How can I most seri

beyond reach of my power. ously wound him? Let me think, let me think!"

Five years passed since Cortez sailed from Cuba, yet Velasquez was as stern and unforgiving as on the morning he mounted his horse and thundered down the beach to see the fleet beyond recall. As the years rolled on, the governor's hate of the Estevans, father and son, grew stronger.

Christopher was now sixteen years of age, a tall, handsome, manly youth, with soul overflowing with valor and poetry. One evening he was wending his way home from the house of a friend where he had been passing the evening in social enjoyment. Christopher was an accomplished musician, and this evening he had his guitar under his arm. He was lost in painful yet pleasant reflections. But two weeks more and he would sail for Spain to complete his education at Salamanca, and, while he looked on the coming voyage with pleasure, he could not but regret leaving friends at home. It was a bitter trial to leave without seeing that banished father, to speak one fond good-by. He also regretted to leave his mother, whose companion he had ever been, and Christoval, whose innocent wiles had so entwined her about his heart as to make her inseparable from his thoughts. He did not see the cavalier coming down the street toward him, and, like himself, that gentleman was lost

in thought. His reflections took an ill turn and he gesticulated angrily, striking his hand in the air, as if he were beating back an invisible foe. The cavalier, being blind in one eye, did not see Christopher, who passed on his blind side. The fist of the one-eyed knight shot out just as young Estevan was opposite him, and sent his guitar spinning into the street.

Nothing was more calculated to rouse this musicloving youth, and, before the cavalier could realize what he had done, Christopher knocked him down.

As soon as he could gain his feet, the cavalier drew his sword, and turned upon his assailant. "Impudent upstart! what do you mean?" he

cried.

"You struck my guitar from my hand."

"By my patron saint! I swear I have a mind to run you through!"

"It would be a deed befitting a gallant cavalier, as I am unarmed,” was the ironical response. "Panfilo de Narvaez dares not fight an Estevan in fair combat."

“I recognize you now; you are the son of Hernando the traitor."

"You speak falsely, señor. My father is no traitor, and a braver man never lived."

Narvaez, though a man of violent passions, nevertheless possessed great pride.

"It shall not be said that Narvaez struck an unarmed man," he said, putting up his sword; "but I will see that you are sent to join your rebellious father."

Estevan laughed at the cavalier, and assured him that, before many days, he would leave the island of his own accord. Christopher's adventure tended to hasten his departure. News of the assault on the cavalier reached the governor's ears, and he determined to banish Estevan. Friends managed to get the order stayed for a few days. Meanwhile every arrangement for the youth's departure for Spain was completed.

The day came, one of those lovely tropical mornings. The sunbeams danced upon the deep like smiles on the face of a sleeping babe.

The little bay of St. Jago was a scene of brilliance and confusion. Early as it was, the town was alive with people hurrying hither and thither. A ship was about to sail for Spain, and there were the usual sounds in the harbor and on the shore. People about to depart were bidding adieu to those on shore, and the joyful expectation of meeting loved ones in the Old World, was dampened by regrets at leaving dear friends in the New.

A little group stood apart from the others. Christopher Estevan, his mother, her other two children, and Christoval Balboa constituted the

group.

Young Estevan was on his way to Salamanca, the seat of European learning. His mother was weeping, and, for the first time since Fulvia was torn to death by the bloodhound, Christoval evinced signs of grief. Another joined them; it was Gerund the jester. The poor fellow had forgotten his jests, and wept with the others.

It was a sad morning for Estevan, who felt as if he were really banished from his home by the edict of a tyrannical governor, and his return forbidden. "Don't weep, mother, it is for the best," sighed Christopher.

"It is, in very truth, the best," put in Gerund, "but, alas, we do not always like the best," and he sobbed louder than before.

The boat was ready, and, bidding all a final adieu, Estevan sprang into it and was rowed away to the vessel. They watched him go aboard, saw the anchor hoisted, heard the signal gun, and then the great white sails, like clouds of snow, were spread to the wind and the vessel sailed away. Poor Christoval, unable to bear up longer, gave way to her first and only violent fit of grief. As Christina Estevan held the sobbing girl in her arms, and gazed after her departing son, her mind went back to the day in Palos, when she had seen his father sail away with the white-haired explorer in search of a new world.

CHAPTER XIII.

INEZ OVIEDO.

CHRISTOPHER ESTEVAN had been two years in Salamanca when, one day, he met Antonio Velasquez. He afterward learned that Antonio had come to Salamanca to take a scholarship in the famous convent, but, having been early expelled, was pursuing his studies under a private tutor. Under the circumstances, the meeting between the two could hardly be cordial. There was a sneer on

the face of Antonio, and he was not backward in his expressions of dislike toward Christopher. "You will not return to Cuba, I suppose?" he remarked.

"The governor has banished you."

"Perchance, before I am ready to go home, the governor may be hanged."

"No, he has strong friends at court, and they will see that he suffers not, which is more than can be said of your father."

"Yet, under Cortez, he has given Mexico, with