ance from bondage came to him just at the right | thrust and parry in the tilting-ring, were but moment; not too soon, else he might have had to return to a world all strange to him, like a ghost come back from the dead; not too late, since it was good to rest for a little while, ere he went forth on his journey to that home wherein he should rest for ever. Only one thing troubled the strange, happy quiet of those declining hours. And, at last, one day, when José had gone to Lima, and Fray Fernando alone was sitting by his side, the secret sorrow found words. "Do you want anything, my brother?" the monk asked tenderly, noticing that Melchior's eyes were fixed upon him with an earnest inquiring gaze. "Nothing, Señor Don Alfonso. Except what I am trying to find, and cannot." "Perhaps I could find it for you." "Would to God you could!" Melchior answered with a mournful smile. "I am looking, in that worn, old face of yours, for the dear, young, noble face my heart so loved and reverenced in the days gone by." "Then, indeed, you look in vain, my brother. Don Alfonso Garcia de Fanez is dead and buried long ago; and he who sits here is only Fray Fernando, the Franciscan friar." "But this I would fain know, señor and my brother-where is Don Alfonso buried, and what has he left behind him? He should not have passed away without mark or remembrance. For he was made for great things." earnests given of great deeds yet to be. O brother, brother, do you not remember all those old talks in the orange-grove by the river-side! All those plans, that came to nothing? How you were to raise a corps of volunteers, and help to rend Ireland (that fair jewel, you called it) from the crown of the English usurper? And how you were then to settle and colonize, taking me with you, and getting for me also a grant of land amongst the saffron kilted kernes? My brother Francisco was to be our priest, and Miguel and Ruy to till the ground." "Dreams-all dreams!" Fray Fernando answered sadly. "They are no more to me now than the tales José loves to tell us of his Inca forefathers." "But, señor my brother, you yourself told me long ago that the dreams of youth are the flowers, the doings of manhood the fruit. Woe for the flowers that they have fallen, and left no fruit behind!" "The tree was blighted, and is dead. Whence then could the fruit come?" "That work was mine. There, señor, is the thought that wrings my heart." "Pat that thought away from you, dear and generous brother," Fray Fernando eagerly interposed. fate." "It was not your work; it was my "What do you mean by that word 'fate,' señor? I am a poor ignorant man, yet I know this: it was no fate that happened to me, but the will of God. How much more you-wise, learned, "So seemed many another who has come to and a churchman?" ruin, as he." "There was no other like Don Alfonso.-Nay, let me speak, señor. In the galleys I spoke but little, and very soon I shall speak no more. You know well you were the passion, the idol, of my boyhood and youth. And even now I do not wonder. You learned with ease all that other men learn with pain. You knew a thousand things I had never dreamed of, yet you knew all I knew also. You did all that I could do, and better than I." "You say too much for me, Melchior." "I say the truth, señor. Always you made us feel that you were more than you did; that the ready stroke and spring at the bull-feast, the "I am learned in nothing, Melchior, save in sorrow. But this is ungrateful," he added pre"God has healed my worst sorrow in giving you back to me." sently. "He will heal the rest too," said Melchior. "And though the flowers faded so long ago, I think the fruit will come yet." Fray Fernando sighed. Then his own secret trouble rose half unconsciously to his lips. "I am not at peace with God," he said. "I have trifled with His grace in His sacraments." "I know but one way of making peace with God, señor. That is through Christ. He is our way, and He is our peace." Fray Fernando looked somewhat surprised. "How do you know that, Melchior?" he asked. "Because, Señor Don Alfonso, I have trod the way, and I have found the peace." Just then José entered, carrying a native basket, from which he produced some articles of food and other things that he had purchased in the city. Amongst them was a flask of wine, from the old country, which he gave to Melchior, saying, "My father smiled upon the fruits of your native land, and they have sent their best juices hither to make sick men well." "Don José, you are very good to me," said Melchior gratefully. "I ought to be good to every one to-day," José answered, as he seated himself, and loosed the fastening of his yacollo, which