“My dear brother Bartholomew,” Gonsalvez broke in, “you are wearying Master d’Arfet, who has no wish to hear about me.”  And taking up the tale he went on:  “We sailed, Sir, after six hours into as thick a fog as I have met even on these seas, and anon into a noise of breakers which seemed to be all about us.  So I prayed to the Mother of Heaven and kept the lead busy, and always found deep water:  and more by God’s guidance than our management we missed the Desertas, where a tall bare rock sprang out of the fog so close on our larboard quarter that the men cried out it was a giant in black armour rising out of the waves.  So we left it and the noises behind, and by-and-by I shifted the helm and steered towards the east of the bank, which seemed to me not so thick thereabouts:  and so the fog rolled up and we saw red cliffs and a low black cape, which I named the Cape of St. Lawrence.  And beyond this, where all appeared to be marshland, we came to a forest shore with trees growing to the water’s edge and filling the chasms between the cliffs.  We were now creeping along the south of the island, and in clearer weather, but saw no good landing until Morales shouted aft to me that we were opening the Gulf of Cedars.  Now I, perceiving some recess in the cliffs which seemed likely to give a fair landing, let him have his way:  for albeit we could never win it out of him in words, I knew that the Englishman must have given him some particular description of the place, from the confidence he had always used in speaking of it.  So now we had cast anchor, and were well on our way shoreward in the boat before I could be certain what manner of trees clothed this Gulf:  but Morales never showed doubt or hesitancy; and being landed, led us straight up the beach and above the tide-mark to the foot of a low cliff, where was a small pebbled mound and a plain cross of wood.  And kneeling beside them I prayed for the souls’ rest of that lamentable pair, and so took seizin of the island in the names of our King John, Prince Henry, and the Order of Christ.  That, Sir, is the story, and I will not weary you by telling how we embarked again and came to this plain which lies at our feet.  So much as I believe will concern you you have heard:  and the grave you shall look upon to-morrow.”

Master d’Arfet had left off cracking his joints, and for a while after the end of the story sat drumming with his finger-tips on the table.  At length he looked up, and says he—­

“I may suppose, Count Zarco, that as governor of this island you have power to allot and sell estates upon it on behalf of the King of Portugal?”

“Why, yes,” answered Gonsalvez; “any new settler in Funchal must make his purchase through me:  the northern province of Machico I leave to Tristram Vaz.”

“I speak of your southern province, and indeed of its foreshore, the possession of which I suppose to be claimed by the crown of Portugal.”

“That is so.”