north, and will water their plants by channels
from the river, whose streams will never fail.
"Quintas" of olive and maize shall flourish in
that genial soil. They will have everything
for comfort soon around them. Gonzalves
has the command of the island — he will be
a kind viceroy over few but happy subjects.

We see the shadow of Gonzalves, after he
has landed, without storm or pirate to harm
him during his passage. He has dwelt with
his sons and his daughter for a short while
in tents; but a house strong enough to stand
against the Atlantic gales is soon built; it
has abundance of conveniences; other houses
are growing up around them. Friends have
come with Gonzalves to settle with him. An
ecclesiastic is here to teach and to console.
Before the equinox the good ship is to return
to Lisbon with a diminished crew,— and a
freight of native curiosities for Dom Henry,
their patron.

Let us look at the shadow of Juan de
Moralès in this interval of his sea-life. He
comes on shore daily to assist his captain; he
works at the buildings; he cuts timber; he
dries the reeds and rushes of the
watercourses for a ready thatch. Juan is handy;
and seems to have an almost instinctive
knowledge of the sweetest pastures for the
sheep and the best soil for the corn and
olives. But Juan has a gentler task to
perform. Anna Zarco is grown strong enough
to take exercise. Juan daily leads her mule
up into the shady hills, or along the margin
of the sea. Sometimes, when there is not a
cloud in the sky, and there is a gentle ripple
in the bay, Juan strews sweet rushes in his
boat, on which Anna placidly lies, breathing
the soft air with a sense of delight that is the
herald of renovated health. Juan, then, tells
her the seamens' stories of storm and wreck;
of pirates who lie in wait for the defenceless
merchant-ship— the enemies of all nations;
of Moors, who, in their hatred of Christian
people, fiercely attack every vessel that comes
near their inhospitable coasts, and carry their
crews to a life-long slavery. Juan tells her,
too, of distant lands, for in his own captivity
he has gathered much knowledge from other
captives— of England, especially, and its great
King Edward, and his wars in France. Of
England Juan delights to talk; and when
Anna asks him of his own life, before he was
in slavery at Fez, he has a confused story, with
something English in his recollections, which
makes her think that he is not a Castilian,
as the sailors say he is. Gonzalves is happy
that his daughter is gaining such health in
this daily life, and willingly does he spare
his pilot to be her guide and companion; for
in a few weeks Juan will return to Lisbon,
and then, when the house is finished, and the
quinta planted, he will lead her mule himself,
and himself will row her, in bright autumn
days, under the shade of the mountains. There
is a place about three miles off, where Anna's
mule is often led by the pilot. He conducts
her through a narrow defile, when suddenly
they are in a valley— a mere chasm between
the loftiest mountains— a solemn place, but
one also of rare loveliness— for the basaltic
rocks are clothed with evergreens, and the
narrow, level plain has a smiling river
running through its entire length. Juan delights
to bring his tender charge to this secluded
spot; but here he is ever more than usually
silent.

One day, Anna looks in Juan's face, and
sees that he has been weeping. There is one
spot in that valley which he often stops at— a
spot marked by a pile of stones. On this day
Juan suddenly falls on his knees at this spot
and prays for a minute. Anna is scarcely
surprised, for Juan is a mysterious man— quite
unlike other seamen. She questions him.

"Juan, my kind nurse, for you have been
as a nurse to me in my feebleness, why did
you kneel, and why have you been weeping?"

"Senora! forgive me. I must not tell you.
The knowledge that makes me weep is now
little more than a vain memory. It has
nothing in common with my present fortune.
I shall sail again to Lisbon perhaps never to
come back. Do not ask me."

"But, Juan! I look on you as a brother.
I am getting well under your care. Will you
not confide in your sister?"

"Nay, lady! Yet I must speak. You will
keep my secret. I believe that I knelt at my
mother's grave!"

"Your mother's grave? How, Juan, could
your mother ever come to this island, where
never ships touched before my father's ship?"

"It is a wild story, an almost improbable
story. But you shall hear it. My earliest
memories, I once thought, were of my
taskmasters in Morocco, of whom I have before
told you. I became a slave when I was four
or five years old, as near as I may guess.
There was a companion in my fate, who was
kind to me— an English sailor. He taught
me his language: he said he would one day
tell me my own history. All that I knew
was, that the ship in which he and I were
sailing was captured by a corsair, and carried
into Fez. I was in captivity twelve years;
but I then escaped, and got to Spain. The
infidels had made me a skilful seaman, and I
had good knowledge of their coasts. After
some time I went to Lisbon. I became your
father's pilot. The Englishman and I had
been soon separated; but he had told me
something about an island in the west; and I
gladly went with your father in quest of
those western islands. When we came here
two years ago, it seemed to me as if every
thing were familiar; but yet confused. I was
in a dream. In the spring of this year
an English vessel came into the Tagus. I
talked with some of the crew. I spoke of
our discovery of Madeiro, and of the prize
it might be to the Crown of Portugal. An old
sailor said, that the Portuguese were not
the first discoverers. I grew angry; but the