The Indian came again the next day with a larger supply of fruit, which, however, he gave to the soldiers. But the disappointment visible in the longing eyes of the thirsty slaves as the store quickly disappeared was soothed by charity of even a more acceptable kind. Many blessings were invoked both upon himself and upon “his reverence the holy father,” whose emissary he was supposed to be—nor did he contradict the supposition. But he contrived, whilst giving silver to the others, to slip a broad piece of gold into the hand of Walter. The Englishman was about to express aloud his astonishment at this liberality, but the Indian caught his eye and whispered, “_Tace_.” As may be imagined, the Latin word, spoken by such lips, only changed Walter’s look of surprise into one of amazement. After the Indian’s departure he expressed his wonder at the circumstance to his friend the matador. “Depend upon it, Englishman,” said the old galley-slave in reply, “the good friar has taken pity on you for your youth and your gentle looks, which would strike a stranger, like the sight of a fair green sapling amongst a bundle of dry brown fagots. One can read in his face that he has known much sorrow himself, and therefore, perhaps, his heart is tender for others.” “But the Indian,” said Walter. “Do you know, matador, that was a _Latin_ word he spoke to me?” “Why not? He is the servant of a churchman; and ‘he that measures oil gets some on his fingers.’ Though,” he admitted, “he seems wondrously wise and civil—for one of the wild men.” A concession that moved Walter to draw upon old stores of information, and to talk of the strange civilization of the New World, and the splendours of the two great empires that had already been discovered there. Growing more and more interested as he went on, he conquered Mexico with Cortes, over-ran Peru with Pizarro, and was making rapid progress towards the discovery of El Dorado, when at last the matador brought him to a pause. “I used to know all these things long ago,” he said. And this was true. Time was when such themes never failed to bring the blood to his cheek and the light to his eye. But now the dry embers were not even stirred by the old fire. “I have done with Golden Cities now,” he went on. “The only one I am ever like to see will not be found beyond those white mountains, but higher up—beyond the stars. Your words, that glitter like gold themselves, mind me of other words heard years and years ago, out of the one story that is all true;—about a City that hath foundations, ay, and streets of gold and gates of pearl.” The extensive and accurate knowledge of Scripture that Walter had acquired in his childhood was now proving a great comfort to him. He gladly shared his stores with his companion, who listened to the words of Holy Writ with an intense and unflagging interest, contrasting strangely with the seeming indifference with which he heard Walter’s other narratives.