man, and it was not long be- 
 fore an intuitive sympathy taught Fonseca that the 
 young Dominican was a man after his own heart. He 
 united unscrupulous daring with a studied subservience 
 to the will of the archdeacon ; and by employing a 
 judicious mixture of flattery and audacity, he gained 
 the indulgent good-will of Fonseca, and became his 
 patron's indispensable agent and confidential adviser. 
 
 The Director of the Marine had the charge of all 
 matters concerning the fitting out of the fleet at 
 Palos ; and it was not by chance that Garcia had 
 striven to gain the position which gave him a hand in 
 directing affairs so important to the prospects of the 
 Genoese. Fonseca, like most tyrants, was lacking in 
 sensitive perceptions. He did not imagine that it was 
 from his secretary that he had first acquired a prejudice 
 against the Admiral. It was natural that a man high in 
 favor with the king should look with suspicion upon an- 
 other who had reached at a bound a place next to roy- 
 alty itself, — one for whom the rank of Viceroy had 
 been created and made perpetually hereditary among 
 his descendants, — giving the sons of a foreigner pre- 
 cedence over the ancient families of Castile and Ara- 
 gon. Fonseca's arrogant and self-seeking nature took 
 alarm, and the whispered suggestions of his secretary 
 were hardly distinguished from the natural promptings 
 of his own indignation at the low-born upstart who 
 had outstripped him so early in the race, but whose 
 downfall the archdeacon promised himself should be 
 no less sudden than his elevation. 
 
 Garcia was willing that Fonseca should be his un- 
 
PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT. 225 
 
 conscious agent, since in no other way could he so 
 easily secure the power to injure his innocent enemy ; 
 and chance favored him by adding to Fonseca's nat- 
 ural malignity the motive of a dishonest contractor's 
 greedy rapacity. 
 
 All the supplies for the voyage and for the settle- 
 ment in the new country passed through the Director's 
 hands, and nothing reached its destination in the con- 
 dition intended by the generous queen. The fine 
 Andalusian horses that had been each one chosen 
 and tried under the Admiral's eye, were turned into 
 the stables of the archdeacon, and their place suppHed 
 by inferior ones. Provisions and drugs, the stores 
 and implements for the new colony, chosen with care 
 by the queen's orders, were tampered with in a simi- 
 lar way. Fonseca's extravagant expenditures had left 
 his exchequer in need of replenishing, and such an 
 opportunity of turning his office to account could not 
 have been neglected, had he no personal grudge 
 against the leader of the expedition. As it was, the 
 injury that he did the Admiral intensified Fonseca's 
 dislike to his victim. From this time the archdeacon 
 and his creatures began the persecution of Colon 
 which wrecked his hopes, frustrated his well-laid 
 plans, brought distress and disaster upon the settle- 
 ments he founded, introduced treachery, discontent, 
 and insubordination into a soil only too ready to 
 breed them, and culminated in the insults, slanders, 
 and personal indignities which made his later years 
 one long martyrdom. 
 
 Opposed to this powerful and successful coalition 
 of evil minds, united by ties of selfish interest, and 
 secretly sustained by the sympathy and favor of the 
 15 
 
226 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 king, the friends of the absent Admiral were few and 
 weak. The noble Isabella was his warm ally ; but 
 her generous nature could not in the end succeed in 
 opposing the cold and crafty king. Many of her at- 
 tendants shared her sympathy for the Genoese ; and 
 one of these, Dona Juana de la Torre, the foster nurse 
 of Prince Juan, became especially interested in him 
 through his two young sons, who had been made pages 
 in the queen's household. 
 
 The Admiral had sailed on his second voyage when 
 his brother Bartholomew, returning in haste from Eng- 
 land with a favorable message from Henry VII., 
 found that he was too late with his good news, — 
 that the new world had been discovered, and that 
 Spain and not England was the gainer. Bartholomew 
 made his way to Cordova to visit his sister-in-law, 
 and at her request he took his nephews to court, 
 in obedience to a renewed oifer from the queen to 
 receive them. 
 
 Beatriz, having steeled herself to endure the parting 
 with Fernando, hastened it at the last, wishing the 
 sooner to carry out a resolution which she and Diego 
 had taken together. This was the counter conspiracy 
 to the plots of Fonseca and his colleagues. It was 
 agreed to beneath the trees of the garden the evening 
 before the boys' departure for the court at Burgos. 
 
 " My Fernando is too young for care," said Beatriz, 
 as she sat in confidential talk with Diego. " I will 
 not burden his childish heart with aught but the sim- 
 ple precept, * Love God, and do thy duty to the 
 queen ; ' but thou, Diego, art my trusty knight, who 
 will do battle for me if need be." Diego pressed her 
 hand. " I in Cordova, and thou in Burgos, must 
 
PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT. 227 
 
 plan to aid thy father, who is far away under strange 
 skies, surrounded with peril and beset with difficul- 
 ties. He will be assailed by secret enemies at home, 
 who envy a great man's reputation, and seek to injure 
 it by their malice. The queen is his friend ; but the 
 absent are always in the wrong. She does not know 
 his virtues as we do, and might come in time to doubt 
 him. Thou must work for him at court, Diego. Find 
 some noble lady who has access to the queen and 
 enjoys her confidence. Endeavor to win her favor 
 for thyself and thy brother, by deserving well. Let 
 thy conduct be as irreproachable as shall suit the 
 champion of thy father's fame, and add to this the 
 gentle graces that will commend thee to special no- 
 tice. Having won her good-will, beseech her aid and 
 influence for thy father. Do not weary her with sup- 
 plications, but use diplomacy to present them when 
 occasion serves. The dropping of water will wear a 
 stone, and a word let fall now and then has more effect 
 than thou canst tell. Write me everything thou canst 
 discover concerning thy father. Keep thine eyes and 
 ears alert, but give no confidence to any one save me. 
 Dost thou understand? " 
 
 Diego nodded. 
 
 '' I will do it gladly," he said. " I would do any- 
 thing to please you and to serve my father." 
 
 It was in consequence of this suggestion that Diego 
 selected the noble Dona de la Torre to be the object 
 of his interested attentions. The young prince loved 
 her dearly, and she was a favorite with his compan- 
 ions. The two handsome sons of the much-talked-of 
 Admiral were noticeable objects in the society of the 
 court. Fernando 's extreme youth made him a gen- 
 
228 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 eral favorite, and Diego's manly courtesy won every 
 heart. 
 
 Beatriz had received from her husband, together 
 with his farewell greetings, and the letter Diego had 
 brought, a large sum of money, part of the amount 
 allowed him by the queen as the first payment of his 
 annuity. She determined to make this the nucleus of 
 a fund which would enable her to employ trusty mes- 
 sengers and agents for her correspondence with Diego, 
 
 Beatriz wore her husband's last letter upon her 
 heart. It consecrated her life as something still of 
 worth to him. A less noble nature would have failed 
 to find consolation in accepting the abstract relation- 
 ship he proposed for the future ; but Beatriz, while 
 relinquishing every hope of personal happiness, was 
 sustained by the consciousness that a bond of sym- 
 pathy still existed between them which could not be 
 broken. Pity for her husband's loneliness kept her 
 from dwelling upon her own loss. For his sake she 
 took a new interest in the society that frequented 
 Rodrigo's house. She was eager to learn the secrets 
 of politics, the news of the court, everything that 
 might remotely bear upon the future of Spain's Admi- 
 ral and Viceroy. She wished to strengthen his posi- 
 tion, to win friends for him and for his sons, and to 
 aid him to perpetuate the glory he had won for his 
 name, to the remotest generations. 
 
 Antonio Geraldini was the friend in whom she re- 
 posed the greatest confidence. The romantic events 
 of Beatriz's life had interested him from the first. 
 Her position now seemed to him unique, and full of 
 pathos. Although the secret of Colon's vow had 
 never been divulged, his friends had a very correct 
 
PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT. 229 
 
 intimation of the motive which had caused him to 
 abandon so lovely a wife. Pedro had taken pains 
 that this idea should prevail, although he did not 
 commit himself to any definite statement, for he felt 
 that the anomalous position in which his sister was 
 placed required explanation. All who knew Colon 
 well were acquainted with the strength of his religious 
 fervor, which was the most striking feature of his char- 
 acter. The age in which he lived, though not as 
 deeply imbued with the spirit of monasticism as the 
 century or two preceding, was still fully in sympathy 
 with its ideals. It did not surprise Geraldini, himself 
 a prelate of the church, that the enthusiastic Genoese 
 should enter a religious order; but he wondered at 
 the intensity of the conviction which had enabled him 
 to make so great a sacrifice. He did not agree with 
 those who maintained that the Admiral was a cold- 
 hearted, ambitious man, caring only for his own 
 advancement. 
 
 "You misjudge him and the tragic beauty of his 
 deed," he said in reply. " Iphigenia immolated by 
 her father's decision, Isaac sacrificed at the command 
 of God, — these are images no more sublime than love 
 slain by the hand of love." 
 
 The first vessel that returned from the new world 
 was eagerly looked for, but it brought the tidings of a 
 new sorrow to the family of Enriquez. The noble 
 young Diego de Arana had been massacred in an up- 
 rising of the natives, in which every Spaniard left be- 
 hind in the island of Hispaniola had perished, and the 
 settlement had been destroyed. The silence of ruin 
 and desolation had greeted the Admiral when he re- 
 turned full of hope, with new supplies for his colony. 
 
230 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 Colon wrote a letter to Beatriz, expressing his sympa- 
 thy for herself and her family, and giving the details 
 of the disaster as he had been able to collect them. 
 
 " Would we had never met this Colon ! " exclaimed 
 Antonia. "He has brought nothing but grief and 
 misfortune upon us, and so it will be to the end." 
 
 This first of a long series of evils was deeply regretted 
 by all interested in the future of Spain's colonies in 
 the Indies. Fonseca, and the employes of the Bureau 
 in Seville, alone took a malignant pleasure in begin- 
 ning the oft-repeated cry of the Admiral's incapacity 
 as an administrator of practical affairs. The ven- 
 geance which the license and cruelty of the Spaniards 
 had at last provoked from the long-suffering natives 
 was regarded as something which the Admiral might 
 have provided against. The gentle queen wept for 
 the fate of Diego de Arana, who had alone remained 
 faithful to the duty intrusted to him, though powerless 
 to restrain the excesses of his companions. 
 
 Beatriz was full of anxiety for her husband in 
 the critical situation of affairs which met him in 
 Hispaniola. 
 
 " A man of absolute virtue is at a disadvantage in 
 the life of this world," said Geraldini to her one day 
 when she expressed this feeling. " He lives under 
 the favor of Heaven, which blesses his inner being 
 with the sweetest consolations, and sustains him in 
 trials beneath which others would sink helpless ; but 
 trials come more rather than less often to him. He 
 has none of that armor of callous indifference with 
 which the hard-hearted and the cruel are protected. 
 Colon is a man endowed with a capacity for suffer- 
 ing, — a self-elected martyr. His aims are super- 
 
PLOT AND COUNTERPLOT. 231 
 
 human, and they imply an endless struggle with the 
 conditions of human life. Could he have colonized 
 Hispaniola with a legion of angels instead of a rabble 
 of dissolute adventurers, our worthy Diego need not 
 have perished. It is the element of evil which in- 
 troduces an inevitable confusion, since Colon has 
 given no place to it in his calculations ; and thus it 
 will be, I fear, to the end. Have I saddened you by 
 my words? " 
 
 " Life is no longer aught but sadness," said Beatriz. 
 " I must face the possibility of suffering for myself 
 and for him. But why should the world be so ordered 
 that evil triumphs over good? " 
 
 " The wisest doctors of our faith cannot tell us 
 that," said Geraldini. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 princes' favor. 
 
 'npHE following extracts are taken from the letters 
 •^ of Diego Colon to his stepmother. Written at 
 long intervals, they sufficiently explain the events that 
 occurred during the time they cover : — 
 
 " Things do not go here at court as we should choose 
 for the credit of the one we love. Father Boil has ar- 
 rived at Burgos from Hispaniola. He brings with him a 
 great train of ragged gentlemen and barefooted friars, all 
 of whom are loud in their complaints of the new land, 
 which they say is barren of gold, and fertile only in dis- 
 ease and disappointment. They pretend that they have 
 been driven to return to Spain by the tyranny of my 
 father, who is a despot without mercy or justice. My 
 blood boils at these calumnies. They say he has forced 
 the Indians to cruel labors and excessive tribute, and 
 appropriated to himself the gold wrung from them by 
 taxes, the proceeds of which belong by right to the 
 crown. They show letters written by many who remain 
 behind, declaring that they He on beds of sickness, un- 
 able to return to the homes they long to reach as a deliv- 
 erance from the torment of their hves under a merciless 
 tyrant, who has used every means to insult and degrade 
 the dignity of the noble gentlemen of Castile, being him- 
 self a foreigner, and eager only to enrich himself at the 
 expense of others. These lies, being so many in num- 
 ber, and agreeing together, and being supported by the 
 
PRINCES' FAVOR. 233 
 
 authority of Father Boil, — a sour, morose man, who looks 
 as if Paradise would not please him, — have won cre- 
 dence even from the queen. I said to Dona de la Torre, 
 * Can these things be believed against a man of my fa- 
 ther's known probity and gentleness, whose services to the 
 crown have been so eminent ? ' She answered me with a 
 doubtful shake of the head. ' I am loath to believe it,' 
 she said ; ' but the Vicar-Apostolic gives his support to 
 the testimony of the rest.' The queen is to send ships 
 with stores and medicines to the succor of the sick. My 
 father was absent from the colony when Father Boil 
 sailed, so that I cannot inform you of his health." 
 
