II
THE DAWNING OF THE LIGHT
SOON it was time for supper, and all assembled once more in the great, bare refectory. Diego and Don Felipe felt as if they were in a dream, so dazzled were they by the prospect before them. They had known what the Admiral had demanded, and with the sanguine nature of youth they thought that all the Admiral asked would be conceded, and already reckoned the great voyage to have been accomplished. But to go to Granada, to see the close of the stupendous struggle, to be present in the hour of victory, was more than they had dreamed. Nevertheless, though lost in rosy visions, they did not forget to eat their simple supper. When it was over and they went out into the courtyard, the Admiral passed them, holding by the hand the little Fernando.
“Go now,” said the Admiral to the child, “and find Brother Lawrence, that he may put you to bed, where you must sleep soundly until the birds call you in the morning.”
The child, used to prompt obedience, went away; and then the Admiral said to the two youths:
“Come, Don Felipe and Diego, and walk with me to the seashore, and I will tell you some of the wonderful things of the sea.”
Don Felipe’s heart throbbed with pleasure. He felt a strange sense of being honored when he was treated as a son by the Admiral.
It was then about six o’clock on a warm October evening. Not yet was the sun gone, and the western sky was all opal and gold and crimson. The rosy light reddened the far-off sea, and the white billows gleamed with an opaline light.
The Admiral walked between the two lads along the sandy road to the little town of Palos. Softly the bells of the little church of St. George were ringing, their mellow music mingling with the distant echo of waves beating the bar off the harbor. As the sound of bells reached them the Admiral remained silent; Diego knew that his father was making a silent prayer, a thing he often did. Presently he spoke: