A few weeks hence Montoro de Diego, with the trembling hand of the sweet-eyed, silver-haired mother, Rachel de Diego, clasped tightly within his own, once more entered the home of his ancestors, from which he had been driven in his helpless first weeks of infancy. He had sought neither gold nor glory, but only to tread in the steps of Him who has said--'I will have mercy, and not sacrifice.' 'By this shall all men know that ye are My disciples, if ye have love one to another.' He had sown the seeds of mercy, uprightness, honour, and compassion; and even in those wild, wealth-clutching days he reaped men's honour and a golden harvest. THE END.