It was this last Doña Magdalena in her humility and mourning that D. John received in his arms when she alighted from her litter, at the old palace in the square of Santiago. Without a word she pressed him for a long while to her heart, and then made the sign of the Cross on his forehead, as she always did in old times to Jeromín when he got up and when he went to bed. D. John seized the generous hand, and kissed it again and again, at which those present were much affected, not only the faithful servants from Villagarcia, who had come with Doña Magdalena, but all D. John's household, who had gone to receive her as if she really were his mother. For some time Doña Magdalena had known that envy was making unworthy murmurings against D. John, and with all a mother's solicitude and fear she had told him of this. D. John's answer to this letter from Doña Magdalena is the only one that remains of this interesting correspondence; it breathes the lad's noble confidence and his absolute faith in the justice of the King, and the tranquillity of his conscience. After several arguments which prove this, he adds, "You tell me, making me very great, to be careful what I do, as all eyes are fixed on me, and that I should not be too gay, but rather avoid all occasions which might be harmful. Again I kiss your hands for what you are doing for me, and I beg you not to tire in so doing. To this, Lady, I reply with the simple truth of which I am such a friend; I give endless thanks to Our Lord that since the loss of my uncle and father I have always tried to live though absent from one who was always so good to me as he would wish me to live, and thus I think that I have not ruled myself so badly or done so little, that in this respect anyone can affirm the contrary. However much I should wish to wear smart clothes, the work of a nine months' campaign would not afford me much opportunity to do so; moreover, Lady, all times and conditions are not the same, and I see that sensible people, who are not fools, change as they get older; if there are others in the world who, in order to speak ill, fall on anybody, it does not alarm me, whatever they may murmur or say, and as you write that this has come to such a pitch that you did not even dare to ask news about me; however, as far as that goes, saints are not free from the vexations of the world, but I will try to do my utmost to behave as you think best, whose good advice I pray that I may always enjoy, because there is no one I wish or ought to please like her to whom I owe my up-bringing and my present position; this I shall remember even in my grave. I pray you to forgive such a long discourse, as the inventions of the times are enough to make a man do what he least intended, and let me know if those of the Lady Abbess[11] are such as to disturb greatly your peace of mind." Footnote 11: His little daughter.