 " My uncle Diego has returned to Spain. Now I 
 hope ail will be well. He has brought strange plants 
 and animals, in which the queen shows great interest ; 
 and lumps of gold, and grains of it hke sand. He is 
 kind and gentle, and though much younger than my 
 father, he has his eyes and smile. Fernando begs him 
 to take him back on his ship; and when told that he is 
 too young to go, he declares he means to grow old very 
 fast, so that he can be always near his father. The 
 queen is going to send Juan Aguado back with my uncle 
 to inquire into the truth of the slanders concerning my 
 father. I hope he will soon put an end to them." 
 
 "I have good news for you, — news to rejoice your 
 heart. My father has landed at Cadiz. Aguado, who 
 set sail for Spain before him, has reached Burgos. He 
 is a traitor. Instead of defending my father, he has let- 
 ters and papers on the contrary side. The queen listens 
 to his slanders. Once let my father appear, and he will 
 silence these evil reports. I can hardly wait for the 
 moment when I shall see him again." 
 
 Colon had returned to Spain broken in health and 
 harassed with care. He came to justify himself be- 
 fore the sovereigns ; but no royal escort awaited the 
 
234 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 Viceroy of the Indies to conduct him to the court 
 which he had left loaded with honors. No notice 
 was taken of his arrival, and he made his way to the 
 convent of La Rabida, where the faithful Juan Perez 
 received him with tender affection. 
 
 The good prior had followed his friend to the In- 
 dies, and after experiencing the vicissitudes of life 
 under conditions which discouraged the strongest 
 faith, he had returned with eagerness to the quiet 
 shelter of his convent. He wondered that Colon 
 could still persevere with undaunted courage in 
 the work he had begun. It seemed to Perez a 
 strange contradiction that the innocent life of the 
 natives, which Colon had described as resembling 
 that of the Garden of Eden before the fall, should 
 be changed by the advent of the Christian conquer- 
 ors into a dismal slavery; that the happy island, 
 which had yielded to them without effort every ne- 
 cessary of life, should be drenched with blood, — the 
 scene of assassination, treachery, and revolt, — and 
 prove a barren desert to the Spaniards, whose greed 
 was as insatiable as their lust. 
 
 Colon and Juan Perez sat on the convent roof one 
 evening watching the sun sink in the sea, and enjoy- 
 ing the cool breeze after the heat of the day. Colon 
 once more wore the garb of a Franciscan ; and he 
 inwardly resolved that he would never again discard it. 
 If the queen believed the accusations made against 
 him, if his usefulness were at an end, it was time that 
 his vow should be made public, and that he should 
 formally enter the brotherhood of La Rabida. Still 
 he hesitated to declare his purpose, hoping from day 
 to day for a royal message. 
 
PRINCES' FAVOR. 235 
 
 "All has ended in failure," he said to his friend. 
 " The discovery of the new world has brought me no 
 nearer to my purpose of ransoming the Sepulchre 
 than if that fair land still lay unseen but by the eye 
 of faith behind the purple clouds. Gold has been 
 obtained, wnmg from the labor of the wretched 
 natives ; but it is not enough to satisfy the avarice 
 of the king ; and my own share, if it is ever adjudged 
 to me, will hardly requite me for the expenses I have 
 already borne." 
 
 " I fear," said Friar Perez, " that the blessing of 
 God is not on the gold thus gained. My heart is 
 heavy when I think of the ruin of that happy 
 race." 
 
 Colon rose and paced the enclosed space of the 
 roof in agitation. 
 
 "Am I to be blamed?" he asked. "Was any 
 other course open to me? All clamored for gold. 
 The king would look more coldly on me than at 
 present, were my promises quite unfulfilled. It may 
 be I was not inspired by Heaven, when I assured 
 him so positively that he should possess the treasures 
 of the Khan. Could I have reached his kingdom, 
 the conquest of one city, the cargo of one of his gal- 
 leons, would suffice to answer all our hopes. But can 
 we doubt, Friar Perez, that the introduction of our 
 holy Gospel will prove a blessing to the Indians 
 greater than all earthly bliss, when missionaries, more 
 inspired by faith than Father Boil, learn their language, 
 and win their confidence? If one soul is saved from 
 the torments of hell, will not that more than counter- 
 balance the bodily sufferings of hundreds? " 
 
 Colon asked this question, as if his peace of mind 
 
236 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 depended on the answer. It was one that he had 
 debated with himself through weary days and sleep- 
 less nights. Perez hesitated. 
 
 ** It may be so," he said. " No doubt it must be. 
 Yet how can Christianity win their hearts, when it is 
 so disgraced by the lives of those who profess it?" 
 
 " I hope for better things in the future," said 
 Colon, contented with this reply. ''The light of the 
 Gospel cannot be quenched by the powers of evil. 
 But the failure that presses upon my heart concerns 
 the ransom of the Sepulchre. As thou knowest, I left 
 my colony for the space of five months, during which 
 I encountered fatigue and peril daily and hourly, 
 hoping to carry out my purpose of reaching the Holy 
 Land by sea. Many infallible signs persuaded me 
 that I had gained the extremity of India. Thence 
 to double the Aurea Chersonesus and the peninsula 
 of Malaga would bring me to the x'\rabian Sea, whence 
 I could enter the Red Sea, and by a land journey 
 reach Jerusalem. This was my plan. How, with my 
 small company of disheartened and weary mariners, 
 I should succeed in taking that holy place, I did not 
 stop to consider, being sure that if God led me so 
 far, a means would be found and made known to me. 
 But tempests pursued me. ' x\ll thy storms and waves 
 are passed over me,' I cried with David. My frail 
 vessels were the sport of the waves ; and, as if to ren- 
 der my scheme fruitless, a strange malady came upon 
 me, whether sent by God's command or at the plea- 
 sure of the Evil One, I know not. For five days and 
 nights I lay in a trance, conscious of what passed about 
 me, but unable to give a sign of life. My heart beat, 
 but my body was as motionless as a corpse. When 
 
PRINCES' FAVOR. 237 
 
 I revived, I was once more in my colony, and in the 
 arms of my brother Bartholomew. Is this result of 
 my voyage a token that the conquest of the holy 
 place is not for me?" 
 
 "I know not," answered Perez ; "but, to say truth, 
 my heart has never kindled so responsively to thy 
 promises of its deliverance as to thy speculations 
 concerning the Western land ; but God has led thee 
 to one success, and may not deny the other." 
 
 Colon sighed heavily, but remained silent. 
 
 " Didst thou receive no intimation of the divine will 
 during thy state of trance? " asked Perez. 
 
 " No," answered Colon. "Nothing came to me, 
 but confused and feverish images which I have in 
 great measure forgotten. I remember that at one 
 time I thought that my wife — I thought that Beatriz 
 was with me ; that she kissed me with tears and sobs ; 
 that when I attempted to escape her embrace, she re- 
 proached me for breaking my vow to her, and declared 
 that God's favor had left me from the moment that I 
 deserted her." 
 
 " These are the promptings of an unsubdued imagi- 
 nation," said Perez, " acting upon thee in thy state of 
 weakness and lethargy, when the power of the will was 
 in abeyance ; and I would counsel thee to steel thy 
 heart against regrets which may wreck thy spiritual 
 peace." 
 
 This advice, which was given with decision and 
 energy, was humbly received by the Viceroy of the 
 Indies, who regarded Friar Perez as his religious 
 superior; but its acceptance did not bring peace to 
 his mind. On the contrary, the voices from the past 
 became more urgent, declaring that he had sacrificed 
 
238 COLUMBUS AND BEATR/Z. 
 
 love to ambition in vain ; that the vow, taken in the 
 presence of his child, was more binding than that 
 spoken in a moment of mortal peril, when fear, not 
 conscience, was the motive power. 
 
 " Return to thy wife, take up the humble life of 
 daily toil, and the simple happiness of a good man's 
 home," pleaded the siren whisper. " Thou wentest 
 forth armed with thy wife's blessing, and wert led to 
 the great discovery. Since thou hast rent asunder the 
 holy ties of matrimony, naught but disaster has be- 
 fallen. The favor of God fails thee. The Sepulchre 
 recedes as thy eager pursuit of it advances. The 
 storm that did so terrify thee was sent but as a test 
 of thy faith and courage. When it pleased him, God 
 would have stilled it without thy vow." 
 
 Not daring to tell Juan Perez of this inner struggle, 
 Colon left the convent one night, when all were sleep- 
 ing, and for a month was lost to the sight of men. It 
 was reported afterward that he had been seen, in the 
 garb of a Franciscan friar, in various cities of Spain. 
 He had knelt in the church of St. Julian in Seville. 
 He had wandered at night through the streets of Cor- 
 dova. If the beasts of the wilderness shared with him 
 the shelter of their caves, and the lonely soUtudes of 
 the mountains were the scenes of fast and vigil, they 
 kept the secret. What the conflict was, and how it 
 ended, none could guess. 
 
 One morning Colon again presented himself at the 
 convent of La Rabida. He was pale, emaciated, and 
 weary with travel and the loss of sleep. He gave no 
 account of the cause of his absence, but took his old 
 part among the brothers in the chapel exercises with 
 more than customary ardor of devotion. That same 
 
PRINCES' FAVOR. 239 
 
 day the long-deferred royal letter arrived. It was 
 presented by a royal courier to the long-bearded san- 
 dalled Franciscan, who bore the perpetual title of 
 Viceroy of the Indies and Admiral of the Ocean Sea. 
 The sovereigns congratulated the Admiral on his safe 
 return, and invited him, when sufficiently recovered 
 from the fatigues of the voyage, to present himself at 
 court. 
 
 Colon obeyed the summons without delay. He 
 stopped at Seville to prepare himself for his journey ; 
 for he never undervalued the effect of pomp and cere- 
 mony on suitable occasions, and the punctilious court 
 of Spain was particularly sensitive to outward forms. 
 The robe of St. Francis was laid aside for splendid 
 garments. The beard of the recluse was trimmed to 
 a fashionable shape. The Indians who had been lately 
 brought to Spain accompanied him, decorated with 
 golden ornaments of fabulous worth, and carrying 
 offerings of the precious metal to the king and 
 queen. 
 
 The effect during his journey and upon his arrival 
 at Burgos was what he had hoped for. The old enthu- 
 siasm for the man who had aggrandized Spain was 
 revived by the magnetism of his personal presence. 
 Isabella forgot her suspicions at the first glance at his 
 face. His explanations were satisfactory. The bas- 
 est treachery had attempted to justify itself by slander- 
 ing him. The sorrows he had borne touched Isabella's 
 gende heart, and the gold he brought recommended 
 him to the king. But when he spoke of a new expe- 
 dition, and the necessity for further explorations, he 
 was put off with vague promises. 
 
 A royal wedding absorbed the attention of the 
 
240 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 court. Instead of money for the prosecution of his 
 discoveries, Isabella offered him a vast principality in 
 Hispaniola, which should constitute an independent 
 duchy or marquisate, which might prove in time of 
 greater value to his descendants than his hereditary 
 emoluments as Admiral and Viceroy. Isabella's gen- 
 erous spirit was eager to give a definite and substan- 
 tial reward to Colon, and at the same time she 
 shrewdly divined the king's growing animosity to the 
 foreigner who had become an inconvenient and super- 
 fluous factor in the adjustment of affairs. Ferdinand's 
 narrow mind could not brook the presence near the 
 throne of an independent individuahty. Under the first 
 impulse of gratitude he had given unlimited powers to 
 the Genoese, and he now longed for an excuse to re- 
 trench them. If Colon would accept a duchy in the 
 distant colony he had founded, Spain would be well 
 rid of him, and her debt to him would be discharged. 
 But Colon held himself to be the destined deliverer 
 of the Sepulchre, and it was not compatible with his 
 future that he should devote himself to the cares 
 and duties of a landed proprietor, or become the 
 founder of a great estate. He refused the queen's 
 offer, though it was repeatedly urged upon him. 
 
 " What I have already won will suffice for my de- 
 scendants," said Colon ; " and with your Highnesses' 
 permission, I mean to make a solemn act of uiajorat, 
 which shall insure the perpetual and unbroken descent 
 of my titles and estates." 
 
 The sovereigns consented to this, though Ferdinand 
 chafed inwardly at this new indication of the Ad- 
 miral's determination never to relinquish the full en- 
 joyment of the rights that he had gained. The Bishop 
 
PRINCES' FAVOR. 241 
 
 Fonseca, who enjoyed the king's confidence, took 
 pains to deepen Ferdinand's discontent, ridiculing the 
 son of the Genoese wool-comber for his expectation 
 of outrivalling the grandees of Spain. 
 
 " Since your Highness has placed the whip in his 
 hand, he means to make us feel the lash," said 
 Fonseca to the king one day. " When death rids us 
 of this intolerable upstart, we are not then to hear the 
 last of his claims, for to perpetual generations the free- 
 born sons of Aragon and Castile are to yield prece- 
 dence to the wool-comber's progeny. His name is to 
 be perpetuated, the form of his signature is given the 
 value of a royal seal, the vast estates he looks to gain 
 in the Indies — our friend Aguado can tell us by what 
 means — are to be used to buy the Holy Sepulchre, 
 as an appanage, no doubt, to the family estate, and 
 his heirs are exhorted to assist the Pope with a sort of 
 feudal service. I verily believe he hopes that the suc- 
 cession to the Spanish throne may, in some wise, be 
 made hereditary in his family." 
 
 Ferdinand laughed, but the jest rankled in his mind. 
 
 " But surely the man is mad," said Juan de Soria, 
 one of Fonseca's colleagues, who was present at the 
 interview. " It is well known that he has fits of un- 
 governable rage ; at other times, hours of moody si- 
 lence. That he is not chained in a madman's cell 
 surprises those who see him on such occasions. Again 
 he will be all deference and courtesy to those whose 
 favor he wishes to gain. The Italian has within him 
 a sleeping tiger, your Highness. Look that it does 
 not rend you ! " 
 
 16 
 
I 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE BOUNDS OF PATIENCE. 
 
