Don Juan de Cabrera had inherited a good fortune from his father, who had been killed during the siege of Zarento in 1501, under the great Captain Gonsalvo. Cabrera was a child at that date; and by the time he was old enough to understand the use of wealth, and to wish to have the spending of some of that he had been brought up to believe he should enjoy, his mother and other guardians had so wasted the greater part, that they were glad to try if they could banish disappointment by filling his brain with other thoughts. In those days of wonderful and incessant discovery, all ranks were tempted from time to time to try a turn of Fortune's wheel. Even the rich and prosperous frequently left luxury and friends and home, for many a long year, behind them, while they wandered about the world, seeking they scarcely knew what--change and variety, it might be, perhaps--change from slothful ease to the novel sensation of vigorous discomfort. And that they certainly obtained. But however that might be, when his mother and his uncles and his confessor talked of the glorious voyagings, and journeyings, being now enjoyed by so many of his countrymen, the young Cabrera caught at the bait eagerly enough, and had very soon started off to make a new fortune for himself. That fortune, however, was as far away from his hands now as when he set out to find it! But he took things easily, and looked bright enough as he stood there, with his laughing face, before Hernando Cortes, offering himself as gold-bearer to the shrine. But Cortes was in no humour for a joke. "I will get my handful of gold for St. Peter from St. Peter's namesake," he said sternly, and with his large brilliant eyes fixed on the glum, crestfallen Pedro de Alvarado, captain of one of the vessels, who had contrived to reach the shores of the island of Cozumel before the Captain-General of the expedition. "And if you make such use of Fortune's favours in the future," said Hernando Cortes still more sternly, "it will prove a bad day for you, my worthy Señor, when you came under my command." "What has he done?" muttered Cabrera to Diego, who was standing by with a wrathful countenance. "Done!" was the retort. "Why, done like the rest of our Spanish wolves--spent the first hours of his arrival here in showing the natives what good thieves we make." "Ay, verily," added the good Father Bartolomé de Olmedo. "And he hath added blows and beatings, doubtless, that the lesson may be the better remembered." "Or," muttered that Juan de Cabrera beneath his breath, "to make some amends by those gifts for what he hath taken away." But Señor Juan took some care that his companions should neither hear the words, nor see their author's smile at his own small witticism. He turned away from the groups collected together on the shore, and set off for a short walk inland. "Whither away there?" questioned a voice behind him a few moments later. Montoro and the priest had followed him.