tounded when the young stranger came toward him, and, with extended arms, cried:

"Father!"

The soldier's eyes opened wide, and he gazed at the face before him.

"My son! my son! can this be my little Christopher?" he exclaimed.

"It is, father, but little no longer," answered Christopher, embracing him. "I am now grown

to be a man."

"I have been so long accustomed to think of you as the little boy I left here long ago, that I can hardly realize that you are a man. you leave Spain ?”

"I am on my way to Peru, father!"

Why did

"And have you given up your studies?"

"For good cause, as I will explain in time. Francisco Pizarro came to Spain beating up recruits for Peru, and I am going with him. Our ship touched here and will remain a few days to take in wood and water, and I availed myself of the opportunity to pay you a visit.”

The mother, who was not far away, heard voices in the garden and went to see who was there. Her eyes were quick to recognize in that tall, manly stranger her first-born, and she hurried to brace him and welcome him as only a fond mother can. The other members of the family followed

her to rejoice over the arrival. From behind one of the massive columns supporting the roof of the long piazza, he caught a glimpse of a slender girl. The loose, straight gown of the period, gathered at the waist with cord of gold, clung to her, giving a quaint, nymph-like contour of beauty. A casual observer would at once be attracted by her delicate profile and her large, dark eyes. Christopher Estevan recognized in this slender, graceful, olivecheeked girl his adopted sister, Christoval Balboa. One glance, and Christopher sprang to her side and seized her hand before she could escape.

"Christoval, Christoval, don't you know me? Don't you know your brother?"

She trembled like a captive bird, and Christopher's brotherly kiss seemed to set her cheek aflame; her breath came in gasps, and she looked as if she would faint.

"It is your brother returned; fear not, Christoval."

She gazed at him with her great, dark eyes, as if she feared it might all be a dream from which she would awake. Before long she was sufficiently recovered to sit at his side on the rustic seat and hold his hand in her own, as if she feared he would escape.

Before many days she grew reconciled to the change in her brother, and again they wandered

among old familiar scenes, or sat on the beach to hear the ocean's roar. He told her much of the Old World which she was destined never to see; of his expulsion from Salamanca and the attempt to

arrest him; but he told no one of Inez.

That

was a secret which he kept safely locked up in his heart.

"You are going away to Peru?" she asked, as they sat on the great stone on the beach.

"I am," he answered.

For a long time both were silent. The surf dashed mournfully upon the sands and the pebbles glistened in the sun; while in the distance porpoises could be seen sporting in the water. Sea-fowls soared in the air above, and from afar came the subdued sounds of life in the town. Christoval heaved a sigh, and a look of sadness came over her face.

"Don't you want me to go?" he asked.

"No."

Another mournful silence of shorter duration followed, which was broken by Christoval saying: "What matters it to me? I am only an Indian.”

"Christoval-sister, don't use that term in selfreproach, for the best blood of Spain flows in your veins. Your father made a name which will last through all time. Has any one reproached you

on account of your Indian blood?"

"No."

"Have we not always been kind to you?"

'Forgive me; I am very ungrateful. It is perhaps my proud Indian blood which makes me so; but I see my mother's race conquered, humiliated, and enslaved, and feelings of bitterness will arise in my heart."

"You have done nothing to be forgiven," he answered. Then she grew more cheerful, and they

discussed the coming conquest and Estevan's prospects for bettering his fortune.

“There are great dangers in the path of the man who would conquer Peru," said Christoval.

"I realize them all," he answered.

"Do you remember the stories told by Zuna, the old woman of the cave, of rivers infested with dragons, of huge birds with human faces, which feed on people? Did she not speak of mountains of flame, and gulfs that would swallow up armies?"

"Yes, and she told of cities of gold, of splendor such as kings might envy, of such fabulous wealth as the world has never known. Who deserves the wealth of the heathen more than those who came to spread the Gospel among them?"

The Spanish conqueror was a religious robber. Mingled with the idea of conquest and gold was the one thought of extending the dominion of the Cross. The Spaniard was ever a Crusader. He was, in the sixteenth century, what Coeur de Lion and his brave followers were in the twelfth, with this difference: the cavalier of the earlier period fought for the Cross and glory; while gold and the Cross became the watchwords of the Spaniards. The spirit of chivalry somewhat waned before the spirit of gain; but the fire of religious enthusiasm burned as brightly under the quilted mail of the American