“I ought to be good to everyone to-day,” José answered, as he seated himself, and loosed the fastening of his yacollo, which was now a simple golden pin—his mother’s tupu—instead of a large and lustrous emerald, Yupanqui’s gift. “I have heard such good tidings. But I ought first to tell you, patre, that I failed to do your errand at the Franciscan monastery. The monks would not trust me with the Book, without a written order from yourself.” Fray Fernando had sent to request the loan of a copy of the Vulgate. Perhaps his motive for this request might have been found in certain conversations he had lately held with Walter Grey, who was now permitted to come to him three times a week for religious instruction. José went on: “Whatever may have caused their hesitation, it was scarcely the value of the Book, since I offered to leave them my gold bracelet in pledge for it. I think they feared I might do myself or some one else a mischief with it, as if it were a carbine or musket. It reminds me, patre, of the old times in Cerro Blanco, when I stood in such awe of your Breviary, believing that a spirit dwelt in it, which spoke to you when you read it.” Then Melchior said reverently, “It is quite true, Don José, that a Spirit dwells in the Book you were to have brought to-day; and He will speak to you, if you read it with prayer and humility.” “You are making pictures, Melchior,” José answered readily.—“I see.” He himself was quite as anxious for the Book as Fray Fernando, because he thought it would tell him of his King. “But you have not yet told us the good tidings, José,” Fray Fernando resumed presently. José’s black eyes kindled with a vivid inward fire, but no other feature of his face showed emotion, and his voice was calm, even low, as he spoke. “Some Spanish soldiers have just come back to Lima from the country of the Chunchos, which you call the Montaña. They have brought with them—sore wounded and sick unto death—Don Ramon de Virves. It was at his own earnest request they brought him so far, for he thought to embark for Spain. But he will never see Spain again. God has visited his iniquities on his head.” “Take care, José,” said Fray Fernando gravely. “Long ago the wise man said, ‘Rejoice not when thine enemy falleth, and let not thine heart be glad when he stumbleth: lest the Lord see it, and it displease Him, and He turn away His wrath from him.’” “Who is Don Ramon de Virves?” Melchior asked with interest.