 'T^HE two sons of Colon could hardly restrain within 
 -■- the bounds required by court etiquette their 
 delight at their father's return. The queen, who was 
 always eager to promote the happiness of the mem- 
 bers of her household, gave the boys permission to 
 spend a week with the Admiral in his lodgings in an 
 old Moorish house near the walls of Burgos. This 
 was a season of delight to Fernando and Diego ; but 
 Colon's pleasure was mingled with keen pangs result- 
 ing from the conflict of the past and present. Diego, 
 who was nearly as tall as his father, and a handsome 
 manly youth, had a lofty ideal of womanhood, which 
 was embodied equally in the queen and in his step- 
 mother ; but it was the latter who held the first place 
 in his heart. He told his father without reserve the 
 cares which he and Beatriz had shared in regard to 
 his welfare. 
 
 "We have worked for you," said Diego; *'but I 
 fear we are strong in naught but love. When you are 
 here, all goes well ; but enemies are bold when your 
 back is turned. You will stay with us now, my father, 
 will you not? My mother is lonely without you." 
 
 '* Yes," said Fernando. " She cried when you went 
 away ; and when we left to come to Burgos, she only 
 smiled, and waved her hand, and threw kisses after 
 us!" 
 
THE BOUNDS OF PATIENCE. 243 
 
 " Couldst thou not understand," said Diego, with 
 slight impatience, " that she kept back her tears for 
 fear of grieving us? I could see how her lips trem- 
 bled. Of course she loves our father best j but thou 
 canst not doubt, Fernando, that she grieves to part 
 with thee." 
 
 Fernando now looked ready to cry, in spite of his 
 eleven years and his office of page. 
 
 " You will go to Cordova soon, will you not, my 
 father? " continued Diego. 
 
 " I fear that I cannot," replied Colon. " It would 
 be but a new grief to part again." 
 
 He stammered this with a confusion that Diego 
 detected with surprise. 
 
 " For reasons that thou canst not understand, it is 
 best that I should have no settled home," continued 
 Colon, with an effort at composure. " This is a 
 subject that pains me ; so let us not recur to it 
 again." 
 
 Diego was silenced, and full of amazement. His 
 pleasure was clouded for the rest of the day. He no 
 longer shared Fernando's games, or took part in his 
 joyous conversation with his father. He remained 
 apart in melancholy thought. Sometimes Colon 
 caught Diego's inquiring look of reproach fixed upon 
 him. He regretted that he had given a half con- 
 fidence which left room for speculation, and he 
 determined that Diego should know all. 
 
 He reached this decision late at night, after hours 
 of anxious thought, pacing the garden walks alone in 
 the starlight. When he turned to enter the house, he 
 noticed a light in Diego's room. He paused to listen 
 at the door. Diego heard him and fiung it open. 
 
244 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 " Is it you, my father? " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Why art thou not in bed? " asked Colon. 
 
 " I cannot sleep ! " said Diego. 
 
 "Thou art thinking of thy mother Beatriz? " said 
 Colon. 
 
 Diego nodded. 
 
 Colon seated himself upon the couch, and drew 
 Diego to a place beside him. 
 
 "Thou dost think me unjust, cold-hearted, and 
 indifferent?" said Colon. 
 
 Diego made no denial. 
 
 " Ungrateful, too ? " continued Colon. " Ah, Diego, 
 I have to bear such reproaches from my own heart ! 
 The cause of my conduct thou couldst not under- 
 stand, for it has been my resolve not to announce as 
 yet that I have vowed to enter a convent, and have 
 already in secret embraced its rules." 
 
 Diego started. " Does my mother know this? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Yes," was the reply. 
 
 " She is an angel of patience ! " exclaimed Diego, 
 impulsively. Then he burst into tears; and with a 
 young man's shame of emotion, turned away to hide 
 them. 
 
 " What ! Art thou so moved? " exclaimed Colon. 
 " It is I who should weep ; but tears are denied me. 
 Dost thou blame me, Diego? " 
 
 "Who am I that I should judge you, my father?" 
 responded Diego, with a shade of irony in his tone. 
 
 "Thou shouldst be pitiful of the bruised reed," 
 said Colon. "I have suffered, Diego." 
 
 "Were you forced to take the vow, my father?" 
 asked Diego, in a tone of repressed feeling. 
 
THE BOUNDS OF PATIENCE. 245 
 
 " Yes," answered Colon, with a weary sigh, as if the 
 question opened up a long-debated subject. " It was 
 the leading of Providence. I could not escape it ! " 
 
 Diego asked for no further confidence. For the re- 
 mainder of the week Colon entered with added zest 
 into Fernando's sports. He seemed to desire to live 
 only in his child. Diego was cheerful and calm. He 
 made no further allusion to th-e home at Cordova. 
 Fernando was contented with the present, and, with a 
 child's fickleness, forgot to miss his mother. Colon 
 wandered with him through the fields and woods, — 
 helped him to climb trees, shoot at a mark, run races, 
 and trace out the hole of a fox or the burrow of a 
 rabbit. In the evenings he would sit under the trees 
 of the garden with the boys, and tell them stories of 
 the strange new world beyond the ocean. 
 
 The week was over only too soon. Colon was 
 plunged again into the cares of the equipment of a 
 new voyage, while he had to encounter the almost 
 insurmountable obstacles of the queen's preoccupa- 
 tion, the king's indifference, and the hostihty of the 
 bureau at Seville. More than once he was tempted 
 to relinquish the unequal struggle. The reports which 
 Fonseca and his friends, and Father Boil and his ad- 
 herents had taken pains to circulate concerning the 
 miseries of life in the colony, the certainty of death 
 by fever and massacre, and the non-existence of gold 
 there, had so prejudiced the public mind that no one 
 would volunteer to follow the Admiral. The rumors 
 of his cruelty and violence of temper, which had 
 been industriously circulated of late, were generally 
 believed. Since the gentlemen, the artisans, and the 
 ecclesiastics deserted him, Colon turned to the crim- 
 
246 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 inal class for his recruits. The galleys and the prisons 
 discharged their inmates on condition of their remain- 
 ing a certain length of time in the Indies. It was 
 a desperate expedient; but the Admiral hoped that 
 self-interest would supply the motive for exertion and 
 self-support to the hberated convicts which had been 
 lacking with the proud, self-indulgent hidalgos. 
 
 One morning Colon left Seville to escape his anxie- 
 ties and recruit his strength by a quiet day and night 
 at La Rabida. His difficult task was nearly ended. 
 His patience and untiring industry had overcome each 
 delay that Fonseca and his agents had contrived. In 
 a week's time the fleet would be ready to sail. He 
 reached Palos overcome with the fatigue of the jour- 
 ney, and he gladly accepted the assistance of the 
 young brother who ran with alacrity to help him 
 to dismount, giving him in one breath a respect- 
 ful greeting and the news that a young nobleman 
 from Cordova had arrived that day with a message 
 for him. 
 
 The prior, who came to welcome his friend, con- 
 firmed the tidings. 
 
 " Pedro de Arana is here," said Friar Perez. " He 
 would waste no words on me ; but when I told him 
 that thou wert with us usually on the Lord's Day, 
 though busied in Seville the greater part of the week, 
 he agreed to abide thy coming, and he is strolling 
 now on the hill." 
 
 " I will meet him there," said Colon; and refusing 
 the rest and refreshment urged upon him by the hos- 
 pitable friars, he walked slowly over the uneven ground 
 along the ridge of the hill, to a projecting rock where 
 the young man was seated. Pedro sprang up at his 
 
THE BOUNDS OF PATIENCE. 247 
 
 approach, and returned his greeting with formal 
 politeness. 
 
 " I am glad that I have found you," he said ; « 1 
 knew not where to seek you, — here^^or in Seville. 
 I come on a mission from my sister." 
 
 Colon colored quickly, and seating himself upon 
 the rock, motioned to Pedro to resume his place. 
 
 *a am weary," he said; "I begin to feel the 
 weight of years. What hast thou to tell me from thy 
 
 sister?" j j -i 
 
 Pedro looked at the Admiral's bent head and sli- 
 vered hair with the sudden reahzation of the fact that 
 Colon was an old man. At the time of her marriage 
 it had not occurred to Pedro that his sister was wed- 
 ding a man thirty years her senior. It was only of 
 late that age had left its imprint on the powerful 
 manly frame and handsome oval face of the Genoese. 
 The streaks of gray which his hair had early shown 
 had seemed the result of intense mental activity. Now 
 his thin locks had the peculiar silvery sheen that age 
 alone can give. 
 
 Pedro hesitated, for the new idea he had received 
 modified his feelings. 
 
 "As you know," he said, "my sister lives only in 
 her thought of you. She is ceaselessly occupied in 
 your affairs. She keeps paid agents in Seville, Burgos, 
 and who knows where, to inform her of everything 
 concerning you. She sends me to you now, because 
 she believes that you are in danger from your ene- 
 mies ; that the malignity of the Bureau of Seville will 
 stop at nothing ; that treachery assails you at home, 
 and open mahce abroad." 
 
 *•' It is true," answered Colon ; '' but I have no fear. 
 
248 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ, 
 
 God will protect me. Assure your sister of my grati- 
 tude for her solicitude, and my unshaken confidence 
 in the power of the Almighty." 
 
 *' She would not receive me if I should return with 
 no matter what message," said Pedro. " She has 
 said farewell to me, and has sent me as a volunteer 
 in your service. If you refuse me, she will be in 
 great distress of mind. It was only my promise to 
 accompany you on your voyage, and to answer for 
 your safety with ray own, which allayed her anxieties. 
 Without that, she would have come herself to Palos." 
 
 " Wonderful devotion of a woman's heart ! " ex- 
 claimed Colon, much affected ; " and thou, my kind 
 Pedro, art worthy of all praise for thy goodness. 
 Gladly do I accept thee as a companion of my 
 voyage. Thou shalt have the command of a caravel, 
 as, long ago, I promised thee." 
 
 Pedro smiled. " How foolish are our childish am- 
 bitions ! " he said. "What a strange lack there is in 
 their fulfilment ! I thought I was to sail with thee 
 straight for the land of the Khan, and bring back my 
 vessel laden to the water's edge with gold and jewels. 
 Now, if I succeed in protecting you from treachery 
 and peril in your own colony, I shall have my hopes 
 justified." 
 
 Colon sighed. " All does not fall out to our 
 liking," he said ; " God's will is perfect concerning us, 
 but the envy and the wrath of men interfere with 
 the heavenly purpose. We must steadily pursue our 
 course, hoping that righteousness will triumph in the 
 end." 
 
 It was a satisfaction to Colon to have the com- 
 panionship of his young brother-in-law at this time. 
 
THE BOUNDS OF PATIENCE. 249 
 
 Pedro had meant to present his sister's cause in a 
 different Hght, to reproach Colon with the waste of 
 her hfe and the sacrifice of her happiness, and to 
 urge him to return to her if only for a farewell. 
 The sight of the mild, spiritual face of the old Ad- 
 miral, surrounded with a halo of silver hair, the patient 
 serenity and calm benignity of his air, had quenched 
 the fire and passion of Pedro's intended argument. 
 There was something remote and unearthly in the 
 atmosphere in which he lived. Pedro recognized for 
 the first time the inevitable nature of Beatriz's separa- 
 tion from her husband. 
 
 Pedro's outfit was purchased in Seville. A letter 
 of farewell was sent full of love to Cordova. The 
 Admiral himself attached a postscript breathing grati- 
 tude, encouragement, and a paternal tenderness. 
 
 "Our bird once more escapes us," said Juan de 
 Soria to Fonseca one day, as he stood at a window 
 of the archdeacon's palace watching the loading of 
 the last pack-mule with stores for the Indies. " He 
 is still powerful enough to carry out his purpose with 
 a high hand. Who knows but this voyage will lead 
 him to the gold-mines of the Khan? If he returns 
 with gold enough, the king will forget all the suspi- 
 cions you have so carefully lodged in his mind. The 
 queen has declared her distrust of my tale of his vio- 
 lent temper. She stakes her royal word that he is a 
 man of Christian meekness and forbearance." 
 
 Fonseca knitted his brows fiercely, and looked 
 about him, as if searching for a weapon with which 
 to attack an enemy. 
 
 " He must be goaded to desperation, as the mata- 
 
250 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 dors enrage the bull before they slay him," said 
 Fonseca. 
 
 Garcia sat writing at a table within hearing of his 
 patron. He did not raise his head, but the stopping 
 of his pen caused the man who was bending over 
 his shoulder to look up and listen. He was a little, 
 misshapen Jew, with a cunning, evil face, who had 
 advanced himself in the favor of Fonseca, and had 
 received baptism and a paymaster's office at the 
 hands of his patron. He knew how far he could 
 venture with impunity, and leaving the secretary and 
 his interrupted accounts, he walked to the window, 
 and encountered Fonseca's notice with an awkward 
 bow. 
 
 " I overheard your reverence," he said with a leer 
 and a smile. " Give me your leave to pique the bull, 
 and I warrant I '11 make him roar before the crowd. 
 If he does not offer me bodily injury and furious 
 abuse before the whole squadron, call me not Ximeno 
 Breviesca." 
 
 "And wilt thou offer thy body to the kicks and 
 cuffs thou invitest, Ximeno?" asked Juan de Soria, 
 smiling. 
 
 " For the sake of my patron, the noble Fonseca, 
 I would even encounter the peril of death," said the 
 Jew. 
 
 "Thou hast my permission," said Fonseca, shortly; 
 " what is thy plan ? " 
 
 " Leave that to me, if you please," said Ximeno. 
 " When Spain resounds with the story of my immortal 
 drubbing, you will know how to reward me, I hope, 
 for my service." 
 
