_HOMEWARD BOUND._
"And you must leave us then, Diego--leave us on the very eve of our
full and final triumph?"
Hernando spoke with a mingled accent of regret and bitterness. In his
reply Montoro hinted at both notes.
"I wish to leave. But believe, my captain and my long-time friend, I
shall part with you with grief, and although my conscience forbids
my further aiding a conquest and spoliation which I deem unjust, I
would not, and I dare not if I would, endeavour to be the ruler of the
consciences of others."
Cortes looked at him in some surprise.
"How so, Diego? What sayest thou? Surely thou wouldst make me, and
all of us, think as thou dost, were it but possible to thy persuasive
tongue."
But the answer came readily enough.
"Nay then, verily," said Montoro, with tones deeper and more earnest
than before; "that truly would I not. I am not omniscient. These
marvellous and wide-spread conquests and slaughters are allowed by the
universal Father, I know--"
"Why, of course they are," came the hasty interruption. "They are
undertaken for the glory of the Faith."
"And," muttered Juan de Cabrera, with just a momentary twitch of his
lips at the corners,--"and just a little, perchance, for the glory
likewise of ourselves and our silk-lined, empty pockets."
But Montoro de Diego paid no more heed to the one interruption than to
the other, as he continued with scarcely a pause--
"They are allowed by the Almighty, I know, for against His will there
can be nought on earth. But perchance they are also with His will,
by His law, and for the spread of the knowledge of His Gospel. What
mortal shall dare to judge of this? I, at least, veil my face before
the mysterious workings of the Creator; and although I feel my own call
henceforth to be to quieter scenes, I judge not those who, with regard
to honour and humanity, shall prosecute these wars."
"Then you do not leave me as you left Hispaniola long since, because
you believed it given up to the government of Satan and his captains?"
asked Cortes, with a touch of anxiety in his voice. "It is not quite so
bad as this then, is it, Toro?"
A grave smile overspread Montoro's face.
"I leave you, my friend, because, to my thinking, each nation should
be content with its own possessions, and such as it may win peaceably,
or in lawful trading; but I confess freely that, since discovery and
conquest are now the order of the day, I heartily congratulate these
countries that Providence has permitted it to you, rather than to any
others, to be the Commander of this, the most glorious expedition of
any hitherto undertaken by Spanish arms. Some things you have done
hardly, but in much you are merciful. And now, farewell."
"Farewell," returned the other fervently. "Have you any wishes, my
Diego, to leave with me?"
Diego retained his friend's hand a few moments.
"Yes--one wish. If, as the days roll on, you have any time and thought
to spare to our old friendship, yield it this offering, Cortes--show
mercy for its sake whenever it is possible."
"It is a promise," came the low-spoken answer, and the two friends
parted, never to meet again on earth.
Hernando Cortes completed his splendid conquest of Mexico; Montoro de
Diego wended his way homewards to his mother and his native land, where
a surprise awaited him of a most unexpected nature.
The philanthropy and unselfishness which had distinguished Montoro's
American career so greatly that in some circles his fame was scarcely
inferior to that even of the apostle of the Indies himself, had not, at
the same time, very much increased his wealth. This was to be expected;
but still, as the Spaniard neared Spain an involuntary sigh burst from
him.
"What meaneth that sigh, Diego?" asked a companion.
There came a second half-sigh before the answer.
"I fear it meaneth that I am not as strong as I had I hoped."
"Ah!" said Cabrera sympathetically; "that climate out yonder doth
touch--"
"Climate!" echoed Montoro with momentary scorn. "Tush, man! I speak
not of climates and bodily strength. It is of the moral powers I was
meditating when you caught me in that sigh. I started from our native
land eighteen years ago, confident, with a boy's confidence, that a
couple of years or so--say half-a-dozen at most--were to send me back
to my country so berobed and begirt with gold and glory that I should
dazzle all beholders, and walk back to my ancestral halls over the
backs of crowds of humble suppliants."
Cabrera laughed gaily.
"Ay, Diego. How like that was to a boyish dream. But now?"
"But now," said Montoro with a shrug of the shoulders, but betraying
more sadness than he wished--"but now, there is little need for thee or
any one to question. Now, as thou knowest, I return to my mother, able,
indeed, henceforth to keep her and myself in bread; but for the olives
and the oil and the wine, well, for my purse's length I will trust that
they reach not up to famine prices so long as the dear mother lives."
"And where dost thou propose that that same living shall be?" asked
Cabrera, with a curious gleam in his eyes, over which the lids were
somewhat lowered for concealment.
But such care was a little superfluous. Montoro was so taken up with
regrets which for once would have their way, that he paid small heed
to his companion's looks. He was thinking of his mother's face, and
wondering whether he should read any mute reproach for empty-handedness
in the sweet eyes that lighted it. But he had heard the question, and
he answered it--
"Have I never yet told thee, my Juan, of the humble home I have long
since provided for my mother in the little town of El Cuevo? I hope to
join her there within the next fortnight, and there I suppose I shall
end my days."
"And there _I_ suppose that thou'lt do nothing of the sort," responded
the captain with a downright bluntness, that acted as a wholesome tonic
to his friend. "Why, Toro, I suppose not that yon wretched little
town of El Cuevo is big enough to hold above half-a-score of beggars
altogether. How, in the name of St. Jago, dost suppose that, with thy
wide sympathies, thou wilt be able to exist in such a narrow field?"
This was a new way of putting the matter, and a very clever one for
that moment; and Montoro broke out into a hearty laugh, at sound of
which Juan de Cabrera took himself back to the duties of his ship with
a growling mutter to himself.
"Well, at any rate, that is some crumb of consolation to a fellow,
perhaps, for having to keep a secret that seems sometimes to be burning
a regular hole in my brain."
Happily, before that seeming grew into reality Cabrera's vessel
arrived safely at the port of Cadiz. Shortly after that he reached the
Court of King Charles in safety, and got comfortably rid of that burden
of mystery which he found so trying. Better still, he was authorized to
have the telling of it to the one it so greatly concerned--his comrade,
Montoro de Diego. He also was empowered to tell it after his own
desire,--bit by bit,--and found as much satisfaction in this telling,
or nearly so, as in telling over his own number of ounces of gold,
which proved a goodly sum in spite of his usual honesty, and general
carelessness as to golden or any other gains that had not fun for a
foundation.