was now a simple golden pin-his mother's tupu-instead of a large and lustrous emerald, Yupanqui's gift. "I have heard such good tidings. But I ought first to tell you, patre, that I failed to do your errand at the Franciscan monastery. The monks would not trust me with the Book, without a written order from yourself." Fray Fernando had sent to request the loan of a copy of the Vulgate. Perhaps his motive for this request might have been found in certain conversations he had lately held with Walter Grey, who was now permitted to come to him three times a week for religious instruction. José went on : "Whatever may have caused their hesitation, it was scarcely the value of the Book, since I offered to leave them one of my gold bracelets in pledge for it. I think they feared I might do myself or some one else a mischief with it, as if it were a carbine or musket. It reminds me, patre, of the old times in Cerro Blanco, when I stood in such awe of your breviary, believing that a spirit dwelt in it, which spoke to you when you read it." Then Melchior said reverently, "It is quite true, Don José, that a Spirit dwells in the Book you were to have brought to-day; and He will speak to you, if you read it with prayer and humility." "You are making pictures, Melchior," José answered readily. "I see." He himself was quite as anxious for the Book as Fray Fernando, because he thought it would tell him of his King. "But you have not yet told us the good tidings, José," Fray Fernando resumed presently. José's black eyes kindled with a vivid inward fire, but no other feature of his face showed emotion, and his voice was calm, even low, as he spoke. "Some Spanish soldiers have just come back to Lima from the country of the Chunchos, which you call the Montana. They have brought with them-sore wounded and sick unto death -Don Ramon de Virves. It was at his own earnest request they brought him so far, for he thought to embark for Spain. But he will never see Spain again. God has visited his iniquities on his head." "Take care, José," said Fray Fernando gravely. "Long ago the wise man said, 'Rejoice not when thine enemy falleth, and let not thine heart be glad when he stumbleth: lest the Lord see it, and it displease him, and he turn away his wrath from him." "Who is Don Ramon de Virves?" Melchior asked with interest. José turned to him and answered, still in the same low quiet voice, "When I was a child I dwelt with my kindred in a little green spot in the great southern desert-a 'paucar,' we call it. One day that Don Ramon de Virves came thither with his Spaniards. We were mostly women and children; we neither could fight with them, nor desired to do it. So we gave them to eat and to drink, and let them lie down in our huts to sleep. But while we slept they arose, drew their Spanish steel, and slew all—men, women, and little children-without remorse or pity.* That was their way of 'reducing' Indians to the obedience of the crown of Spain and the faith of Christ. Yet it was well for those who died. Thrice more unhappy, two were spared-my mother and I. Bound and guarded, we watched the flames that burned our home to ashes. But the Children of the Sun know how to die. I am a man now, and I thank God that my mother won her freedom; but I was a child then, and I wept and wailed over her lifeless form in the bitterness of my anguish. Yet I too would have died, rather * A hundred such stories could easily be gathered out of the blood-stained records of the Spanish conquests in America. than be Don Ramon's slave, if the patre had not bought me when he did. Judge whether or no I have cause to rejoice that Don Ramon is dying now in pain and misery-forsaken of God and man." "José, my son José!" Fray Fernando interposed, in a tone of grieved surprise. "Remember "Remember that vengeance belongs to God, not to us. Το Him we ought to leave it." CHAPTER XXXII WALTER GREY'S ADVICE. "Forgive!—for 'tis sweet to stammer one letter From the Eternal's language: on earth it is called 'Forgiveness."" LONGFELLOW (from the Swedish), JOSE VIRACOCHA was not at all more vindictive than other men. He inherited from his ancestors no implacability of disposition, no burning thirst after vengeance. On the contrary, it was their "I have left it to Him," José answered calmly, special glory-a glory that ought to last when "and He has taken it." "But did you never hear," said Melchior, raising himself and looking earnestly at the Indian youth-"did you never hear that our blessed Lord Himself, when He hung on the cross, prayed for His murderers, and said, 'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do '?" "No" José said, interrogatively, and