 " Have I ever failed to reward a friend ? " said 
 
THE BOUNDS OF PATIENCE. 25 1 
 
 Fonseca, with an impatient wave of the hand. He 
 scorned the Jew, although he was useful to him, and 
 before the Comptroller de Soria he did not care to 
 display the intimate familiarity which he allowed him 
 in private. 
 
 Ximeno retired again to the table. Garcia looked 
 
 up hastily. 
 
 " On what point wilt thou attack the Admiral? " he 
 
 said. 
 
 " I care not to tell," said Ximeno. 
 
 "He will bear the full measure of every insult 
 thou canst contrive," said Garcia. " I would not 
 have thee fail ! " 
 
 " Thou art also against him, friar? " said Ximeno. 
 
 " I hate him ! " said Garcia. " Listen to me, 
 Ximeno. The Admiral has a wife, — one whom 
 he loves, but whom he has deserted, none knows 
 why." 
 
 Garcia paused. 
 
 "What else?" asked Ximeno, laying his hand 
 heavily on Garcia's shoulder. The secretary shrunk 
 from the touch, and rose hastily, gathering his papers 
 together. 
 
 "That is all," he said. "I thought thou wert, 
 perhaps, ignorant of some parts of the Admiral's 
 history." 
 
 Ximeno flashed after him a significant look; but 
 Garcia hastened from the room, feeling the pang that 
 Judas suffered after he had made the great betrayal. 
 
 The Admiral's squadron lay at anchor in the har- 
 bor of Palos. The pennons of his caravels fluttered 
 gayly in the breeze. He had risen at early dawn, and 
 
252 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 had knelt for the last time in worship with the good 
 brothers of La Rabida. He had commended himself 
 to the especial protection of God and the Virgin in 
 his new undertaking. He boarded his vessel with a 
 resigned and cheerful heart. All had not gone to his 
 liking, but he had in the main succeeded. Who could 
 tell but that fortune would turn from this time forth, 
 and that his successes and triumphs would outweigh 
 the trials he had suffered? The tide was high, and 
 his vessel lay close by the quay. The other caravels 
 — one of which Pedro commanded — were anchored 
 at a little distance, ready to start at the Admiral's 
 signal. A crowd of curious but mainly unsympa- 
 thetic spectators lined the shore. Through them 
 the Jew Ximeno forced his way, with swaggering 
 brutality. 
 
 " Let me come at this dog of a Genoese ! " he 
 cried, in a loud voice. " I have an account to settle 
 with him, and to his face I shall accuse him of theft, 
 murder, and lying." 
 
 He was close by the Admiral's side on deck when 
 he uttered these words, and rudely stumbled against 
 him before he looked up and counterfeited surprise 
 at his presence. The crew of bandits and galley- 
 slaves were ripe for mutiny, and greeted this en- 
 counter with a shout of laughter. Colon cast a 
 flashing glance about him ; then turned with a 
 majestic gentleness to the Jew. 
 
 " In what way have I offended you ? " he asked, 
 " that you so far forget respect for my ofifice and per- 
 son? What do you mean by your unwarranted 
 accusations? " 
 
 "You know too well why death pursues all who 
 
THE BOUNDS OF PATIENCE. 253 
 
 oppose your tyranny in Hispaniola?" growled Xi- 
 meno. " You know why all grow poor save you, and 
 why no gold reaches the treasury of the king. Your 
 lies can no longer save you, —all is exposed ! " 
 
 Colon grew pale with anger, but he controlled 
 himself. 
 
 "You occupy my time in vain with vague and 
 injurious reproaches," he said. " I recognize no 
 right on your part to judge my conduct. I am Vice- 
 roy of the Indies. I owe allegiance only to my sove- 
 reigns ; and they have shown their confidence in me 
 by honoring me with a new commission. Time is 
 passing. Retire in peace, if you choose, rather than 
 to be forcibly ejected." 
 
 '' Thy cut-throat crew dare not touch the servant 
 of the Director of the Marine," answered Ximeno ; 
 and then he poured forth a torrent of injurious epi- 
 thets, which only a scoundrel of his type could invent 
 or utter. 
 
 Colon felt that the man was beneath his scorn. 
 He trembled with anger ; but he turned his back on 
 Ximeno, and was about to retire to his cabin, when 
 the Jew, clutching his arm, uttered a new insult loud 
 enough for all on board to hear. His evil Hps spoke 
 the name of Beatriz Enriquez. 
 
 Colon turned quickly, took a step forward as Xi- 
 meno retreated, and struck the Jew a blow with his 
 clinched fist full in the face, felling him to the deck. 
 The crew applauded, with a new admiration for their 
 commander, whose vigorous figure towered in superb 
 self-vindication above the prostrate form of his enemy. 
 He spurned the howling wretch with his foot, and 
 then left him to the jeers of the spectators, who hur- 
 
254 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 ried him on shore, greeting his swollen and disfigured 
 features with shouts of malicious derision. 
 
 Ximeno bore the execration of the witnesses of his 
 defeat and the pain of his bruises with inward satis- 
 faction, picturing to himself the reception which 
 awaited him in Seville. 
 
 The Admiral sailed with a heavy heart, for the 
 name of Fonseca had assured him that the insult was 
 the result of a deliberate plot to injure his credit too 
 late for him to defend himself against the inventions 
 of his enemies. 
 
 The conspirators at Seville were overjoyed at the 
 success of their agent. Ximeno was loaded with 
 rewards. Great pains were taken that the matter 
 should reach the ears of the king and queen with 
 every exaggeration that malice could devise. The 
 paymaster was in his humble way an officer of the 
 crown, Fonseca reminded them ; and Ximeno has- 
 tened to Burgos to show the visible tokens of bodily 
 injury which he had received from the infuriated 
 Genoese. 
 
 Isabella was horrified at this unmistakable evi- 
 dence of the violence of the man whom she had 
 trusted and admired. Father BoiTs stories of 
 cruel mismanagement in the colony gained new 
 credence. 
 
 When Friar Perez heard the story as it was told at 
 Palos, he wrote to his friend, the Admiral, urging him 
 to send him a written account of the insult he had 
 received, — of whose nature all were ignorant, — so 
 that he could publish his defence before the world. 
 Colon was too much occupied by the unfortunate 
 condition of affairs in the colony to attend to this 
 
THE BOUNDS OF PA TIE JVC E. 255 
 
 request, the more so that he could not make pubUc 
 the nature of the deepest wound he had received. 
 
 " I shall leave my defence in the hands of God," 
 he wrote to Juan Perez at a later time. "When 
 conscience is at peace, the calumnies of men have 
 little power to vex us." 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 time's changes. 
 
 T3EATRIZ had made the last sacrifice that re- 
 ^-^ mained to her when she sent her favorite 
 brother to the aid of her husband. She feared for 
 him the fate of Diego, yet she had urged him to the 
 undertaking ; and when Pedro's decision was made, 
 his love for his sister and his willingness to undertake 
 a daring adventure supported him in it against the 
 combined remonstrances of Rodrigo and his family. 
 Since the Admiral's star had begun to wane, many 
 friends had deserted him. The king's thinly veiled 
 hostility set the fashion for a revision of judgment and 
 a return to old hostilities, which the brief popularity 
 of the Genoese had never entirely allayed. 
 
 Rodrigo could not forgive him for his desertion of 
 his sister, and for his failure to fulfil his golden 
 promises. Each was an injury sufficient in itself to 
 embitter Rodrigo, and to justify his original prejudice 
 against the man whose union with his family had 
 brought only disaster upon it. The bitter opposition 
 of the elder brother's family included both Pedro and 
 Beatriz in its effects. Antonia's vindictive spirit 
 widened the breach which was begun by Rodrigo's 
 hasty words, and Pedro's reply to them. Beatriz was 
 inflexible in her devotion to her husband, and re- 
 
TIME'S CHANGES. 257 
 
 sented all that was said against him. Pedro left Cor- 
 dova to join his brother-in-law ; and Beatriz, finding 
 her life in Rodrigo's house insupportable under these 
 conditions, returned to the old house in the Court of 
 Pomegranates, with a couple of servants and the faith- 
 ful Teresa, whose age made her more a burden than 
 an assistance. 
 
 It was here that Beatriz received the farewell letter 
 from her husband and brother ; and news, through a 
 confidential agent, of the unfortunate encounter be- 
 tween the Admiral and the Jew Ximeno, — the par- 
 ticulars of which were unknown, and only guessed at 
 by the Admiral's friends ; while his enemies eagerly 
 credited Ximeno's story that it had been an unpro- 
 voked assault. 
 
 Beatriz sat on the bench in the long-deserted gar- 
 den. Weeds had taken possession here, and grew 
 rank, overtopping the flowers. The pomegranate- 
 tree was dead and half blown down. The fountain 
 within the patio was broken and choked with dead 
 leaves, making a mournful trickle across the pave- 
 ment, and staining its marble slabs. The birds still 
 sang in the heyday of springtide love and joy, flowers 
 and weeds were budding and blossoming together ; 
 but it seemed to Beatriz that the spring breeze had 
 the chill of a tomb upon it. She was alone where 
 father, brother, husband, and child had in turn filled 
 her life with the joys of responsive affection. All was 
 lost to her at an age when resignation does not come, 
 as in later life, with slackening pulses and lessening 
 powers. She walked about in the little garden as if 
 chafing at its narrow limits. Life was cruel ; her 
 heart cried out against its pain. 
 17 
 
258 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 Teresa brought her supper to her on a tray. The 
 old servant's eyes were swollen with weeping. She 
 set the tray down in obedience to her mistress's 
 gesture. She tried to speak calmly; but she burst 
 into tears. 
 
 *' It will kill you here, Seiiora," she said. "You 
 know well that you cannot live here alone. I went 
 to set your single cup and plate in the dining-hall. 
 It would not do. I remembered how you had sat 
 there at your wedding- feast when the room was full 
 of guests and laughter. Then I carried them into 
 the study of Don Enriquez : dust, rats, and spiders 
 were there. In your chamber was the child's empty 
 cradle — " 
 
 " Hush ! " said Beatriz, turning quickly. " We 
 must live here. Set the maids to work, and a man 
 to mend the fountain and weed the garden. Change 
 all thou canst." 
 
 The house was renovated and set in order. All of 
 the past that lingered there was ruthlessly excluded. 
 In Beatriz's chamber the rich furniture, carpets, and 
 hangings were replaced by the bare floor and simple 
 furnishings of a convent cell, — a pallet, chair, and 
 table, and the Admiral's portrait as sole ornament upon 
 the wall opposite her crucifix. 
 
 Teresa watched these changes with dismay. 
 
 " Are you going to become a nun? " she asked her 
 mistress. 
 
 " The outer must conform to the inner hence- 
 forth," said Beatriz; "and peace must be sought by 
 prayer." 
 
 " Our Lady defend us ! " exclaimed Teresa, almost 
 in tears. " It is a sin and a shame that your beauty 
 
TIME'S CHANGES. 259 
 
 should be buried here as in a tomb. If the worst 
 must happen, why not take the vows of a rehgious 
 before the whole of Cordova? I warrant the queen 
 herself would come to see the sight. You might be 
 made a prioress, and snap your fingers at the Admiral 
 and his titles." 
 
 " I shall never take a vow contrary to that which I 
 made at the altar when I married," said Beatriz. 
 " Naught but death should break that tie." 
 
 " Yet men break it at pleasure," said Teresa. "■ The 
 Admiral's greatness can never keep me from saying 
 that he has used you cruelly, not even having the ex- 
 cuse of ever having looked upon a woman in all Spain 
 but you." 
 
 " Be silent ! " commanded Beatriz. " He is as far 
 above thy judgment as the sun that dazzles our eyes 
 at midday when we attempt to question its size or 
 shape. Speak of my husband with respect, or never 
 mention his name." 
 
 Teresa departed weeping, and bemoaning her hard 
 fate and that of her mistress. Beatriz attempted to 
 win by prayers and vigils and cruel fasts the heavenly 
 consolations which her husband had found ; but al- 
 though she grew pale and hollow-eyed, she found no 
 peace. Then she determined that an interest outside 
 of self was necessary to her health of mind. She 
 filled the house with the sick poor of the city who 
 were unable to find shelter in the hospital. She 
 tended them with her own hands, spending day and 
 night in their service, and only sleeping when ex- 
 hausted by fatigue. 
 
 Teresa's life was a mute protest. She had long 
 since found that words were unavailing. Rodrigo 
 
26o COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 came to reproach his sister for her eccentric folly, 
 which he told her was the talk of the town. His 
 advice was what Teresa's had been. 
 
 " If thou dost wish to win reputation as a saint," 
 said Rodrigo, "do it as the Church commands. 
 Make thyself distinguished among the holy women of 
 some powerful order. Thou mightest come to the 
 notice of the queen." 
 
 " I have no ambition for myself," said Beatriz. 
 " Teach me to forget, Rodrigo, and I will obey thee. 
 This work wearies the body, and consoles the mind." 
 
 " If thine allowance and thy husband's gifts suffice, 
 go on with it," said Rodrigo, angrily. '' Come not 
 to me for help. I forbade the marriage which has 
 made thy misery." 
 
 " I ask no help, Rodrigo," said Beatriz, " though I 
 would gladly have a fortune to spend for a great hos- 
 pital for all the sick and poor. As for my misery, it 
 is my rebellious heart that causes it by refusing to 
 learn patience." 
 
 " First learn obedience to thine elders," said 
 Rodrigo ; and he left in anger. 
 
 The gentle Anna, young Juan's wife, next tried her 
 persuasions. She was fond of Beatriz, and shocked 
 to see the change in her looks. 
 
 " Mi cara Tia,'' she said, " you must look in your 
 mirror^ and you will believe all that my father-in-law 
 tells you. You are still beautiful, but not, as hitherto, 
 the most beautiful. You will lose your claim to the 
 admiration of Cordova, if you thus neglect yourself. 
 Your husband will not know you." 
 
