THE Spanish court, the army, and the whole nation gave itself up to gladness at the driving from Spanish soil of the Moorish invaders. The city of Granada had to be invested, its government established, the people who remained provided for, and all of the vast details settled of a new acquisition. The court remained at Santa FÉ, although often giving audiences and holding splendid functions in the magnificent palace of the Alhambra in the city of Granada. There were great reviews of troops, receptions of ambassadors, gorgeous religious ceremonials in the consecration of the Moorish mosques into Christian churches. Through it all Diego and Don Felipe pursued their quiet, studious life under the stern rule of Fray PiÑa. Every day the Admiral went upon his usual round, visiting those persons who were interested in his scheme and those in power whom he hoped to interest in it. Father Diego de Deza and Alonzo de Quintanilla remained his steadfast friends. At last, one day, a fortnight after the surrender of Granada, De Quintanilla brought the joyful news that the King and the Queen were prepared to redeem their promise to the Admiral, that when the war with the Moors had reached a conclusion they would assist him in his enterprise.

Diego and Don Felipe were wild with delight. To them it seemed as if the voyage were already made and concluded, the Admiral returning loaded with honors and Diego made a grandee of Spain. They watched the Admiral set forth, plainly but suitably dressed, and with that incomparable air of dignity and composure that always made him a marked man. All during the morning Fray PiÑa found his pupils inattentive and more disposed to reverie than work; but under his sharp admonition they were compelled to pay attention.

It was a little after noon when the sound of steps was heard upon the stairs, and the Admiral and Alonzo de Quintanilla entered the room. De Quintanilla appeared deeply agitated, and for the first time there were indications of subdued anger on the Admiral’s part; but his voice, in speaking, was composed.

“All is over,” he said to Fray PiÑa; “I have appeared for the last time before the great council. They recognize the value of my enterprise; but under the leadership of Fernando de Talavera, the Archbishop of Granada, an honest man but narrow, they declare that my claims are extravagant and should not be allowed. I, in my turn, declared that if I return I shall give to Spain far more than what I claim—the title of Admiral of the Ocean Seas and Viceroy and Captain-General of all the lands I discover, and my son Diego to be page-in-waiting to Prince Juan in my absence and to become a grandee of Spain if I return successful. If the spirit of pride be in this, it is a just and honorable pride. I ask only what I shall acquire by my own strength. Those things have been refused me in advance. Now, after nine years of effort, I shall make no further appeal to the Court of Spain. Perhaps the King of France will be as generous and more just than the sovereigns of Spain.”

The shock of painful surprise kept all silent until Fray PiÑa spoke in a low voice.

“This is indeed a calamitous decision for Spain.”

“True,” said Alonzo de Quintanilla, “but I will say that the Admiral’s course is but just. He treated with the representatives of the King and the Queen with a noble haughtiness, proving himself their equal, and demanded firmly, as they recognized the magnificence of his scheme, that he, at least, should have those honors which must go to some one. Shall he, the discoverer, be under the authority of a viceroy or another admiral? They thought he would be intimidated, that in his anxiety to carry the matter through he would yield what he thought his due; but he would not.”

And then, growing scarlet in the face, De Quintanilla suddenly brought his fist down on the table and shouted:

“Upon the heads of those persons, and especially upon the Archbishop of Granada, will lie the loss of a new world to Spain!”

The Admiral remained silent for a moment, and then with his usual calmness began to make arrangements for his immediate departure with Diego for France. Diego and Don Felipe were stunned. They knew not until the moment of separation came how quickly and strongly the bond of brotherhood had been forged between them. Their elders left them alone, the Admiral telling Diego to pack at once his few books and clothes, as they were to mount and ride within three hours. It took but a short time to collect Diego’s books and clothes, Don Felipe helping, and neither lad saying much. It seemed to them an eternal separation, and it was indeed doubtful if they would ever meet again. Don Felipe drew from his finger a little ring made of two hoops entwined. He took them apart and, placing one on Diego’s finger, he put the other back on his own.

“As long as we wear each the half of this ring,” he said, “we shall be friends still, no matter how far separated.”

