Montoro's handsome face grew brilliant with delight, and as he bent it gratefully in acknowledgment of the commendation, his heart seemed to rise to the possible achievement of deeds of hitherto unheard-of heroism. At that moment he little knew what those deeds would be; deeds not indeed wholly unmatched in the previous history of the world, but yet so rare that, not infidels, but, on the contrary, the most earnest believers in Christianity, are tempted sometimes to believe that their faith must be a fable, and those who proclaim its teachings must do so to tickle their hearers' ears, and as a pastime of the moment.
Having uttered his few words of encouraging praise, Columbus passed on, and Montoro, for whom there was no further employment for the moment, turned to lean over the side of the vessel, and watch the receding shores of his native land, the fast-diminishing lines of the harbour of Cadiz, and its throngs of traders from all nations. His mother was very present with him at that minute, and his mother's parting words:
"You, the unknown and disinherited noble of Aragon, son of a foully-slandered and slain father, are, in the world's eyes, nought. You, the boy Montoro de Diego, may be a hero, the winner of fresh glory for your name, the gainer of the highest honour from your fellow-men. The past is not your fault, the future may be your praise. Keep firm to God and the truth, and fear none."
That last injunction "to fear none" was indeed little needed in the sense in which the boy took it.
"I am not wont to fear," he said, with a touch of impatient pride, adding the next instant, as his eyes rested on his mother's gentle face, and with a mischievous smile, "I rather thought, my mother, that your counsels to me generally were against being overbold."
"That is true," was the reply, with a fleet answering smile. "But that is in matters concerning thyself, my son. Be ever backward in self-assertion, and ever fearless in the cause of justice, truth, and mercy. As thy father was, so I pray that his son may be."
"My father saith that he likes the look of thy face, and wills that we may be friends."
Such was the abrupt announcement of that courtly page and intrepid young adventurer, Fernando Columbus, breaking in upon Montoro's reverie, and joining him at his post by the vessel's side.
A third person stood there also for a minute,—a man with grey hair, and a form shrunken with old age,—and a tear rolled slowly down his furrowed cheek as he gazed for the last time at his country's strand.