 Beatriz took Anna's hand, and held it against her 
 heart. 
 
TIME'S CHANGES. 261 
 
 " My dear Anna," she said, " thou hast touched 
 the sore spot. My husband will never care again 
 whether I am beautiful or no. That is why I give no 
 heed to my mirror." 
 
 The mournful droop of her mouth, and the falling 
 of the long lashes over her white cheeks seemed inex- 
 pressibly sad to Anna. She jumped up, and walked 
 about, looking at Beatriz. Then she stood still, and 
 extended her arms, clinching her little fists. 
 
 '' If I were a man, I should strangle the Admiral," 
 she said, her voice breaking into a sob that was half a 
 laugh, as she realized that the words did not contain 
 the consolation she wished to give. 
 
 Beatriz smiled faintly. She could not resent any- 
 thing from Anna. 
 
 " It is the lack of means for remedy," continued 
 Anna, " that makes me wild with grief for you. 
 Doubtless you have a right to tend sick beggars, if it 
 is a help. If Juan left me, I should take very quickly 
 to an evil life in desperation." 
 
 " Anna ! " exclaimed Beatriz. 
 
 " Yes," she replied, tossing her pretty head. "■ I 
 should look to a man to console me, right or wrong. 
 I could not sit, like you, and eat my heart out." 
 
 Beatriz rose, and placing her arm around Anna's 
 waist, walked up and down with her in silence. In 
 that embrace Anna's petulant emotion subsided 
 little by little. She began to realize something 
 of the seriousness and complexity of life. The 
 problem which Beatriz was trying to solve touched 
 her sympathetically. 
 
 " We cannot say * I will,' or ' I will not,' " Beatriz 
 said. " We have to accept a great 'Thou must.' It 
 
262 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 is the struggling that hurts the caged bird, and the 
 caged will that beats against the bars. I must learn 
 patience." 
 
 Anna went home in tears, and Juan forbade her 
 going again to visit his aunt. 
 
 Beatriz kept on her lonely course uncheered by 
 sympathy. Her patients recovered and left her one 
 by one, and she did not attempt to renew her charity 
 in the same way ; but the priest who was her confes- 
 sor introduced her as a visitor at many sick-beds, and 
 persuaded her to receive for convenience and protec- 
 tion the robe of the Third Order of St. Francis. 
 
 Beatriz shuddered as she wrapped herself for the first 
 time in the coarse gray garment. It symbolized the 
 power that had stolen her husband from her ; but she 
 wished to put herself, as far as possible, in sympathy 
 with his thought. She had not as yet been able to 
 grasp it. It seemed an arbitrary and needless cruelty. 
 She was convinced that the peril of shipwreck was but 
 the flash that had fused a long- slumbering thought and 
 wish into action. No moment of danger could lead 
 Juan for his safety to vow to forsake Anna. What was 
 the bent of mind which made her husband greater and 
 yet weaker than other men, more vulnerable to injury 
 while immovable in fortitude ? 
 
 "It is the spirit of the Christ," she said to herself, 
 weeping before her crucifix. 
 
 Letters from Pedro gave a dismal account of affairs 
 in the colony, though he wrote with attempted cheer- 
 fulness. He described the formidable rebellion of 
 Roldan, and the spirit of disaffection with which nearly 
 all were imbued. Against this it was impossible to 
 make headway. The Admiral, he said, was full of 
 
TIME'S CHANGES. 263 
 
 ideas which, if they could take root, would insure the 
 happiness and prosperity of the colony; but it was 
 like sowing good grain in the path of a stormy tor- 
 rent. Pedro complained of the way in which affairs 
 were managed at home. 
 
 " It is as if the devil himself were at the bottom of 
 our griefs," he wrote. ** A spirit of hatred and evil 
 dictates all that is done in our regard. The Admiral 
 asked for the company of his son Diego, whom he 
 wishes to train up under his eye as his heir, in the 
 management of this business which none can do with- 
 out special gifts ; but no answer has come, nor has any 
 notice been given to this petition. The queen seems 
 to be both deaf and dumb, where once she was eager 
 with favor. Who is the implacable foe that stands for 
 the devil and does his work? His name, methinks, is 
 Fonseca." 
 
 Beatriz had learned from Diego that his father had 
 written for him to join him, and she was eager to know 
 what the reply would be. She longed, yet dreaded, 
 to have Diego go. She thought that the wish showed 
 a yearning tenderness for some one to love and cherish. 
 She wept to think that the current of this love was so 
 entirely diverted from herself. A message now and 
 then through Pedro, and a sum of money irregularly 
 transmitted for her support, were her only tokens from 
 her husband. 
 
 Diego wrote that the queen had given him a prom- 
 ise that he should go to his father. A month or so 
 later, he said in a letter that nothing could be dis- 
 covered with certainty at court. What the queen 
 willed the king upset, or Father Boil would change 
 by some new slander. He described the preparations 
 
264 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 made for a new expedition to the colony under the 
 command of Francisco de Bobadilla. Diego did not 
 know whether a place in the fleet were reserved for 
 him or not. 
 
 "The queen is to go to Seville," he wrote, "and I 
 am to go in her train. I hope I may not meet the 
 Jew whom my father justly chastised, for I fear that 
 respect for the queen could scarcely restrain me from 
 completing his castigation, though he has of late been 
 made a very great man." 
 
 Beatriz knew that a visit to Seville contained no 
 promise of good. She was not surprised that the fleet 
 sailed without Diego. As a compensation, the boys 
 were allowed to make a brief visit to their relatives at 
 Cordova on their way with the court to Granada. 
 Rodrigo, with formal politeness, invited their mother 
 to spend the time with them at his house. Thus the 
 family was once more re-united ; but nothing was as 
 it had been. The two boys were bright and brave, 
 full of life and chivalrous courtesy, but Beatriz' s over- 
 sensitive feelings noticed a change in them. As she 
 clasped Fernando in her yearning mother's arms which 
 had so long been empty, he returned her kisses with 
 affection, but he looked, with a surprise which she de- 
 tected, at her care-worn face. 
 
 " I should not have known you, my mother," he 
 said. "You are not as I remember you." 
 
 " I should always know her," said Diego, with quick 
 reproach, frowning at his brother. " She has changed 
 no more than we have, and I am sure she would know 
 thee." 
 
 "Thou art right, my Diego," said Beatriz. "The 
 mother's heart can never forget. My little Fernando 
 
TIME'S CHANGES. 265 
 
 would have his mother always young and beautiful ; 
 but time does not deal so kindly with us." 
 
 " You are beautiful," said Fernando, " but you look 
 like the picture of the sorrowing Virgin in our chapel 
 at Burgos. You used to be like her." He pointed to- 
 wards the gay young Anna, whose smiling face at- 
 tracted him ; and she threw him a kiss with the tips 
 of her fingers. 
 
 " Thank thee, pretty youth, for the compliment," 
 she said. " Thy mother is still far more beautiful 
 than I. No one has ever given me the place of queen 
 of beauty in Cordova. Should I look sad, I should 
 be as ugly as the fish-woman in the square." 
 
 " But you never do look sad," said Fernando, re- 
 turning her coquettish look with frank admiration. 
 
 " I am so happy now to have my boys with me," 
 said Beatriz, with an effort at gayety, " that if I still look 
 sad my face must be like the mask of the tragic muse, 
 and hide the real feeling of my heart. Has it a look 
 of woe that frightens thee, Fernando? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! " he cried. " It is not in the least like 
 those ugly plaster masks. You never could frighten 
 me. You are my dear mother." 
 
 These words were sweet to Beatriz ; but in spite of 
 his wish to atone for his bluntness, Fernando wounded 
 her more than once by little tokens that he had grown 
 away from her. He was independent now of women's 
 authority, and resented any attempt to treat him as a 
 child. He wished to bid a formal good-night to his 
 mother, and not to allow her the old privilege of 
 tucking him into his bed and kissing him to sleep. 
 He would kiss her hand with graceful deference, 
 when she longed to clasp him to her heart. 
 
266 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 " Fernando puts on the airs of the court,*' 
 said Diego, scornfully, noticing Beatriz's disappoint- 
 ment. " He thinks himself already a grandee of 
 Spain." 
 
 *' I am the son of the Viceroy and Governor-Gen- 
 eral," retorted Fernando. " Because thou art so 
 much older than I, and wilt inherit the title, thou 
 thinkest that no one else should bear himself with 
 dignity ; but some day I shall be a great man too." 
 
 " And a good man too, my darling," said Beatriz. 
 " It is not thy father's titles which make him pre- 
 eminent, but his character, which is like that of a 
 saint." 
 
 " But the people at court say all kinds of evil 
 about him," said Fernando. " No one there calls 
 him a saint." 
 
 " But thou and thy brother — " began Beatriz, in 
 a half-stifled voice. 
 
 " We would fight for him to the last drop of our 
 blood, eh, Fernando?" cried Diego, fiercely. 
 
 Fernando nodded, with the lofty air which he 
 assumed on occasion. 
 
 " I love my father better than any one in the 
 world ! " he said. 
 
 " That is right ! " said Beatriz, though she felt a 
 jealous pang. " Love him, and work for him, and 
 strive to be like him." 
 
 When the day of parting came, and a royal equerry 
 brought two finely caparisoned horses to the door, 
 and two mounted soldiers came as an escort for the 
 boys, Fernando forgot his dignity. He clung to his 
 mother, as if he could not tear himself from her 
 embrace. He kissed her a hundred times. 
 
TIME'S CHANGES. 267 
 
 " You are the one I love the best ! " he said. " I 
 wish I need not leave you." 
 
 Then it was Diego who reminded him of what was 
 becoming in the queen's page, and Fernando rushed 
 away to hide his tears. 
 
 They were gone ; and Beatriz, with her son's kisses 
 warm on her lips, returned to her empty home to 
 weep and pray for him. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 IN CHAINS. 
 
 OINCE her marriage Anna had regretted that the 
 ^^ melancholy fortunes of her husband's family 
 had prevented the series of gayeties which should 
 have accompanied her wedding. Now that more 
 than a sufficient period of mourning had elapsed, 
 she insisted that a great ball should be given in her 
 honor. Anna's youthful imperiousness was reinforced 
 by the claims of great wealth. The ball was given, 
 and Beatrix was bidden to it. She refused the invi- 
 tation ; but Anna's personal entreaties, and Rodrigo's 
 cold advice, that it would be for her honor and credit 
 to be seen once more in her place among her family, 
 decided her to accept what policy dictated, though 
 her heart rebelled. With Teresa's assistance, she put 
 on her well-preserved wedding-robes, and mistress 
 and servant mingled their tears as the toilet was com- 
 pleted. Her jewels had all been sold to aid her hus- 
 band. Teresa brought the golden belt and bracelets 
 which Colon had sent to his wife as the trophies of 
 his first voyage. The barbaric splendor was wonder- 
 fully effective in enhancing Beatriz's pallid beauty. 
 When she entered the ball-room, every eye was 
 turned toward her. The wife of the Viceroy was 
 worthy of her rank. A group of admiring devotees 
 immediately surrounded her. Anna, dazzling in sil- 
 
- IN CHAINS. 269 
 
 ver brocade and diamonds, was for the time eclipsed. 
 But Anna smiled like a woman, and Beatriz like a 
 goddess. Anna loved admiration, and flattery was 
 as the breath of life to her. Beatriz repulsed a too 
 ardent glance by an impenetrable armor of reserve. 
 Thus Anna's was the final triumph. 
 
 All was gayety, laughter, light, and music in Rodri- 
 go's grand saloons, when a rumor of evil tidings — 
 started none knew how — ran through the brilliant 
 throng, as if the first breath of a thunder-storm had 
 blown in at the windows. Few were greatly moved 
 by it, but all were surprised and curious ; and Beatriz 
 became the centre of observation when the word 
 reached her. 
 
 " The Admiral Cristoval Colon has returned to 
 Spain. Bobadilla has sent him back in chains from 
 his colony." 
 
 Beatriz ran to Rodrigo. 
 
 "Is it true?" she asked. She stood with her 
 hands clasped and pressed together upon her breast, 
 which heaved with excitement. Her large eyes were 
 dilated and brilliant, her lips were parted, a feverish 
 color burned upon her cheeks. 
 
 Rodrigo was furious with the smart of this new 
 mortification. Was his family credit always to suffer 
 from the unfortunate alliance with the Genoese ? He 
 half turned his back upon his sister. 
 
 " You should know," he answered over his shoulder. 
 " The man is nothing to me." 
 
 Antonia came up wringing her hands. 
 
 " Anna is in tears," she said. " She regards it as 
 an evil omen that her ball should end thus." 
 
 " Let the ball go on ! " said Rodrigo. " The 
 
270 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 Genoese reaps the reward of his deeds, or is pursued 
 by ill-fortune. Whether deserving or undeserving of 
 pity, he merits none from the family he has wished 
 to disgrace. I wash my hands of responsibility con- 
 cerning him." 
 
 The bystanders heard this declaration, which was 
 spoken in a loud voice. Beatriz looked about, with 
 the dignity of an offended queen. 
 
 " I call Heaven to witness," she said, " that the 
 man who sanctions this cruel injustice by failing to 
 protest against it, shares the guilt of its perpetrator, 
 which shall one day be punished with the wrath 
 that God reserves for the slayers of his martyred 
 saints." 
 
 She left the room amid a murmur of curiosity or 
 applause. In the servants' hall a booted and spurred 
 courier sat drinking a cup of wine. Beatriz swept 
 into the room, and the gaping domestics rose and 
 made their bows. 
 
 " What is the message that thou hast brought, and 
 to whom sent?" she asked. 
 
 *' I was bade by Dona Juana de la Torre to bring 
 word of mouth to the family of Don Diego and Don 
 Fernando Colon in Cordova," said the man, staring 
 at the apparition of beauty before him. " She had 
 a letter from the Admiral written on board ship. He 
 was sent back with shackles on arms and legs." 
 