At last, with his small belongings packed in a portmanteau and his cloak around him, Diego with Don Felipe went down the stair, their arms entwined about each other’s shoulders. At the door stood a horse for the Admiral and another for Diego, both equipped for hard travel. There were but three persons to say farewell to the Admiral—Fray PiÑa, Alonzo de Quintanilla, and Luis de St. Angel, controller of the ecclesiastical revenues. All showed marks of the deepest grief and chagrin at the loss of the honor and glory for which they had hoped for their country. No word of remonstrance was said, however, as the Admiral made his farewells. No one could have judged from his composure that this meant the wreck and ruin of eighteen years of constant and earnest effort, nine of which had been spent in Spain. The farewells were soon said, Diego and Don Felipe kissing each other on the cheek silently. As Diego flung himself into the saddle and rode off, tears were dropping upon his face; but he said no word.

They rode rapidly in the cold January afternoon and were soon clear of the town. Many persons recognized the Admiral and looked after him curiously, not understanding the meaning of his sudden departure. When the Admiral and Diego reached the highroad they rode still faster. The sky was overcast, and a fine, small rain began to fall. They met few travelers, and those mostly seeking shelter. When they had ridden nearly an hour and were nearing the pass at the foot of the mountain of Elvira, where many desperate battles had been fought between the Moors and the Christians, the tears were still dropping upon Diego’s face; the whole world seemed dark to him. The Admiral then said to him, gently:

“I see you have a good heart, for you are still grieving for Don Felipe.”

“Yes,” answered Diego, “and for you, my father.”

“It is as God wills,” replied the Admiral, upon whose lips those words were often heard.

The gorge grew dark in the winter twilight, and the rough road was slippery with rain and snow. They had just crossed the bridge of Pinos when behind them they heard the clattering of horses’ hoofs coming at a sharp gallop. Neither the Admiral nor Diego turned to see who was coming. Suddenly, the rider, on his steaming horse, came alongside and, laying a bold hand upon the Admiral’s bridle, brought the horse back on his haunches. In the gloom of the evening the Daredevil Knight, Don Tomaso de Gama, was recognized.

“I come, Christobal Colon, with the command of her Majesty, the Queen, that you are to turn about and ride back to Santa FÉ with me—now—this instant—in the present moment.”

Even as Don Tomaso spoke he turned the head of the Admiral’s horse around; but the Admiral checked him.

“I honor and respect her Majesty, the Queen,” he said, sharply; “but I owe her no allegiance. I was born a subject of the Duke of Genoa, and I am a naturalized subject of the King of Portugal.”

“That is all very well, Christobal Colon, born a subject of the Duke of Genoa and a naturalized subject of the King of Portugal, but I have ten good men-at-arms within a stone’s throw, and if you will not ride back with me holding the reins in your own hand you shall ride back with your hands tied behind your back and a man-at-arms on each side of you holding your bridle.”

At that Diego heard what he had known but seldom in his life, a clear laugh from the grave Admiral. The impudence of the young knight, the threat of force against a man accustomed to command all, like the Admiral, could not but move to laughter. Don Tomaso, suiting the action to the word, gave the Admiral’s horse a sharp cut, and before they knew it all three were trotting rapidly back across the bridge. The Admiral held the reins in his own hands; but the Daredevil Knight kept a firm grip upon the bridle.

“And for what does her Majesty, the Queen, wish me to return?” asked the Admiral.

“I do not know,” responded Don Tomaso. “I have not been accustomed to ask the King and the Queen their reasons; but I know that Luis de St. Angel went straight to her Majesty, Queen Isabella, and told her plainly that she was throwing away the greatest honor and glory that ever awaited any sovereign and any country in not granting you the terms to which you were justly entitled, and that you must be brought back to Santa FÉ by force, if necessary. He was reinforced by that stern tutor of Prince Juan, Father de Deza. After a short conference with the Queen, St. Angel and De Quintanilla ran to me and said:

“‘Go you and fetch Christobal Colon back, and tell him all shall be as he wishes. We send you, knowing you to be a daring fellow, and not to be overawed by Christobal Colon, as most men are.’ So here I am, carrying back the Admiral of the Ocean Seas, the Viceroy and Captain-General of all the lands you discover, and your son, Don Diego, grandee of the first rank in Spain.”

Diego listened, almost dazed by Don Tomaso’s words. Presently the Admiral spoke as the horses kept up their sharp trot through the pass, growing darker every moment.

“Where are your ten men-at-arms, Don Tomaso?”

“I have no men-at-arms,” answered Don Tomaso, coolly, “but I have a good harquebus; if you ask for my order, this shall be my order.”

At that Don Tomaso drew his harquebus and leveled it straight at the Admiral, who laughed again and put it aside.

“I wish you were a seaman, Don Tomaso,” he said. “I should make you my first lieutenant.”

