“St. Jago! after all you have said, I am nearly of the same mind myself. But what can a man do? When a fair lady breathes a wish to a loyal caballero and her devoted slave, it behoves him to go even through blood and fire to fulfil it.” “Not through the blood of women and babes, and the fire of their burning homes,” said Fray Fernando, perhaps a little too boldly. Don Ramon was somewhat chafed. “I am not worse than others, holy father,” he said. “I do wrong to no christened man; and I am always careful to give the Church her due. Even now, I intend to consecrate to our Lady of Atocha gold enough out of my spoils to make a pair of candlesticks for her altar.” “In the compassionate eyes of our Lady, mercy and pity are more precious than gold,” returned the monk. “And believe me, Señor Don Ramon,” he continued with increasing earnestness, “your suit with the fair lady you speak of will prosper all the better if you consult the will of God and the health of your own soul in the disposition of your captives. That boy seems so much attached to his freedom, that he will either succeed in escaping you, in spite of all your precautions, or you will have to use such harsh measures to restrain him, that he may escape you in another way.” “Yet ’twere pity to lose him. He is the handsomest of his race that I have seen.” “True. And I do not care to hide from you that my heart is drawn to the child. I would gladly keep him myself, and bring him up.” Don Ramon laughed. “Commend me to the holy fathers, the sons of St. Francis,” he said. “They know how to order their affairs with discretion. You have taken a fancy to my captive, padre, and you want him yourself. So you try to persuade me that I will mightily serve my soul’s interests by giving him up to you. But you forget his propensities for running away.” “I do not. But I shall make a Christian of him; then if he goes, I cannot help it; if he stays, I shall instruct him carefully in the verities of our holy Faith, that he may instruct his brethren.” “A course of action like to prove very beneficial—suppose you persevere in it—to the Indians, and perhaps to your own soul also. But I know not how it is to benefit me, who have had all the toil and the fighting, not to speak of an arrow in my left leg, which might have been poisoned, for aught I knew to the contrary.” “I have not forgotten your interests in the matter, nor am I so unreasonable as to ask you to give me your prisoner for nothing. I have something to offer you in exchange worth a dozen Indian captives. Moreover, I do not insist, though I might, upon the fact that you will be doing a good work, very useful to yourself, in giving up the child to me for the purpose I have named.” “Well, well, holy father, let us hear what you have to offer. Nevertheless, the good work is the main thing. A man ought to think of his soul’s salvation.”