 "Is this all the tidings thou hast?" she asked. 
 "Does the queen sanction this barbarity?" 
 
 The man looked as if he did not comprehend her 
 question ; but he answered slowly : " I was to say that 
 the Admiral is on his way to Granada." 
 
 "'Is he still in chains?" asked Beatriz. 
 
, ^ IN CHAINS. 271 
 
 " No, by my soul ! " said the man. " The queen 
 was in a rage when she heard of it." 
 
 This was all that could be extorted from the mes- 
 senger. To every question he answered by the simple 
 statement that the Admiral had been sent to Spain 
 chained like a murderer; that the good queen had 
 wept at the tidings, and that the Admiral was on his 
 way to meet the sovereigns at Granada. 
 
 Beatriz returned to her home, and divested herself 
 of her robes of state. She put on the gray garments 
 of a Franciscan Tertiary, and went out into the city. 
 It was late at night. The stars shone in splendor; 
 but the streets were dark and almost deserted. Be- 
 fore a tavern door some men were gathered. She 
 paused and listened to their conversation ; but it had 
 no connection with Spain's fallen Admiral. The 
 news had not spread far, or it had passed unheeded. 
 She could not learn the details she longed to gain, 
 from any uproar or tumult in the city which had 
 been glad to honor the Genoese in the hour of 
 his triumph, but had, it seemed, long since forgotten 
 him. 
 
 She stood before the episcopal palace, and she 
 wondered if any dignitary of the Church would rise 
 at her bidding, and thunder anathemas upon the 
 heads of Bobadilla and his agents. All was wrapped 
 in slumber. 
 
 The queen had wept. The tears of royalty are 
 precious, and the queen's sorrow promised a hope of 
 better things. Surely, now the Admiral would be re- 
 ceived with all his former honors, and his just rewards 
 would no longer be denied him. But the chains ! 
 Beatriz felt their weight on her own limbs. She still 
 
2 72 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 wore the golden bracelets that had been her hus- 
 band's gift to her ; and to her fancy they became iron 
 manacles wounding the tender flesh. She sobbed 
 and wept for sympathy with the grief that she could 
 not relieve. Dona Juana de la Torre had had news 
 directly from the Admiral. No letter had been sent 
 to his wife. 
 
 "I am forgotten," thought Beatriz. "Useless in 
 the hour of his degradation, as unnoticed in the time 
 of his triumph.'' 
 
 This last pain was the most poignant. Love longs 
 to console. It is its chief prerogative. 
 
 Beatriz's wandering footsteps had led her to the 
 bridge over the Guadalquivir. She leaned upon its 
 balustrade, and watched the water that lapped 
 against the piers, flowing swift and silent and 
 studded with the broken reflections of the stars. 
 She started and turned her head, as a step ap- 
 proached her. 
 
 A Dominican friar had followed her unnoticed from 
 the time that he had encountered her in the shadow 
 of an arcade near the episcopal palace. He was a 
 guest there, honored as an emissary from the Arch- 
 deacon of Seville. He had a key to a postern door ; 
 he knew how to glide in and out unseen. His lips 
 still felt the touch of stolen, sinful kisses. His brain 
 whirled from the efl'ects of wine. He staggered 
 slightly as he walked, attempting to preserve the 
 dignity of his robes, though his scapulary was awry, 
 and his cowl had slipped back from his forehead. At 
 the sight of the beautiful woman's face under the 
 Franciscan hood, he had started and had eagerly 
 followed her, until she paused upon the bridge. The 
 
. ^ . IN CHAINS. 2 73 
 
 cool breeze from the river blew away the buzzing 
 fancies that made his head so light. The touch of 
 her tunic as it fluttered against his hand soothed 
 him. 
 
 " Beatriz ! " he exclaimed. 
 
 She shrunk from him as if he were a wild beast. 
 
 " It is you who have done this, Garcia de Silva," 
 she exclaimed, — " you and your villanous patron, 
 Fonseca. You follow me to boast of your triumph." 
 
 " By Saint Rosa, I know not of what thou dost ac- 
 cuse me," said Garcia, leaning his elbow on the bal- 
 ustrade, and looking up admiringly into her face. 
 
 *^0f my husband's ruin and disgrace," said Beatriz. 
 "It is you and your helpers who have conspired 
 against his credit, and have sent him back to Spain 
 in chains." 
 
 "What! Is he here, and in chains?" cried 
 Garcia. 
 
 "Do not feign surprise at your success," said 
 Beatriz. " He who has given Spain half the globe 
 is thus rewarded." 
 
 "I had not yet heard it," said Garcia. "Thy 
 messenger must have travelled swiftly. But I own 
 it is sweet to me to hear this news, and from thy lips. 
 Fate could not have given me to sup of a choicer 
 morsel for the satisfaction of my revenge." 
 
 " Would I were a man ! " said Beatriz ; " you would 
 not dare to boast to me of satisfaction at such a time. 
 The queen wept at the news. I hope she will avenge 
 the outrage on the authors of it." 
 
 " I am secure," said Garcia, laughing. " Neither 
 thou nor she nor any one can detect my hand in the 
 game. Thy mere suspicion proves nothing. More 
 iS 
 
2 74 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 than one man in Spain will rejoice at Don Colon's 
 downfall ; and if the queen weeps, the king, thou 
 mayest be sure, laughs in his sleeve." 
 
 "I cannot believe it," said Beatriz. "He cannot 
 be so basely ungrateful." 
 
 She turned to go homeward, and Garcia walked 
 beside her. 
 
 " How comes it that thou art out alone at such 
 an hour ? " he asked. " Hast thou also taken holy 
 vows? " 
 
 "The vows of a Tertiary," said Beatriz, shortly. 
 " You need not accompany me. The dress pro- 
 tects me." 
 
 "Ay, it is useful, — this masquerade," said Garcia, 
 plucking at his gown ; " it covers a multitude of 
 sins. But tell me how thou dost chance upon the 
 bridge at such a time? Have I broken in upon a 
 tender meeting?" 
 
 Beatriz stood still, and looked the man full in the 
 face. His bold gaze fell before the steady light of her 
 eyes. He was shaken with an inward compunction. 
 A memory of the past was mingled with a sudden ap- 
 preciation of the pain and loneliness so nobly endured 
 by the woman he thus wantonly insulted, — the woman 
 he had once loved with pure affection. 
 
 "Forgive me, forgive me, Beatriz ! " he cried. "I 
 have been drinking wine. The demon that lurks in 
 the wine-cup uttered the words through my lips. I 
 would stab to the heart a man who should speak of 
 thee as I have done." 
 
 Here he remembered the evil hint he had given 
 to Ximeno, and he felt once more the scourge of 
 the furies. 
 
, IN CHAINS. 275 
 
 "I am a sinner, Beatriz," he said. "I warned 
 thee how low I should fall when thou didst refuse 
 me hope. If I am lost, this self-elected saint, this 
 Colon, is at the bottom of it. I hate him that I am 
 so base. Why does he stand above me in righteous- 
 ness, judging me for the evil of which he is the 
 cause? " 
 
 " No man is lost but by his own will and choice," 
 said Beatriz. '' If you are not master of your speech, 
 I will endeavor to forget your injurious words. Leave 
 me now ; and if you would please me, let me never 
 see your face again." 
 
 Garcia made no reply. He turned aside, and 
 watched her out of sight. Then he ran back to the 
 bridge, and leaped upon the balustrade, clasping an 
 ornamental pillar with one arm to steady himself, 
 while he looked down into the black, gliding water. 
 One plunge, and remorse would be silenced. Then, 
 with a change of purpose, he laughed, shook his 
 head, and jumped back again upon the bridge. 
 
 "Not yet, not yet," he said. "The queen may 
 reinstate the Italian in all his dignities. He may 
 die loaded with honors; while I, the obscure friar, 
 would be fished like a drowned rat out of the Guadal- 
 quivir. The contrast does not please me. Thou, 
 Garcia, must outlive the Italian." 
 
 He walked away humming a tune. 
 
 When Beatriz reached home, she sank, overcome 
 by fatigue, upon her hard pallet. The night air was 
 chill, and she shivered with cold. 
 
 " I must go to Granada," she said to herself. " I 
 can no longer live without seeing my husband." 
 
 It occurred to her then that Doiia Juana's mes- 
 
276 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 senger might depart without a letter from her ; and 
 she rose, lit a taper, and wrote to Diego, urging him 
 to give her every detail of the sad news of his father's 
 downfall, and the happier sequel which she looked 
 for ; and she intrusted to his care a few lines for her 
 husband. These she wrote and re-wrote. She wished 
 to express the longings of her heart; but pride re- 
 volted, and forbade the tender words which she 
 blotted with her tears. At last she finished the fol- 
 lowing note : — 
 
 My Husband, — I am tortured to hear of the chains 
 that thou hast worn as a reward for thy great services. 
 The iron has entered into my soul as into thine. I suffer 
 with thee. Wilt thou have me come to look once more 
 into thine eyes, to speak with thee face to face.? Will 
 it console thee to have my presence near thee.-* Send, 
 then, the ring I gave thee, for a token, and I will hasten 
 to thee with delight. 
 
 Beatriz. 
 
 The faithful Teresa arose in the gray dawn, and 
 carried this letter to the messenger, who promised 
 to deliver it without fail. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE QUEST OF THE SEPULCHRE. 
 
 nPHE Carthusian convent at Granada stood, era- 
 -*- bowered in orchards and gardens, upon a beau- 
 tiful height overlooking the valleys of the Xenil and 
 the Darro, and the snow-capped mountains that rose 
 in the distance. Its shaded garden alleys seemed 
 made for quiet contemplation. 
 
 In one of its rooms there was lodged, as a tem- 
 porary guest, a silver-haired old man, who spent his 
 days and nights in study and exalted meditation. 
 Christoval Colon was a viceroy without a government, 
 an admiral without a fleet, a governor-general without 
 a province. The sovereigns had received him with 
 sympathy, Bobadilla had been disgraced; but mo- 
 tives of expediency were pleaded as an excuse for 
 refusing Colon an immediate restitution of his rights. 
 Two years must be given to allow affairs to readjust 
 themselves. Meantime Nicolas de Ovanda took the 
 abandoned government, at the king's command, and 
 maintained in the colony a more than royal state. 
 Promises were given in abundance to the deposed 
 Admiral, — promises of a settlement of his dues, 
 long unpaid, and of his restoration in the future to 
 all his honors and dignities. Meantime the expenses 
 of maintaining a viceroy's state at court had far ex- 
 ceeded his means. One by one his suite had been 
 
278 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 dismissed. He had retreated for a time to the hos- 
 pitable shelter of a convent. 
 
 One summer evening he sat at a window with a 
 manuscript volume open on his knee. His two 
 sons — Diego, a man grown, and Fernando, a tall, 
 handsome youth — were busily engaged at a table 
 in copying on sheets of paper the closely written 
 pages which their father had given them, in the order 
 in which they were to be compiled in his great work, 
 "The Book of the Prophecies." Suddenly Fernando 
 looked up and said, — 
 
 "Here is a mistake. This sheet of yellow paper 
 has been placed here by accident, my father. It is 
 an old letter from my mother. Do you wish to pre- 
 serve it longer?" 
 
 Colon stretched out his hand for the paper, and 
 Fernando carried it to him, looking over his father's 
 shoulder as he read it. 
 
 " She speaks of your chains, — that sad and dread- 
 ful time," said Fernando. " Tear up the old letter, 
 my father. Let us forget that such things have 
 been." 
 
 " But how chances it that I read this for the first 
 time?" exclaimed Colon. "Where has it lain for- 
 gotten ? By whose hand did it come, and how has 
 it miscarried?" 
 
 Diego came forward, and looked at the letter. 
 
 " I remember," said Diego, " that I urged Dona 
 de la Torre to send my mother word of your return, 
 and the manner of it ; and she did so. I also remem- 
 ber well the letter which my mother sent me in 
 return, and that there was within it an enclosure that 
 was for you, my father. I carried it to you, and laid 
 
THE QUEST OF THE SEPULCHRE. 279 
 
 it before you on the table. My uncles were here, 
 and the queen had sent for you. I brought you her 
 command and the letter at the same time." 
 
 "Then it was placed unnoticed among my papers," 
 said Colon, in agitation, looking at the intaglio ring 
 which he wore on his little finger, and from it again 
 to the letter, which he re-read with moistened eyes. 
 " For nine months it has lain here unanswered. 
 Write at once to thy mother, Fernando. I shall 
 soon go to Seville, and from there I will again de- 
 spatch a courier to her. By that time my dues may 
 be paid to me. I have naught to send her now for 
 her needful support." 
 
 " Will you not send her the ring? " asked Fernando. 
 
 " It is a token that I desire her presence," said 
 Colon ; " when I am dying, Fernando, take it from 
 my finger and send it to her." 
 
 "Why can she not come to you now? " asked the 
 boy; "she is sick with longing to see you." 
 
 Colon made no reply. His fingers worked ner- 
 vously. His look was far away upon the distant 
 mountains. At last he said, — 
 
 " My vv^ork is nearly ended. The Book of the 
 Prophecies is finished. My poems are copied neatly 
 by your hands. On my next voyage I will circum- 
 navigate the globe, and, if God wills, achieve the 
 ransom of the Sepulchre. All in my life moves for- 
 ward to its destined conclusion. Thy mother, Fer- 
 nando, has been my constant friend. I owe her a 
 debt of gratitude which has been ill paid. But it is 
 for her good that I refrain from adding to her grief 
 by giving her a closer share of my sorrows. Could 
 she see my weakened frame and whitened hair, her 
 
28o COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 tender heart would bleed for me, and the memory of 
 the past would add a thousand stings to the change 
 she would note in the present. God's grace has filled 
 my cup to the brim. The cross that I have borne 
 has been glorified for me, my self-sacrifice has been 
 blessed ; but she has not walked with me through my 
 agony ; she would misunderstand my love. It is better 
 that we remain apart till death opens the door of the 
 new hfe, where love is perfected in the bliss of the 
 Lord." 
 