After riding for nearly an hour in the darkness they saw the lights of Santa FÉ, and soon they were clattering through the streets. The Admiral was about to take the way to his lodgings when the Daredevil Knight again laid his hand upon the bridle.

“No,” he said, “we cross the Vega and ride straight to the Queen’s pavilion, where her Majesty awaits you.” Then, having assumed the direction of the Admiral, the Daredevil Knight also gave orders to Diego. “Go you,” he said, “back to your lodgings. Your father will return sometime before midnight—perhaps.”

Diego leaned over and caught his father’s hand and kissed it. He had no words in which to express the tumult of joy and pride in his soul.

Ten minutes afterward he dismounted from his spent and dripping horse in front of the lodgings he had left only a few hours before. The next moment he was dashing up the long, dark, narrow stairs. He stopped for a moment outside the door of the little room in which he had lived and studied for many weeks with Don Felipe and softly opened the door. Don Felipe sat at the table, upon which a rushlight burned, making a little glow in the darkness. He was neither reading nor writing, but leaning his head upon his hands, looking the image of forlornness. Diego slipped in softly and threw himself upon Don Felipe.

“All is as we wished!” he shouted. “It is glorious, glorious, I tell you! When the Queen heard my father was indeed gone she sent Don Tomaso galloping after him, who brought him back. The Queen will do for my father all he asks. He is now on his way to the Queen, and you and I, Don Felipe, are here together once more!”

In one day the whole face of the world seemed to have changed for Diego. The Admiral, who, but a little while before, could count on only a few steady friends like Alonzo de Quintanilla and Luis de St. Angel, both accountants to the Queen, and Father de Deza, was now treated with the greatest outward respect by all. Fernando de Talavera, Archbishop of Granada, withdrew his opposition to the Admiral, which had been based solely upon what he considered too high honors to be demanded in the event of success. He believed in the Admiral as a great navigator and looked for the success of the expedition.

One of the points tenaciously upheld by the Admiral was that certain honors should be given his sons, especially Diego, as the elder. That the enterprise would result in immortal glory for himself the Admiral never doubted; but with the passionate love of his children was the natural desire that they should have a place and a degree of consideration. For this reason, after many long consultations with Father de Deza, tutor to Prince Juan, the Admiral had required that Diego should be ennobled by the title of Don and should be made a page-in-waiting to Prince Juan. It was by this steadfast maintenance of the dignity of his position that the Admiral, a foreigner and penniless but for the Queen’s pension, made it apparent that he understood in advance the enormous gift he was about to make to Spain. All he asked for Diego was conceded to him at once on his return to Santa FÉ.

At any other time the thought of the singular change in his life from poverty and uncertainty into a footing of equality with the grandees of Spain would have impressed Diego more deeply; but the thought uppermost in his mind was the great voyage upon which his father was to set forth. Everything seemed small beside it.

It seemed to Diego and Don Felipe as if they had entered upon a new world since the pleasant autumn days at La Rabida.

They had witnessed one of the greatest and most splendid events of the age in the driving-out of the Moors from Spain, and they were brought close to the contemplation of an enterprise so vast that the imagination was bewildered. In the midst of it they lived the ordinary life of youths of their age under a strict master and stern discipline, but they saw and heard men and things that fall to the lot of few young souls.

The winter passed like a dream. Everywhere was the coming voyage of the Admiral talked of, and the King and the Queen supported him loyally. Especially was this true of Queen Isabella, whose lofty and resolute character made her very steadfast in all her undertakings. Diego saw but little of his father in those fleeting months between January and April. Once it had been difficult for the Admiral to obtain audiences of those in power; now he could not see all who flocked to his plain lodgings. It was then expected that he would be able to collect his squadron and sail before the first of June. On a glorious April day the King and the Queen were to sign the agreement between themselves as independent sovereigns and the Genoese captain, to whom they were to give the noble title of Admiral of the Ocean Seas, and Viceroy and Captain-General of all lands to the westward. The great event was to take place at the Alhambra, in Granada, and it was on that day that Diego and Don Felipe first saw the dazzling and overwhelming beauty of the palace of the Moorish kings. The splendor of the “Red Palace,” as the Alhambra means, the glory of its architecture, the magnificence of its halls and courts and fountains, the treasures of gold and silver and jewels used in decorating its vaulted ceilings and marble walls, amazed all who saw them, from the King and the Queen down to the private soldiers and servants.

On this spring morning, April 17, 1492, Diego and Don Felipe were to be of the group that was to accompany the Admiral into the presence of the King and the Queen, where the agreements were to be formally signed and sealed.

