“Every man is a friend to him that giveth gifts.” PROV. xix. 6. Fray Fernando’s thoughts were very busy during his five minutes’ walk from the _San Cristofero_ to his own humble lodging. He came to the determination that he would tell José everything that had happened. He had great reliance on the Indian’s tact and skill in dealing with those who held the destinies of the galley-slaves in their hands. But, independently of this, his adopted son deserved his full confidence, and he should have it. “José,” he said, “I have something to tell you.” José, at a moment’s notice, buried the treasures of new knowledge he had just received from Walter Grey, and was longing to examine, in some deep place within his heart, and stood prepared to listen. “Do you remember the tale I told you in the tampu beside the Apurimac?” asked the monk. “Every word of it.” “Shall I lose for ever your love and your reverence, José, if I confess to you that the Don Alfonso of that tale stands before you now?” José’s countenance showed no emotion; neither horror nor amazement, not even surprise, was depicted there. It was, in fact, no more than for a long time he had suspected. At first the suspicion brought keen sorrow and perplexity to his loyal heart; but he had, fortunately, been able of late to persuade himself that the patre was quite justified in his resistance to Spanish cruelty and oppression. How he reconciled this belief with his respect for the Catholic faith and the authorities of the Church, it is impossible to say. But indeed there were so many unreconciled contradictions in the mind of José, that this one might well pass unnoticed amongst them. He said very quietly, “I always knew that the patre was a noble amongst his own people. And what did he, in fighting for the deliverance of the oppressed, save to show himself the friend of the Poor—like a child of the Sun?” Then, in words few and broken by emotion, Fray Fernando told him the strange sequel of the story. But, to his amazement, José listened with cold incredulity. Was the patre quite sure that there was no mistake, no delusion—that the galley-slave was in very truth the person he represented himself to be?