 Tears rolled down the old man's cheeks. 
 
 "Tell her, Fernando, that I love her well," he 
 added, " and that her letter was overlooked by a 
 grievous chance. Beg her forgiveness." 
 
 He rose, leaning on his staff, and walked into the 
 garden. The air was fresh and sweet with the per- 
 fume of the flowers in the carefully tended borders. 
 The sunset light flooded the snow-peaks with a crim- 
 son glow. A young moon hung low in the sky. 
 Colon stood alone in a little pavilion facing the 
 west. 
 
 Through the cheerful resignation of his disciplined 
 soul there pierced a sword-like pang of sympathy for 
 the sorrows of the loving and deserted wife ; and so 
 complex are the springs of human thought that in 
 spite of his self-justification he felt a deep remorse. 
 The lower nature seemed for the time to rise and sit 
 in judgment upon the higher. What right had he to 
 dwell on the heights of spiritual peace which had been 
 gained at the cost of a true heart's happiness ? 
 
 " It was the will of God," he said aloud. Then 
 he sighed and murmured, *^ Poor Beatriz ! God 
 grant thou mayst find peace ! " 
 
THE QUEST OF THE SEPULCHRE, 281 
 
 Six months later a fleet of four little vessels was 
 ready to sail under the command of Don Colon, the 
 Admiral. Once more he was to adventure himself 
 upon unknown seas ; but this time he did not pur- 
 pose to find the kingdom of the Khan. He was to 
 sail in quest of the Holy Sepulchre. Instead of the 
 army of a hundred thousand infantry and ten thou- 
 sand cavalry which he had hoped to maintain in his 
 pay, if his just dues were settled with all arrears, his 
 command numbered in all a hundred and fifty men. 
 He meant to penetrate the strait which connected, 
 as he believed, the waters of the ocean-sea with 
 those that rolled beyond the new lands he had found ; 
 and to pass thence through historic water-ways by 
 Arabia and the Holy Land to the object of his 
 pilgrimage. 
 
 Fernando had obtained his long-cherished desire. 
 He was to sail for the first time with his father. His 
 soul was full of the ardor of a young crusader. Noth- 
 ing seemed impossible to his high-wrought fancy. 
 He saw himself already with drawn sword smiting the 
 turbaned Moslem with invincible gallantry, while his 
 father rode as conqueror into the Holy City. 
 
 Bartholomew Colon was also to accompany his 
 brother; but he was cheered by no anticipations of 
 success. He denounced the scheme as wild, foolish, 
 chimerical, rash, and impossible. He had done his 
 utmost to discourage it ; but, finding his brother re- 
 solved to undertake the crowning purpose of his life, 
 he consented to accompany him, and if need be to 
 die with him on the wild, stormy ocean or the deso- 
 late, unknown shore. Before he set out, he took Fer- 
 nando with him to visit Beatriz in Cordova. 
 
282 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 The blunt, courageous Bartholomew had been cap- 
 tivated by the gentleness and beauty of his sister-in- 
 law. He chided his brother roundly that he could 
 desert so lovely a wife to win the favor of Church or 
 Pope, or the sanctity of a monkish frock. He urged 
 him to go with him for a farewell visit to Cordova ; 
 but Colon had an old man's fixity of purpose, and 
 dread of useless agitation. Beatriz's tears would 
 unnerve him, and add to the pain of both. 
 
 Colon, however, drew up a will with the aid of a 
 notary in Seville, with his two brothers and his sons 
 as witnesses. He made every provision for the secu- 
 rity of Diego's succession, and Fernando's allowance 
 as younger son. He added a codicil commending 
 Beatriz Enriquez to the care of his successor Diego, 
 charging him to grant her a yearly pension. 
 
 " My conscience as well as my estate owes a debt 
 to her," he added, " which cannot well be told in 
 words." 
 
 The notary inserted this speech with the rest. 
 Diego smiled as he pointed out the blunder. 
 
 " Let it stand," said Colon. *' My obligation to her 
 shall be thus perpetuated ; and thou wilt cherish her, 
 Diego, as thine own mother, as thou hast ever done," 
 he added, as he signed the will. 
 
 " That I will, my father," said Diego, fervently. 
 ** While I have a maravedi, she shall not want." 
 
 Bartholomew and Fernando made their visit to 
 Cordova while the Admiral was busied with the prep- 
 aration of the fleet; and Diego, who was not to 
 accompany his father's travels, remained with him 
 in Seville, 
 
 The old house in the Court of Pomegranates 
 
THE QUEST OF THE SEPULCHRE. 283 
 
 showed the unfriendly touch of time in its crumbling 
 flagstones and moss-stained walls. 
 
 '' How low the archway is," said Fernando, "and 
 how small the courtyard seems ! It used to look as 
 wide as the//^2^ in Seville." 
 
 "Thou art taller, and the sky seems nearer," said 
 Bartholomew, smiling. "Yonder is thy mother. 
 Why does she wear a gray Franciscan robe? Is 
 all the world become a convent?" 
 
 He hurried to Beatriz, and kissed her frankly on 
 the mouth. 
 
 " My brother sends the kiss," he said. 
 Beatriz blushed, and clasped Fernando in her 
 arms. 
 
 " My darhng one ! " she cried, " I did not look for 
 thee to-day, though thy uncle promised to bring thee 
 to me for a farewell. Heaven bless thee, Serior 
 Bartholomew, for thus cheering a mother's heart ! " 
 She had been working in her garden, and her lap 
 was full of roses, which she held gathered together 
 in a comer of her coarse gray tunic. 
 
 " Thou dost look like Saint Elizabeth of Hungary 
 with thy gray robe and thy roses," said Bartholomew. 
 " All the world are gone after the monks. My brother 
 Diego has made up his mind to enter a convent, and 
 Cristoval might as well call himself a gray friar first 
 as last. He would long since have done so, I know 
 well, had he not this foolish notion of delivering the 
 Sepulchre." 
 
 Teresa brought wine and cakes to the patio, where 
 they sat by the fountain, — Beatriz with her arm about 
 Fernando, and her smiling look fixed on his face. 
 " I call it a foolish notion," Bartholomew went on. 
 
284 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 " Not that I would not enter into the plan with a 
 good will if we had the men and the means, and our 
 charts were clear and plain ; but though Cristoval is 
 at times a prophet, and sees with eyes different from 
 others, in this case I count him liable to error ; for, 
 in the first place, no one has dreamed of the strait 
 he declares can be found. Should it exist where he 
 places it, who can tell what waters lie beyond, or how 
 four small vessels can reach them after buffeting with 
 wind and wave an untold time. Should our vessels 
 hold together, and the sea be crossed, how can weary 
 and disheartened seamen encounter the forces of the 
 Soldan? If we found rich gold-mines on our jour- 
 ney, how should we load our vessels, and how trans- 
 port the treasure an uncertain distance for the ransom 
 of the Sepulchre ? It is as foolish as a dream ; yet 
 Cristoval will have it that all else is of little worth 
 compared with this, — that to die without attempting 
 it would be to have lived in vain. Thus I go 
 with him for the love I bear him, — hoping noth- 
 ing but to reach home sound in life and limb, and 
 wiser from experience, and to bring the lad again 
 in safety." 
 
 Beatriz tightened her clasp about Fernando. 
 
 "You should hear my father talk ! " said Fernando, 
 eagerly. " He has no doubts about it ; the strait is 
 there, and we pass the gold-mines. It is easy to buy 
 the help of the natives, and they will load our ships. 
 If the Soldan will not take the gold, we can fight him. 
 One Christian can kill a dozen Mussulmans." 
 
 Bartholomew sighed, pursed his lips, and shrugged 
 his shoulders. 
 
 " Oh, Fernando, it is hard to let thee go ! " said 
 
THE QUEST OF THE SEPULCHRE. 285 
 
 Beatriz ; " but I would have thee a brave man, and a 
 comfort to thy father." 
 
 "That I will be," said Fernando. 
 
 "Thou wilt tend him in sickness as a woman 
 would," said Beatriz, " and cheer him in moments 
 of discouragement, remembering how hard his life 
 has been, and how he has suffered for the sake of 
 others ? Thou wilt hide thine own pain and sadness 
 in silence, as a woman would, and forsake thine own 
 ease to serve him? " 
 
 " Yes," said Fernando. 
 
 " Then I give thee to him gladly, my Fernando," 
 said Beatriz ; " I who am nothing to him, can thus 
 aid and strengthen him." 
 
 Bartholomew coughed, and drew his hand across 
 his eyes. 
 
 "Cristoval loves thee, Beatriz," he said; "he re- 
 membered thee in his will. Why his strange fancies 
 keep him at a distance, I cannot tell. He never was 
 like other men ; and now that his body is so feeble 
 and full of pain, his soul seems to grow apace, and 
 to carry him into regions of visions and heavenly 
 voices, while he recks nothing of what passes abort 
 him." 
 
 " Is he so ill? " asked Beatriz, quickly. 
 
 "Thou wouldst not know him," answered Bartholo- 
 mew. " He looks to be a man of eighty rather than 
 of sixty-six. His hair is white as snow, and his limbs 
 so racked with gout and rheumatism that he must use 
 a staff to walk with ; but he has a smile like a saint. 
 His courage is that of a youth, and his mind is as 
 vigorous as ever. He is fertile in resources, and 
 endless in patience. He is a wonderful man." 
 
286 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 Beatriz sighed deeply. 
 
 "Heaven does not protect its saints," she said, "if 
 such a man must suffer penury and neglect, ingratitude 
 and disdain." 
 
 " It was on this account that I humored him at last 
 in his purpose of taking this voyage," said Bartholo- 
 mew. " He would be happier suffering the buffetings 
 of wind and tide than bearing the indignities of men's 
 contrivance ; and freer under the open vault of heaven 
 than in the cramped lodgings of an inn." 
 
 During Fernando's short visit he had no cause to 
 complain that his mother was sad ; for his sake, she 
 resumed her youthful gayety. She studied his hap- 
 piness with such minute attention that the expres- 
 sion of her features was trained to please him. She 
 had learned to shake off her sorrow, or to hold it 
 close and bear it without repining. The keenest pain 
 she had suffered had been the most merciful. When 
 months passed without a word or a token from her 
 husband in reply to the letter she had sent to Gra- 
 nada, she felt the grief of a wife scorned and neg- 
 lected. Indignation was mingled with her sorrow, 
 and her woman's pride revolted. 
 
 When the atoning message came, and she found 
 that she was still beloved, the bitterness of pain dis- 
 solved in tears of joy ; but the strength that pride had 
 taught her remained. Time, too, had worked its 
 miracle of gradual restitution. The elasticity of her 
 nature asserted itself, rejoicing in the mere fact of life 
 and health. She had learned patience and humility, 
 and she loved the coarse Franciscan robe which was 
 the symbol of both. She discovered the pleasure 
 that lies in little things. Flowers and birds, and the 
 
THE QUEST OF THE SEPULCHRE. 287 
 
 phenomena of Nature, of which Colon had spoken 
 with enthusiasm when she had been deaf to the 
 meaning of his words, now became objects of interest 
 and sources of joy. 
 
 When Fernando and his uncle left Cordova, they 
 carried with them the memory of her lovely face and 
 gentle presence like the perfume of a flower, or the 
 soft cadence of a tune that lingers long in the mind. 
 
 "Thy mother is a woman of a thousand!" said 
 Bartholomew to his nephew. 
 
 " She is a saint ! " exclaimed Fernando, remember- 
 ing the benediction of her kiss. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 LOVE TRIUMPHANT. 
 
 npHE history of Colon's fourth voyage may be 
 ■*■ summed up in two words, — disappointment 
 and disaster. He returned to Spain broken in health, 
 and feeling, with the keenest regret, that the conquest 
 of the Sepulchre was not for him. 
 
 On a sick-bed in an inn in Seville he heard the 
 news of Isabella's death. The noble heart that had 
 sympathized with him had ceased to beat. Now that 
 her influence and protection were removed, he fore- 
 saw only too well the treachery, injustice, and cruel 
 delay of broken promises which were to cloud his 
 latter days. 
 
 He travelled to Salamanca to win an audience from 
 Ferdinand when almost too ill to sit upon his mule ; 
 and the king, with flippant politeness, inquired about 
 his gout, recommending certain remedies as suitable 
 for the disease, and then dismissed the injured ser- 
 vant of an ungrateful master with a wave of the 
 hand. 
 
 " Oh, Diego, my son ! " groaned Colon, when he 
 returned to his inn, leaning on the young man's arm. 
 " Put not thy trust in princes. Serve the Lord thy 
 God, and look for his rewards ; but expect not justice 
 or gratitude from men. I have left rules for thee to 
 follow, if Heaven blesses thee with the restitution of 
 
LOVE TRIUMPHANT. 289 
 
 thy just dues when I am gone. Seek first the ransom 
 of the Sepulchre. It may be I suffer no more than 
 the sorrow of David when the Lord denied his peti- 
 tion that he should build a house for his name, reserv- 
 ing that honor for Solomon, his son. Like David, I 
 have gathered the treasures and the gold for the build- 
 ing, though injustice denies me my own, and I have 
 not now a roof to shelter me, or a real to give to the 
 poor. God can change the heart of the king, and 
 place the means within thy hands in his own good 
 time. Thou wilt not forget this purpose, Diego? " 
 
 " I will cherish it, and endeavor to fulfil it, my 
 father," answered Diego. 
 
