The expedition was tarrying long, seeking the glory of the Cross rather than the gold and spices. There were impatient hearts in Seville.
Mesquita in his still prison, with the world against him, dreamed of Magellan, Del Cano, and the Italian historian. The half world separated them now.
In his dreams Mesquita saw the fleet coming back again, and he heard the shouting of the people and the ringing of the bells. The star of hope in his heart did not fail.
"Padre," he said, "the day of my vindication will come."
But the seasons came and went, and the light changed color in the window of his cell, and the birds sang their notes in the trees in spring and left their empty nests to silence in the retreating summer. The great Cathedral grew, and the achievement of Charles had begun to excite the world.
We now come to the tragedy of this wonderful expedition; to the tempest that rose out of the calm. The transition from these ideal scenes to what is to follow is sudden indeed.