y his chains. But he claimed them from the
corregidor and kept them to his death. Came hidalgos of Cadiz and
entreated him away from this house to a better one. Outside the street
was thronged. "The Admiral! The Admiral! Who gave to Spain the Indies!"

Don Bartholomew was by him, freed like him. And there too moved a
slender young man who had come from Granada with the Queen's letter, Don
Fernando, his eldest son. A light seemed around them. Juan Lepe thought,
"Surely they who serve large purposes are cared for. Even though they
should die in prison, yet are they cared for!"

CHAPTER XXXVII

JUAN LEPE lay upon the sand beyond Palos. The Admiral was with the court
in Granada, but his physician, craving holiday, had borne a letter to
Juan Perez, the Prior of _Santa Maria_ de la Rabida.

I thought the Admiral would go again seafaring, and that I would go with
him. Up at La Rabida, Fray Juan Perez was kind. I had a cell, I
could come and go; he did not tell Palos that here was the Admiral's
physician, who knew the Indies from the first taking and could relate
wonders. I lived obscure, but in Prior's room, by a light fire, for it
was November, he himself endlessly questioned and listened.

Ocean before me, ocean, ocean! Lying here, those years ago, I had seen
ocean only. Now, far, far, I saw land, saw San Salvador, Cuba that might
be the main, Hayti, Jamaica, San Juan, Guadaloupe, Trinidad, Paria
that again seemed main. Vast islands and a world of small islands, vast
mainlands. Then no sail was seen on far Ocean-Sea; now out there might
be ships going from Cadiz, coming, returning from San Domingo. Eight
years, and so the world was changed!

I thought, "In fifty years--in a hundred years--in two hundred? What is
coming up the long road?"

Ocean murmured, the tide was coming in. Juan Lepe waited till the sands
had narrowed, till the gray wave foamed under his hand. Then he rose and
walked slowly to La Rabida.

After compline, talk; Fray Juan Perez, the good man, comfortable in
his great chair before the fire. He had hungered always, I thought, for
adventure and marvel. Here it happened--? And here it happened--?

To-night we fell to talk of the Pinzons--Martin who was dead, and
Vicente who now was on Ocean-Sea, on a voyage of his own--and of others
who had sailed, and what they found and where they were. We were at ease
about the Admiral. We had had letters.

He was in Granada, dressed again in crimson and gold