 When Colon lay exhausted on his bed in the inn, 
 he had a visit from the great Ximenes, now become a 
 cardinal, and archbishop of Toledo. The cardinal 
 had more than once shown his affection for the secret 
 member of the Franciscan order, whose lofty spiritual- 
 ity of character he ascribed to his own influence, 
 aided by the Spirit of God. He felt a peculiar ten- 
 derness for the man whose life of martyr-like sacrifice 
 had found no earthly reward. Ximenes, with all his 
 sincere self-abnegation, had risen to be a power in 
 Church and State. Honors and dignities had been 
 thrust upon him. Wealth flowed in boundless streams 
 through his hands. The pathos of the life that was a 
 failure in its noblest aims touched him more keenly 
 in contrast with his own success. 
 
 " Heaven bless thee, my brother ! " he exclaimed, 
 as he gave the Admiral the kiss of fraternal affection. 
 " Remember that the present is but a brief span in 
 our allotted existence, which includes an eternal future. 
 Lift thine eyes to the heavens ! Cherish the blessing 
 19 
 
290 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 of inward peace with which God rewards his servants, 
 and thou wilt not exchange thy poverty and thy pain 
 for all the rewards in the king's gift." 
 
 Colon pressed the hand of his friend. 
 
 " It is not for myself so much as for my sons that I 
 ask for justice," he said. " God has blessed me with 
 the success he promised me. It is the king who de- 
 nies me my own, won with blood and sweat. The 
 price of the Sepulchre is mine, and he withholds it 
 from me." 
 
 ** I will use my influence in thy favor," said Ximenes. 
 " The Archbishop of Seville, Diego de Deza, has long 
 been thy warm friend. Should the king bring the 
 question of thy claims before the Junta de Descaigos, 
 as he promises, I hope that our voices will prevail in 
 the Council. Thus all is not lost. Keep up a good 
 heart. Trust to thy friends, and above all to God, 
 and to the friendship of the blessed Saint Francis, 
 whose garb thou dost wear, and whose sainted fellow- 
 ship will support thee through the power of that close 
 union with himself. Hast thou not found it dearer 
 than the love of wife and child?" 
 
 " Ah, Ximenes, question me not in my hour of 
 weakness and pain," said Colon. " I have had happy 
 seasons when Heaven has been near and its love 
 sufficient. Sometimes the old doubts and question- 
 ings recur to me." 
 
 Ximenes turned the subject, and began a cheerful 
 conversation concerning the political affairs of the 
 kingdom, and the changes which might be expected 
 under the new queen, Juana, who had succeeded her 
 mother upon the throne of Castile, and was soon ex- 
 pected to arrive with her husband from Flanders. 
 
LOVE TRIUMPHANT. 291 
 
 He described the grand preparations being made to 
 welcome her. Colon's sanguine mind saw a new 
 hope in the coming of Isabella's daughter. 
 
 " Recommend me to her notice, Ximenes," he 
 said. " If I am well enough to leave my bed, I shall 
 go in person to welcome her. She surely will not 
 neglect the man who was honored with the friendship 
 of her sainted mother." 
 
 Ximenes encouraged him in the hope of her favor 
 and interest, and left his friend cheered with new 
 expectations. 
 
 When the court removed to Valladolid, Colon fol- 
 lowed, — both to be near his sons and to press the 
 consideration of his claims. They had been presented 
 to the Junta, so the king declared ; and its decision 
 must be awaited in patience, since so grave a matter 
 required time for deliberation. 
 
 Ximenes did not tell his friend that, to his certain 
 knowledge, the Council had not been convoked, nor 
 the subject referred to it. The king's word could not 
 be gainsaid, even when it pleased him to lend its 
 sanction to an absolute falsehood. Ferdinand no 
 longer flattered and temporized. He believed that 
 the hours of his tiresome petitioner were numbered. 
 He was careless now whether he were cursed or 
 blessed by the helpless and forsaken Viceroy of the 
 Indies. 
 
 One day Colon was seized with an attack of pain 
 which rendered him for the time senseless and mo- 
 tionless. His friends thought that he was dying. 
 Diego, weeping, took the intaglio from his finger. 
 
 "Dost thou remember?" he asked his brother 
 Fernando. " Is it not time that we should send it ? " 
 
292 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 " Yes," said Fernando ; and Bartholomew, learning 
 the meaning of the token, agreed with a mighty oath. 
 
 ''His wife should be here," he said; "it is her 
 place." 
 
 Colon recovered consciousness, and seemed to gain 
 more than his former strength and cheerfulness. He 
 was full of eager interest in the coming of the new 
 queen, and the departure of the court to welcome 
 her. " Thou must hasten to her, Bartholomew," he 
 said. " As Adelantado of the colony, thou canst well 
 represent my office. Declare to her my grief that my 
 illness obliges me to forego the pleasure of joining my 
 homage to that of the rest. Assure her of my loyal 
 devotion to her and to her husband. Beseech her, 
 for my sake, when time permits, to examine into my 
 case, and urge the restitution of the rights conferred 
 on me by her sainted mother, to whose place she suc- 
 ceeds by the grace of God. Win her by all means 
 to listen to thee, Bartholomew. She must have a no- 
 ble and a generous heart. Simple justice is all I ask ; 
 this she cannot deny me." 
 
 The faithful Bartholomew left for Laredo to do his 
 brother's bidding, though he took with him a heavy 
 and an anxious heart. The Admiral, on the contrary, 
 was full of cheerful enthusiasm. His two sons had 
 obtained permission to remain with him, though he 
 had urged them to go also to pay their respects to the 
 sovereigns. The Franciscan brothers of Valladolid, to 
 whose kind offices Ximenes had recommended the Ad- 
 miral, were faithful in their attendance near his couch. 
 
 " He cannot last long," they said to his sons. '' Do 
 not leave him alone." 
 
 Colon did not show by any word or hint that he 
 
LOVE TRIUMPHANT. 293 
 
 realized the approach of death ; but he sent for a no- 
 tary, and made a formal deposition of the will which 
 had been written four years before. He signed it with 
 his curious cipher, and then he said to Diego : " Re- 
 member ! Fulfil all that I have charged thee." 
 
 Diego made the promise with tears in his eyes. 
 "Look from the window, Fernando," said Colon. 
 " It may be that a courier will be sent me from the 
 queen. If she resembles the blessed Isabella, she will 
 hardly hear my message before she will melt into ten- 
 derness, and will show an eager desire to atone to me 
 for my long sufferings. It is the woman's heart that 
 has the deepest appreciation of sorrow, and the great- 
 est power of sympathy." 
 
 He sighed and glanced at his little finger, where for 
 the first time he noticed the absence of the intaglio 
 ring. He started, and turned in the bed with a nervous 
 motion. He opened his lips to speak, but remained 
 silent, giving a quick glance at the faces of his sons. 
 
 After this he showed more than ever an eager ex- 
 pectation of the coming of a messenger. Every foot- 
 fall on the pavement of the court outside caused him 
 to start, though the inn-yard was full of noisy comers 
 and goers. He required that one of his sons should 
 maintain a constant outlook from the window. 
 
 " Will she come? " he murmured one morning, as he 
 woke from sleep, fixing his eyes full upon Fernando 's 
 face. 
 
 "The queen has sent no messenger," replied the 
 boy. " It may be one will come to-day." 
 
 Colon sighed, and folded his hands in prayer. 
 
 " Send for the priests," he said suddenly. " I shall 
 not last the day out." 
 
294 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 Fernando obeyed, with tears running down his 
 cheeks. The good priests came, and surrounded the 
 couch of the dying Admiral with the consolations of 
 the Church. He begged to be clothed once more in 
 the robe of Saint Francis. 
 
 " Witness, all of you," he said, as he drew its folds 
 about him, " that only the tumults of an existence 
 devoted to travels and to arduous affairs, have pre- 
 vented my making open profession of the Hfe which 
 I embraced in secret. I have long been a faithful 
 though unworthy member of the Seraphic Order." 
 
 A footfall in the corridor without caused Colon to 
 start and listen. He raised himself slightly in the bed, 
 and watched the door with an eager gaze as it opened ; 
 but he sank back on his pillows with a groan, as a cowled 
 Dominican entered with a silent bow of greeting to 
 all, and took a seat in a distant corner, where he re- 
 mained with bent head, absorbed in telling his beads. 
 
 The Franciscans watched him curiously, but he gave 
 no explanation of his presence. They concluded that 
 the Dominican was a friend of the dying man, — a 
 messenger from Diego de Deza, — perhaps the emi- 
 nent archbishop himself. His cowl shaded his face, 
 so that its features could not be seen. His motionless 
 attitude seemed to express deep grief. Colon was un- 
 easily aware of his presence. He tried in vain to turn 
 his head and question the intruder with a look ; but 
 he gave no outward sign of his feelings ; and his 
 sons, absorbed in their own grief, hardly noticed the 
 new-comer. 
 
 As the hours wore on, the Admiral failed visibly. 
 The priests administered the sacrament of extreme 
 unction, and the Dominican's voice joined in the 
 
LOVE TRIUMPHANT. 295 
 
 prayers. Colon himself made the responses, but his 
 voice grew weaker. At the end utterance failed him. 
 
 The Dominican came forward, and knelt down by 
 the bedside, close to the pillow of the dying man. 
 He waved the others aside. 
 
 "You have done your part," he said. " Kneel and 
 pray for his soul. I have words of exhortation that 
 are for him alone. I have travelled far to deliver my 
 message." 
 
 Then he said in a voice that no one else could 
 hear, close to the Admiral's ear, — 
 
 " Dost thou remember Garcia de Silva, whose life 
 thou didst wreck by depriving him of the woman he 
 loved, — the woman whose heart thou didst break in 
 turn, caring no more for it when thou hadst gained it 
 than a child for the flower he has plucked and pulls 
 to pieces in his idle sport? " 
 
 Colon groaned. 
 
 Garcia muttered aloud the words of a Latin prayer. 
 
 " Dost thou know to what a life of misery thou 
 hast condemned her all these years?" he began 
 again, — " what it is to a woman to bear the scorn 
 and pain of unjust desertion ; how day and night she 
 weeps for the past, fearing the future ? Has thy cold 
 heart no knowledge of the torments of unrequited 
 love?" 
 
 The Admiral's lips moved, but his voice was not 
 heard. 
 
 "Has thy ambition satisfied thee?" continued 
 Garcia. " Here thou liest forgotten. Where are thy 
 riches? Who will remember thy name? Ovando 
 holds thy dignities and thy place. He will never 
 relinquish what he has gained. The king upholds 
 
296 COLUMBUS AND BEATRIZ. 
 
 him. Thy son will strive in vain to gain a crust or a 
 shelter for his head out of all thy pretended wealth ; 
 for he will strive against the will of a king. Thou 
 hast added to Ferdinand's domains, but he spurns 
 thee like the lowest beggar who crouches at his door. 
 Hast thou not deserved this? Thus didst thou spurn 
 Beatriz." 
 
 The Admiral's eyes were closed, but his eyelids 
 fluttered. Garcia knew, by the look of pain on his 
 mouth, that his words were heard and heeded. 
 
 ^' Remember the failure of thy purpose to ransom 
 the Sepulchre and to convert the heathen. The na- 
 tives of the Indies curse thy name. The soil of their 
 unhappy islands is drenched with their blood. The 
 torments they endure cry aloud for vengeance, but 
 no deliverance comes. Hast thou not deserved their 
 execration? " 
 
 Colon groaned aloud, and opened his eyes. His 
 sons ran to his side. The Dominican once more 
 resumed his place in the background. 
 
 " Throw the window wider ; give him air," said Diego. 
 
 There was a sound without which only the Admiral 
 heard. The door was flung open, and Beatriz entered, 
 bursting upon the darkening vision of the dying man 
 with the radiance of a heavenly messenger. She had 
 flung aside her hood and mantle as she ran into the 
 house. Her fair hair was loosened, and made an 
 aureole of golden locks about her forehead. At the 
 sight of her the Dominican rose and hastened from 
 the room, disappearing like the blackness of night 
 before the piercing arrows of the dawn, like the 
 demon of hatred and evil before the dominating 
 spirit of eternal love. 
 
LOVE TRIUMPHANT. 297 
 
 Beatriz flung herself upon her knees, and clasped 
 the dying man in an embrace which he knew was 
 that of a human love full of power to strengthen the 
 poor frame that is shaken with the pangs of approach- 
 ing dissolution. The divine beauty of a forgiveness 
 superhuman in its self-denial breathed in the tones of 
 her voice, as she cried, — 
 
 " Cristoval, my beloved, dost thou know thy wife, 
 who loves thee? " 
 
 A smile of joy transfigured the face of Colon. 
 
 " Beatriz ! " he exclaimed, in a voice of tenderest 
 intonation ; and as her lips met his in answer to the 
 yearning of his look, his soul breathed itself out into 
 the kiss. 
 
 '' He is dead ! " said a priest, approaching the 
 bedside. 
 
 " May God and the saints receive his soul 1 " came 
 as a wailing chorus from the lips of the Franciscan 
 brothers. 
 
 Beatriz arose, and stood in the solemnity of her 
 silent grief beside the bed, while with a gentle motion 
 she called Fernando to her side and leaned upon his 
 arm, giving a hand to Diego as he stood beside her 
 weeping. Love triumphant surrounded as with a triple 
 shield the lowly bier of Spain's great Admiral. 
 
 On the face of the dead man there had come the 
 look of an ineffable peace 
 
 THE END. 
 
MARTHA COREY. 
 
 A TALE OF THE SALEM WITCHCRAFT. 
 
 By Constance Goddard du Bois. 
 
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MONK AND KNIGHT. 
 
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 Two Vols. i2mo, 707 pages. Price, $2.50. 
 
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 HIS LIFE AND TIMES. 
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 This is one of the best pieces of biographical work that have 
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THE LAUREL-CROWNED LETTERS. 
 
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 These witty and entertaining letters show Walpole to bear out 
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EDUCATION and THE HIGHER LIFE. 
 
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