Closer to the edge of the soft-lapping waters was a real Spanish Don, whose poverty-stricken estate had driven him to hide his thread-bare pride in exile. To indemnify himself for leaving his beloved Castile, he spent his whole time and thoughts on the island in squeezing wealth, almost, as it seemed, even out of its very stones. His slaves died off day by day, very nearly as soon as they were allotted to him; but that was nought to their owner, so long as with the remnants of their dying strength they reaped his harvests, and brought up gold for him from the mines. They were to him as machines for making riches; and when one of the machines wore out, it must be tossed aside to make room for another. But with all Don Alfonzo's heartless barbarities to his miserable victims, he had a warm corner in his callous heart for his own countrymen, whoever they might be. All Spaniards were friends to Don Alfonzo, while the ocean lay between him and his home. He watched the progress of the incoming boat with eyes almost as eager as those with which, week by week, he counted his golden gains; and when, from the shallowness of the water, the rowers had to stop some way short of dry ground, he looked round hastily for some one whom he could order off for their assistance. None of his own people were in sight, but a weak, wan-faced Indian lay beside him, and him the nobleman immediately commanded to rise, and go into the water to help drag up the boat. With a moan the poor creature began to obey, but too slowly to suit the despotic impatience of the Spaniard. "Hurry thy lazy carcase, then, thou black-skinned dog," he exclaimed imperiously; and to enforce his words he raised a bamboo cane he held, and brought it down with a fierce swish through the air, which told its own tale of what its effect should be if it came in contact with the native's tender flesh. As the cane rose the Indian crouched with a low, pitiful cry, which was echoed with an added note of indignation by Montoro from the boat. The next moment Montoro sprang to his feet with a second cry of impulsive admiration. The stinging slash of that bamboo cane had come down upon the arm of a young Spaniard, who had stretched it out as a cover for the helpless Indian; and then, when the arm had performed its allotted task, it was quietly withdrawn, terribly cut as it must have been, and folded over its owner's chest, who as quietly turned and confronted Don Alfonzo. "It is the command of our Sovereign, Queen Isabella," he said firmly, "that the Indians be treated with humanity, and according to law." "Who is that?" asked Montoro, as he sprang on to the sandy shore, and pointed out the young man who had made his arm serve so readily for another man's shield. Shyness was never one of Montoro Diego's failings; and now curiosity and a generous admiration made him put his question eagerly to the first person he came up to. All he got at first was a return question to match his own, a good-humoured: