"Don Sebastian," said Quentin, who had heard this farrago of words with some wonder; "how long is it ago since he was king?" Gil reckoned on his brown fingers, and then said-- "About two hundred and thirty years." "How--what?" exclaimed Quentin, thinking that he had not heard aright. "Exactly, senor; he was taken--some say killed--in battle by the Moorish dogs at the battle of Alcazal-quiver, on the coast of Fez, in 1578; but his restoration to us is certain now." "And _eggs_, do you say, have prophesied this?" "By the soul of St. Anthony of Lisbon, yes! The miraculous legends written on their shells told us so. I saw one with my own eyes as it lay on the altar of the Estrella convent, where it had been brought by the Marquis d'Almeida, who found it on the mountain of Cintra." "And you read the legend?" "No, senor--I cannot read; moreover, it was written in old Latin." "By whom, Senor Gil?" "God and St. Anthony only know," replied Gil, crossing himself after dipping his fingers in a little clay font of _agua-bendita_ that hung beside the mantelpiece. Now Quentin remembered the words of the stranger whom he had met by the wayside cross, and whom he had last seen toiling up the mountain with the aid of his staff, as he alleged, in search of eagles' nests. He had some trouble to preserve his gravity, and probably nothing enabled him to do so but his wonder at the perfect simplicity and the good faith of this Portuguese peasant in the return of Lusitania's long-lost hero. On inquiring further, he learned, for the first time, that there still existed in Portugal the sect called of old "Sebastianists," fondly cherishing a belief that their crusader king (who fell in battle against Muley Moloc) was detained in an enchanted island, where he was supernaturally preserved; and that they also cherished a belief that he would reappear with all his paladins to deliver Lusitania when at her utmost need! Portugal's utmost need had come and gone; Roleia and Vimiera had been fought and won by Sir Arthur Wellesley; but still the Sebastianists believed in the ultimate return and intervention of their favourite hero, and eggs marked by the more cunning with some chemical agency, bearing legends foretelling the event, were opportunely found and exhibited: a puerile trick, which Marshal Junot, General de Ribeaupierre, and others soon contrived to turn against the inventors; for _other_ eggs bearing mottoes of very different import were frequently found in the same places.