The Queen, with characteristic delicacy, had advanced a sum of money to the Admiral which enabled him to make a good appearance for himself and for Diego. Gorgeous dress would have been out of place upon Columbus, whose personality made all accessories appear trivial. On that day he wore a plain costume of black satin with a small collar of lace and a cloak of black cloth. At his side was a plain sword. Diego and Don Felipe were dressed alike in dark-blue cloth with handsome shoes of Cordovan leather and black satin cloaks. The Prior of La Rabida, Juan Perez, the first friend the Admiral had found in Spain and the most devoted, was to be present on this great day, which was one of triumph to him. With him he was to bring the little Fernando, in the care of Brother Lawrence. The party from La Rabida reached Santa FÉ on the night of April 16th, and were joyfully greeted. Fernando was delighted to see his father and brother again, and was charmed with the sight of the knights and soldiers.

At ten o’clock next morning, when Diego and Don Felipe were ready to start, they were sent for to go to the Admiral’s room. On the table lay two swords with sword-belts.

“Don Felipe and my son,” said the Admiral, “the time has now come when you must wear swords, not as boys, but as men. I give you these praying you to consider the solemn meaning of a sword. A sword means courage, truth, and honor. Courage is the greatest virtue in the world, for on it all other virtues are built. It does not avail a man to love the truth unless he has the courage to speak it. The beginning of lying is cowardice. Sin has many tools; but a lie is the handle that fits them all. So must you ever be ready to draw your swords in the cause of truth. A man should reverence his sword as a symbol of his honor. When he is disgraced his sword is taken from him and broken, signifying that he has no more honor. Do you understand this?”

“Yes,” instantly and clearly replied both youths.

The Admiral then, taking the first sword, clasped it around the waist of Don Felipe, who, drawing it from its scabbard, kneeled and kissed it reverently. Then, the Admiral belting the second sword around Diego’s body, Diego, too, kneeled and kissed the sword. Both were vividly impressed with the Admiral’s words and the deep meaning he had attached to them.

“It is a good thing, though not of obligation,” said the Admiral, “that when a young man receives his sword he shall take it to the church and, laying it on the altar, shall spend the night in prayer and contemplation, asking the help and guidance of God in his future life.”

“That will we do, my father,” answered Diego.

“This very night,” added Don Felipe.

The gift of the swords seemed at once to make men of the two youths. They were too intelligent not to understand the full meaning of what they had received.

Below in the street well-caparisoned horses were awaiting them. The Admiral, accompanied by his unfailing friends, De Quintanilla and Luis de St. Angel and Juan Perez, the Prior of La Rabida, rode in advance. Behind him came Fray PiÑa, while Brother Lawrence, mounted on a steady mule, carried in his arms the little Fernando. Diego and Don Felipe brought up the rear. The eyes of the curious crowd of soldiers and citizens were turned upon the cavalcade. They no longer ridiculed the Admiral, but regarded him with fear, as a person likely to draw to him many ardent souls in his voyage into the unknown. Many remarked, however, upon the beauty of the little Fernando and the manly and noble appearance of Diego. They rode through the town of Santa FÉ, across the bridge of the Xeni, and climbed the broad acclivity down which the abject Moorish king had traveled on a January day. Neither Diego nor Don Felipe had been within the walls of Granada, and they were deeply interested in the strange and gorgeous architecture of the city, the barred windows of the women’s quarters, and the mosques, now converted into Christian churches.

At the Gate of the Pomegranates the Alhambra really begins, that marvel of beauty, palace and citadel in one, with walls a mile in circumference, and containing within itself wonderful varieties of loveliness. At this gate the party dismounted and proceeded on foot through the gardens and courtyards leading to the Hall of Ambassadors, where the King and the Queen in state would pledge themselves to the Admiral and sign and seal their agreements. Never had any of them seen anything like the splendors of the glorious courts and superb corridors. The gardens were blooming in all the beauty of the late April, and in the trees and shrubbery were the rare birds caught and tamed for the pleasure of the Moorish kings.

Through long, arched colonnades of gleaming malachite they passed; through the exquisite gardens watered by the icy waters of the Darro, trickling in silver streams or in crystal waterfalls. In every beautiful courtyard great fountains played, making showers of diamonds in the April sun of Andalusia. The air was drenched with the perfume of violets and hyacinths, jasmine and myrtle blooming in splendid profusion.