with a perplexed, discomfited look. "How can you say 'No,' José ?" Fray Fernando asked, a little jealous perhaps for his reputation as instructor. "You have heard it a hundred times. And what says the Paternoster, -almost the first thing I taught you?" José struggled with a thought he did not choose to admit, and putting it from him with an effort, answered doggedly, "It says, 'Thy kingdom come. "But, José, it says also, 'Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against "And," Melchior added, "none have part in the kingdom that is to come save those whose trespasses are forgiven." José received these sharp arrows of truth without remonstrance, but without acquiescence. He bore their sting as he would have borne physical pain-silent and unmoved, though keenly sensible. In any other case he would have been very angry with the hands that winged them; but he knew not how to feel anger towards a dying man like Melchior, still less towards the patre. But how unreasonable, how unjust, how cruel the requirement ! Whose requirement? That he did not ask himself just yet. With a lowering brow and a heart full of bitterness he went forth; nor did either Melchior or Fray Fernando see him again that night. other glories fade away-that they saw the still José could not forgive Don Ramon: he had no wish to do it-his soul rose in rebellion at the very thought. He saw clearly all that it irvolved. If he pardoned Don Ramon, he must pardon also all his enemies, with all their injuries, public and private. He must pardon Don Francisco Solis; and him he hated quite as bitterly as he hated Don Ramon. And there were times when his resentment against both paled before the intensity of his indignation against the spoilers of Tahuantin Suyu. Them also-even them he must pardon! Impossible! Yet a suspicion, gradually becoming a conviction, was stealing over his heart. It was no other than the King whom he sought-the Divine Monarch and Deliverer, the great Inca of the West-who required this thing of him, who de manded it as the test of his allegiance. If, instead, He had but asked his life-blood! That were easily given. In his sore dismay and perplexity, he bethought himself of Walter Grey, to whom he was becoming every day more strongly attached, and to whose comfort he ministered in every possible way. Walter would give him the English view of the matter; and that, most probably, would be the true one. So, after Walter's next visit to Fray Fernando, José returned with him to the beach; and standing before him as he rested for a little in the welcome shade of a rock, he briefly acquainted him with the strange demand that had been made upon him. "If," he said, "I proposed stabbing the man through the back, or setting fire to the house. where he lies wounded, I could understand the King having somewhat to object. Nor, indeed, would the Incas have approved such practices. But to bid me forgive him from my heart! How can it matter what I feel there? Whose business is that, save my own?" I do not understand.-Stay, I do!" he added, after a thoughtful pause. "I remember the patre said those words to me. He told me they meant my baptism. He said I was born then into the Christian Church.” "You remember your baptism?" asked Walter. "Of course I do ; I was ten years old." "What did you feel? Did you receive a new heart, and begin a new life then?" "In one way, yes. I felt great love for the patre, who, I thought, was claiming me for his own by certain mystic rites and ceremonies; and I gave myself up to him very gladly. But as for thoughts of God or the Church, I had none. Until long afterwards, I worshipped my father the Sun." "It is very plain that you still need to be born of water and the Spirit, and to receive the new "It is God's business, José ;—and the King is heart which God alone can give you. And He God." "I know it," said José reverently. will. You have only, on your part, to 'give yourself up to Him very gladly,' as you did to the "God sees your heart, reads it through and patre.-Don José," said Walter Grey, starting up through, claims it for his own." José lay down on the sand, and turned his dare not linger. face away from Walter. At last he said, "I almost wish I had never met you, Señor Hualter." "And why that, Don José ?" 