“My father, be patient with me. I have that to say which wrings my heart.” Here he paused; then, suddenly pointing to the luminous waters, he exclaimed, “Look there, patre!” A sportive dolphin had described a larger circle than usual; it burned for a moment, a diamond ring of flashing foam, then faded quickly away. “Viracocha is but the foam of the sea. He comes and goes like that.” “I do not understand you, José. What are you talking of?” asked the bewildered Fray Fernando. “My father, if Christ the King were now to call your son and servant to His home, instead of yours, would you not give him up?” Fray Fernando trembled and grew very pale. “What mean these strange words?” he faltered. “Are you ill?” “No, patre.” “I know well you have suffered, and far more than you would ever acknowledge. But surely life is coming back to you, as it is to me. Is it not so? Speak to me, José—my son José!” There was anguish in his tone. “Yes, patre, life is coming back to me; and with life, a message from my King. Patre, patre,—I know not how to tell that message. Yet, woe is me if I withhold it—if I fail to obey!” “A message! What message, José?” “‘Go home to thy friends, and tell them how great things the Lord hath done for thee, and hath had compassion on thee.’” Fray Fernando started—shuddered, as if an arrow on an errand of death had suddenly pierced his heart. “José, you may be deceived—mistaken,” he said hurriedly. “When first did you feel or fancy this?” “Patre, when I lay in the dark hold of the _Trionfo_, He stooped from His golden throne, looked with pitying eye upon my great anguish for my people, and gave me rest and peace. Even with that peace came that message first. But I only smiled in my heart, and said to Him, ‘Inca, thou knowest all. I would speak for Thee if I could, but Thou art calling me instead to die for Thee.’ But when He took us both out of the horrible pit, gave me the dying charge of Don Francisco Solis to deliver, and then restored you to life, I heard his voice again.—Patre, it is just this way with me. In my sore hunger and thirst He reached me, with His own right hand, golden fruit from the tree whose leaves are for the healing of the nations. I ate, and thirst and hunger passed away. I was satisfied. But within the golden fruit the seed lies hid; and he who eats the fruit must needs plant the seed. That charge is laid upon him.” “And you would leave me, José?” The words were quiet, but depths of tenderness,—of anguish,—of entreaty, lay veiled beneath them.