"Ah, humble friar! You have the power of a Savonarola who threw the wicked, bloody city of Florence to her praying knees. Have I not heard you in the cathedral in Seville, and again in Barcelona? Did not the soldiers draw strong cordons at the great cathedral in Madrid when you spoke there, lest the surging crowd crush themselves at the entrance? Ah, mighty one! speak to the people of this province, tell them of England and of her benevolent sway. Lift your voice for your country's good. Instruct and persuade, as you alone can, priest of the golden tongue! Then, listen, and from your hearers will come cheers for the mistress of the seas and her kindly rule. If you are silent, your church and your state lose much because a man marvelously gifted failed in manifest duty."
"I hold the call of duty supreme."
"You used that as a text for one of your sermons in Seville."
"Why do you connect me with that preacher in the cathedrals?"
"Because you are the same man, though you now wear a beard and write but a portion of your former name."
"Señora Valentino, that I am here under my present name is approved by my conscience and by my superiors."
"I doubt not, good padre."
The priest looked fixedly at the flag gently waving high above their heads.
"Padre, the good of souls! The welfare of your Order! Your Indian wards!"
"I know—I know."