At the entrance to the magnificent Court of the Lions they were met by a brilliant group of court officials, and passed from one superb apartment to another until they reached the splendid Hall of Ambassadors.

The scene was worthy of the stupendous event that was to take place in it. The walls of polished marble, inlaid with arabesques, its graceful columns, its lofty and beautiful ceilings, its riot of color, was overwhelming in its beauty. Here had the Moorish kings exercised their despotic power; here had they treated with haughty contempt the ambassadors of the Christian nations. Upon this glorious throne-room had been spent the vast sums wrung from the toilers of the land and sea, the money gained by piracy, robbery, and the ransom of Christian captives. Driven forth at last from it, their places had been taken by great and enlightened Christian monarchs. Ferdinand of Arragon was a brilliant soldier, a statesman, shrewd in affairs, and of enlightened views according to his time. The name of Isabella of Castile makes a blaze of splendor upon the page of history. Not less desirous than Ferdinand for the glory and material welfare of her country, Isabella had a loftier mind, a nobler conception of all things, than any monarch of the age. She looked to the spread of the Christian religion, to the civilization of the new peoples in those far lands which Columbus might discover. It was her great and magnanimous mind which caused the introduction into the compact with Columbus of that clause providing that the inhabitants of the new world to be discovered should have the same protection of law as the Spaniards themselves.

At the farther end of the Hall of Ambassadors, upon the great gilded throne of the Moorish kings, sat in throne chairs King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella, Prince Juan and Princess Katharine seated below them, and surrounded by a huge company of officials, statesmen, soldiers, and ecclesiastics. At the steps of the throne was a small table with pens and inkhorns and a great document inscribed upon many leaves of parchment. It was the agreement between the courts of Arragon and Castile with Columbus, and it was in that hour to be signed by King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella and the great Admiral.

It is the prerogative of men of the first order of genius that those nearest to them, who see them oftenest, should have greater reverence for them than those who do not know them so well. So it was with Columbus. Never had those who had been associated with him through his eighteen years of toil, poverty, disappointment, broken hopes, and baffled plans admired him so much as at the moment when he entered the great hall. The friends who escorted him fell back. Columbus, taking the hand of the little Fernando, placed it in that of Diego and advanced alone to the foot of the throne, where he knelt respectfully. All present, from the King and the Queen down to Diego and Don Felipe, showed a visible agitation and tremulous emotion at what was about to take place, except one person; that was the great Admiral himself. He, a man of the people, a foreigner without fortune, with no endowment but his genius, his courage, his virtue, was about to be invested, in case of his successful return, with honors and dignities that dwarfed those of the highest nobles present and placed him one step in advance of all of them. King Ferdinand’s keen face wore an expression of triumph he could not conceal. The cost of the expedition was small, and the King had become convinced that the chances of a stupendous return were very great. Queen Isabella was inspired with a profound and noble enthusiasm; she had eagerly offered to pledge her jewels, and on this offer the amount of money had been raised necessary for the expedition.

The Queen’s face was unusually pale; but her eyes, of a dark and beautiful blue, were shining, and she leaned forward in her chair, returning with a deep bow the reverence made her by the Admiral. He alone was perfectly composed, and gave no sign either of triumph or of nervousness. When he rose from his knees, a chair was placed for him, and then Luis de St. Angel read in a loud voice the terms of the agreement which was to be signed. These were as follows:

THE SIGNING OF THE DOCUMENTS OF AGREEMENT

Splendid, indeed, were these terms, but all present knew that the great Admiral would accept nothing less; and they respected him the more for his steady defense of his rights. When the reading was over, Luis de St. Angel, taking the copies in duplicate, ascended the steps of the throne and laid them first before King Ferdinand, who signed them. He then handed them to Queen Isabella, who also signed them, after which she clasped her hands and engaged a moment in silent prayer. Then the documents were handed to Columbus, and he, in his turn, signed them. A tremor ran through the whole of the great company; the tension was relaxed. The King and the Queen descended from the throne and, followed by Prince Juan and Princess Katharine and a splendid train, passed out of the hall. Luis de St. Angel made a sign to Columbus, who remained standing as did the rest of the company. In a minute or two St. Angel returned, and speaking a word to Columbus, the Admiral motioned to Diego, who followed his father and St. Angel. They crossed the vast hall and entered a small, high-ceiled room where the King and the Queen awaited them with Fernando de Talavera, Archbishop of Granada, and DoÑa Christina, as lady-in-waiting to the Queen. There were also present Prince Juan and Princess Katharine. The Admiral, on being greeted by the King and the Queen, expressed in a few words his deep sense of gratitude. The Queen then said:

“We are now prepared to fulfil the request you made of us some months ago, and to issue letters patent giving your eldest son the title of Don, and making him a page-in-waiting to our son, Prince Juan, and granting him an allowance for his maintenance. I, myself, Christobal Colon, will not forget your son during your absence and will keep informed of his conduct and progress in study. DoÑa Christina will represent me. For your younger son we shall also provide suitably, though he is not of an age to be at court.”

