conquerors, as it did of yore under the steel armor of the soldier of Palestine.

Those tranquil days at home sped by like a delightful dream. The father entertained all with He told of the wild conflicts,

stories of Mexico.

and of Marina, the queen of battle, whom the conqueror had made his wife.

"Made her his wife?" whispered Christoval, who had been listening to his story.

"Yes, he put away his white wife for the pretty Aztec."

"And she an Indian, too!" murmured Christoval, her face beaming. No one noticed how strangely the story affected her.

"I am growing old, my son, " said Hernando Estevan, in conclusion. "Hardships, wounds, and battles make me old before my time. You must finish with Pizarro what I began with Columbus. I aided in the discovery and conquest of one empire; you and your posterity must build up another. Let the name of Estevan be noted for honor rather than magnitude of accomplishments, and hand it down to your children as stainless as I give it to you. You, the hope of perpetuating the name, must not rashly risk your life."

"I shall not, yet you would not have me be a coward?"

"No, but prudence is never cowardice, and,

above all things, I would implore you to preserve a conscience clear before God."

That evening Estevan strolled with his foster sister to the beach, and as they sat in their accustomed place, she asked:

"What do you think of the story?"

"What story?"

"The story of Marina.

She loved him."

"She did, and he loved her," Estevan answered. "And she was an Indian."

"There is no sin in loving an Indian, Christoval. Your father loved your mother, or else he would not have died rather than give her up."

She gasped for breath, a glad light flashed in her eye, and her lips trembled, but she did not speak. Her little heart was too full for utterance. At last she raised her eyes to his.

“Have I changed since you left?" she asked. "Most wonderfully, Christoval, yet I would have known you anywhere."

"How would you?"

"In all these years of absence, you have been fresh in my memory. The little face I met years ago under such terrible circumstances will never be forgotten. That olive cheek, that soft, dark eye, and that mellow voice will never fade from my memory."

He was praising her, and her stoical Indian nature

almost gave way. Her heart beat wildly and her face glowed as it never had before. When alone in her room that night, the señorita fell on her knees and thanked the Holy Virgin that she had lived to enjoy this hour.

"He loves me, he told me so, and his lips would not lie," the poor, deluded girl sobbed in her joy. "Cortez loved Marina, and he loves me. He loves me as Balboa loved Fulvia. Oh, this hour of bliss repays for ages of torment!" She was in a state of excitement, her hands were firmly clasped and she rocked her body from side to side.

"He is going away!" and she started again to her feet. "Thousands have gone to those far-off lands and never returned. He may sink down in battle, or perish by disease, but he loves me. Yes, even in death, he will be mine."

While Estevan slept the sweet sleep of peace and dreamed of Inez in far-off Spain, Christoval Balboa stole with noiseless feet to his bedside, and, bending over him, pressed her cold lips so gently to his forehead that the sleeper imagined it a passing zephyr.

Estevan was destined not to remain long at home. His ship was still detained at St. Jago taking supplies and beating up recruits, when another came from Spain, bringing Antonio Velasquez. He landed in great pomp and was greeted

by relatives and friends congratulating him on his return. He was not long in St. Jago when he learned that Estevan and his father were both on the island. By some fatal oversight the pardon for Hernando Estevan did not include his son Christopher. Antonio was not long in inducing the governor to issue a new warrant for the arrest of his rival.

Christoval was wandering alone in the grove on the hill, when she discovered Gerund the jester coming toward her at a run. His usually jolly face wore an expression of alarm and anxiety.

"I have bad news, Christoval," he said excitedly. "By the mass! it would be more glorious if it were my funeral." Then the fellow told her of Antonio's arrival and the issuing of the warrant for the arrest of Christopher Estevan, which a party of soldiers were to execute that very night. His movements were to be closely watched and he would be slain if he made an effort to escape.

The Indian girl listened with the stoicism of her mother's race. She resolved at once upon a plan

to save the man whom she loved more than life. She ran to a hut on the coast two miles above, where dwelt some humble fishermen, under obligation to her for past kindness, and persuaded them to seize a small caravel, and at midnight await off

a point of rocks for the fugitive. This done, she hastened home, reaching the house at dusk, and found Estevan in the garden.

"You must go, fly with me at once," she whispered, seizing his arm.

"Why?" Estevan asked, fearing she had lost her reason.

"Your life is in danger, they are coming to kill you. Antonio has landed and procured a warrant for you, and is coming with soldiers to arrest or slay you."

"My father and I were pardoned by the king's proclamation."

"Only your father was pardoned."

Estevan realized his danger. By this time it had grown quite dark, and the clank of arms could be heard down the street. A deed too heinous for light of day was to be done under cover of darkThere was not a moment to lose. He dared not wait to secure arms or bid parents adieu.

ness.

"You must go at once," whispered the Indian señorita, "a moment lost and distruction is certain. Come, I will lead you to safety, and, returning, explain all."

She took his hand and led him through the arbor, down an avenue of trees, and entered a dense forest. From this they discended into a ravine and followed it until the roar of beating surf fell on