souls.  That fire had burned low, but by its dying light he knew that this man, who was young and yet so still, whose lowered voice was but as sheathed steel, whose eyes it was not comfortable to meet, had set his hand to a plough that should drive a straight furrow, was sending his will like an arrow to no uncertain mark.  But what was the mark the Franciscan could not discover, therefore he gave the truth or a lie where seemed him best, increasingly the truth, as it increasingly appeared that lies would not serve.  He also, seeing that with gathering years he had begun to set value upon flesh and bone, wished to please his captor.  He glanced stealthily at the scarred and ancient craft in the windless harborage, idly flapping her mended sails, before he said aught of the great English ships that in pomp and the fulness of pride had entered these waters now months agone.  The Englishman had heard of this adventure—­so much was evident—­but details would seem to have escaped him.  He knew, however, that there had been first victory and then defeat, and he too looked at his ship and at the guns she carried.

[Illustration:  “THE FRIAR PRESENTED A BLANK COUNTENANCE TO SIR MORTIMER’S QUERIES”]

“The town was sacked, but the castle not taken,” he said.  “What, good brother, if I should break a lance in these same lists?”

“It would be broken indeed,” said the friar, grimly.  “An it please you, I will bear your challenge to Don Juan de Mendez.”

“To Don Luiz de Guardiola,” said the man beneath the tree.

“Pardon, senor, but Juan de Mendez is at present Governor of Nueva Cordoba.  Don Luiz de Guardiola has been transferred to Panama.”

The Englishman arose and looked out to sea, his hand above his eyes because of the flash and sparkle of the sun upon the water.  The Franciscan, having told the truth, wondered forthwith if falsehood had better served his turn.  Face and form of his interlocutor were turned from him, but he saw upon the hot, white sand the shadow of a twitching hand.  Moments passed before the shadow was still; then said the Englishman, in a changed voice: 

“Since you know of its governors, old and new, I judge you to be of Nueva Cordoba.  So you may inform me of certain matters.”

“You mistake, senor, you mistake,” began the Franciscan, somewhat hastily.  “The master of the bark will bear witness that I came to Margarita upon the Santa Maria, sailing directly from Cartagena, but that, being ill, I chose to recover myself at Pampatar before proceeding (as you now behold me, valorous senor) to Hispaniola, and thence by the first vessel home to Spain, to the convent of my order at Segovia, which is my native town.  I know naught of Nueva Cordoba beyond that which I have told you.”

“Why, I believe thee,” answered the Englishman, his back still turned.  “You go from Cartagena, where, Franciscan and Dominican, you play so large a part in this world’s affairs, to your order at Segovia, which is an inland town, and doubtless hath no great knowledge of these outlandish parts.  Your tongue will tire with telling of wonders.”