“Doubtless by force of the fiends which raged with them,” interposed the bishop.

“And then, with their blasphemous cries, leap upon us with sword and pike?  I myself saw that Lieutenant-General Carlisle hew down with one stroke that noble young gentleman the ensign-bearer, your excellency’s sister’s son’s nephew, though he was armed cap-a-pie.  Was not art-magic here?  And that most furious and blaspheming Lutheran Captain Young, I saw how he caught our general by the head, after the illustrious Don Alonzo had given him a grievous wound, threw him to the earth, and so took him.  Was not art-magic here?”

“Well, I say,” said the captain, “if you are looking for art-magic, what say you to their marching through the flank fire of our galleys, with eleven pieces of ordnance, and two hundred shot playing on them, as if it had been a mosquito swarm?  Some said my men fired too high:  but that was the English rascals’ doing, for they got down on the tide beach.  But, senor commandant, though Satan may have taught them that trick, was it he that taught them to carry pikes a foot longer than yours?”

“Ah, well,” said the bishop, “sacked are we; and San Domingo, as I hear, in worse case than we are; and St. Augustine in Florida likewise; and all that is left for a poor priest like me is to return to Spain, and see whether the pious clemency of his majesty, and of the universal Father, may not be willing to grant some small relief or bounty to the poor of Mary—­perhaps—­(for who knows?) to translate to a sphere of more peaceful labor one who is now old, senors, and weary with many toils—­Tita! fill our glasses.  I have saved somewhat—­as you may have done, senors, from the general wreck; and for the flock, when I am no more, illustrious senors, Heaven’s mercies are infinite; new cities will rise from the ashes of the old, new mines pour forth their treasures into the sanctified laps of the faithful, and new Indians flock toward the life-giving standard of the Cross, to put on the easy yoke and light burden of the Church, and—­”

“And where shall I be then?  Ah, where?  Fain would I rest, and fain depart.  Tita! sling my hammock.  Senors, you will excuse age and infirmities.  Fray Gerundio, go to bed!”

And the Dons rose to depart, while the bishop went on maundering,—­

“Farewell!  Life is short.  Ah! we shall meet in heaven at last.  And there are really no more pearls?”

“Not a frail; nor gold either,” said the intendant.

“Ah, well!  Better a dinner of herbs where love is, than—­Tita!”

“My breviary—­ah!  Man’s gratitude is short-lived, I had hoped—­You have seen nothing of the Senora Bovadilla?”

“No.”

“Ah! she promised:—­but no matter—­a little trifle as a keepsake—­a gold cross, or an emerald ring, or what not—­I forget.  And what have I to do with worldly wealth!—­Ah!  Tita! bring me the casket.”

And when his guests were gone, the old man began mumbling prayers out of his breviary, and fingering over jewels and gold, with the dull greedy eyes of covetous old age.