66 You trouble me. Better never to have known the King, than to know Him and not obey Him; and He is hard, hard to obey." "Oh no!" But yes. I know now why none of the Spaniards really obey Him, though they pretend to do it-They cannot. Nor can I; I am afraid of Him." "You ought not. He loves you, He died for you; and He only wants you to be like Him." "Well, if need were, I could die for Him. But" (a tremor shook his whole frame; not violent-none of his movements were that-but telling of intense repugnance)" this thing I cannot do; I will not. What use to try? I could never forgive that man, unless I were taken to pieces and made over again.” suddenly, "I could talk to you for hours; but I Look yonder! The sun touches the sea already; and ere it sinks, I am bound to be on board. There is not a moment to waste; the sunsets are so rapid here. Wonderful, like everything else in this wonderland of yours!" "I am with you, Señor Hualter," said José, suiting the action to the word. As they walked along together, Walter remarked: "I dare not make the captain angry by delay, lest he should deny me leave another time; and few other times may be left to me now, Don José. The Comandante returns from Cuzco to-morrow, and it is whispered he has orders for us. I fear we may be sent to some distant shore, where I shall never see your face or that of Fray Fernando again. It is so lonely on board, now the matador is gone; though, God knows, my heart rejoices at his deliverance. Farewell, Don José !" "Hasten thine errands in the city-not thy footsteps by the way; for the heat is fearful today, and I would not have thee get a sunstroke." "No fear of that. My Father never hurts his own; he only smites the Spaniards," said José, as he started at a brisk pace on his seven miles' walk. His assertion was not strictly true, however; for the burning suns of Lima proved fatal to many of the Inca family who about this time were exiled by Spanish tyranny from Cuzco and its neighbourhood, and forced to take up their residence on the hot, unhealthy coast. That day José brought back with him in triumph a formidable-looking volume. Fray Fernando laid it aside until the evening; but when the door of their humble dwelling was barred for the night, and the lamp was lighted, he set it on the table before him, and began to read. Melchior prayed him to read aloud, translating the Latin into Spanish as he read. There were few things which he could have refused Melchior; so he turned from the Epistles of St. Paul (which he had been exploring to test the accuracy of Walter Grey's quotations, and to discover if possible some key to the perplexities they awakened), and, rightly judging that the Gospels were the best food for the unlearned, he found the opening page of the New Testament, and began to read "The Gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God." No man had ever two more attentive hearers. Melchior was soon to know more than even that Book could tell of Him whom his soul loved. Yet every word it revealed was precious. What if ere long he should drink from the fountainhead? Hitherto only a few drops in a tiny cup had been borne to his thirsting lips; therefore for the present it was joy enough to stoop over the running stream and drink, and give God thanks for the draught. José, meanwhile, had not yet drunk; though he was sore athirst, and the water was near him. From the day when he learned who the King was from Walter Grey, to that other day when the summons to forgive his enemies smote him to the heart, José had occupied somewhat the posi tion of a devout Jew "waiting for the consolation of Israel," looking with earnest faith, for a national Messiah, a great Redeemer and Deliv erer, who should save his beloved people from all their enemies. Such a Deliverer he was prepared to welcome and to obey, even to the death. But now a lightning flash, scathing and burning while it illumined, had revealed to him the necessity of another deliverance, hitherto undreamt of,-a personal deliverance from sin. learning now that the Son of God must be sought as the Saviour of the soul, or He will not reveal Himself as the King of the nations. Even the question, "Will He restore the Incas į" was postponed, of necessity, until their child found an answer to that other question, “Will He receive me, and make me over again, so that I can serve and please Him?" He who read was seeking as earnestly as those who listened. Fray Fernando's difficulties were far more complex than those of José. He needed everything-truth, peace, light, pardon. There were times when the last seemed the most pressing need of all. If each had tried to condense his longings into a single prayer, that of Fray Fernando would probably have been, "Wash me throughly from my iniquities, and cleanse me from my sin;" and that of José, "Create in me a clean heart, and renew a right spirit within me." Though it is likely José would soon have added, "Do good in thy good pleasure unto Zion" (meaning what stood for Zion in his mind); "build thou the walls of Jerasalem." |