“I earnestly thank your Majesties,” replied the Admiral, “especially for the gracious offer you make of keeping informed concerning my son’s conduct and progress. It shall be my constant prayer and hope that my son may never be unworthy of your Majesties’ kindness. And my thanks are also made to the noble lady, DoÑa Christina.”

Diego then advanced and made his obeisance to the sovereigns, Queen Isabella giving him her hand to kiss. Nobility of soul and kindness of heart radiated from the Queen, and Diego felt that he would be ten times a traitor if he did not do his best to deserve her good opinion. The King and Queen then engaged in earnest conversation with the Admiral, and Diego had time to observe Prince Juan at closer range than ever before. He was a handsome, slender youth, strongly resembling his illustrious mother in the frankness and nobility of his countenance; but his slenderness and delicacy foreboded that his life would not be long, although he lived to be knighted upon the field of battle by his father. The Princess Katharine, destined also for a tragic fate as the wife of the eighth Henry of England, though then but fourteen years of age, also resembled the Queen, and had a dignity and a fearlessness of character that was to sustain her through her stormy and unfortunate life. Diego felt all confidence when he looked into the honest and kindly eyes of Prince Juan, and thought to himself: “This must be a noble prince, being the son of his mother.”

After a short conference the Admiral was dismissed, and in a little while Diego had rejoined Don Felipe and Fray PiÑa and Brother Lawrence with the little Fernando. Leaving the splendid palace, they rode back through the soft, bright April noon to their lodgings in Santa FÉ. Diego said nothing of what had passed until he found himself alone in the small, plain room he shared with Don Felipe. Then he told Don Felipe all.

“If I should ever forget the kindness of the great Queen, or fail to live as she expects me to, I think I should have the blackest heart in the world,” he said. “Besides giving me honors and money, she gave me kindness, and your mother, DoÑa Christina, has said that she will have a care for me as for you. What a good woman your mother must be, Don Felipe!”

“The best on earth,” answered Don Felipe. “As good as Queen Isabella.”

Diego then unbuckled his sword and laid it on the table, and Don Felipe did the same. Then came a long pause before Diego spoke.

“This is the first day,” he said, “that we have worn swords as men. Ought we not to consecrate them with prayer as knights do?”

“Yes,” answered Don Felipe. “My mother has told me that my father, when first he was girt with a sword, spent the night in prayer on his knees before the altar of the Cathedral of Seville.”

“Then,” replied Diego, gravely, “let us ask that we may lay our swords upon the altar of San Sebastian this night and pray earnestly that we may be worthy to wear our swords in honor.”

That night at ten o’clock Diego and Don Felipe walked through the quiet streets of Santa FÉ, the darkness lighted only by the watchmen’s lanterns and the watch fires of the sleeping camp, and the silence broken only by the warders’ call and the sentries’ challenge. The night was illuminated by a great white moon hanging high in the blue heavens and making the world all white except for the black shadows of the rocks and hills and forests. The two youths soon reached the narrow road that led to the little stone chapel, so lately converted from a Mohammedan mosque into a place of Christian worship. They were expected, and at the tap on the door from the hilt of Diego’s sword the door was quickly opened from within and closed after them, leaving them alone in the solemn darkness of the little church, lighted only by the faint glow of the sanctuary lamp. Diego and Don Felipe, advancing reverently, drew their swords and laid them on the altar steps, and then, retiring to a little distance, knelt with reverence. Through the long hours of the night they remained on their knees, their minds filled with solemn and glorious thoughts, striving to understand their obligations to God and men, and fortifying their souls with good and honorable resolutions. The hours slipped by with strange quickness. A deep and subtle change was taking place in the heart of each. In those hours they became men. When, at last, the darkness gave place to the pallid dawn, they rose from their knees and passed silently out of the church. As they breathed the fresh April air and saw the sky, flushed with the sudden glory of the sunrise, a new life seemed infused into their bodies and their souls. They swung rather than walked up the steep roadway. They felt capable of all things.