quarrel here, this Governor-in-my-place and I--I must
go, rest at La Rabida with you, Doctor, and Fray Juan Perez to help me.
Then I must go to court and see the Queen."

The Adelantado said, "Both you and the Queen will get well. What,
brother, your voyages are just begun! But let us sail now for Spain. I
think well of that."

And the son Fernando, Yes, yes, let us go home, father, and see Diego!

CHAPTER XLIV

IT was Seville, and an inn there, and the Admiral of the Ocean-Sea laid
in a fair enough room. His gout manacled him, and another sickness crept
upon him, but he could think, talk and write, and at times, for serenity
and a breath of pleasure, read. He was ever a reader.

About him, all day long, came people. They called themselves friends,
and many were friends. But some used that holy word for robber-mask.
Others were the idlest wonder-seekers, never finding wonder within,
always rushing for it without. His heart, for all his much experience,
or perhaps because of that, was a simple heart. He took them for what
they said they were, for friends, and he talked of the Indies and all
his voyages past and to come, for he would yet find Ciguarre and retake
the Sepulchre.

He had not much money. All his affairs were tangled. Yet he rested
Admiral of the Ocean-Sea, and in name, at least, Viceroy of the Indies.
He was much concerned over his mariners and others who had returned with
him to Spain. All their pay was in arrears. He wrote begging letters for
them, and with his sons forever in his mind, for himself. Don Diego, Don
Fernando, they were pleasant, able youths.

Fray Juan Perez came to Seville. He was worldly comfort, but ghostly
comfort too. The Admiral talked of Ciguarre and Jerusalem, but also now
of the New Jerusalem and the World-to-come.

Late in November, at Medina del Campo Santo died the Queen!

He told me a dream or a vision that day. There was, he said, a fair,
tranquil shore, back of a fair, blue haven, and his wife and his mother,
long dead, walked there in talk. Back of the shore rose, he said, a city
with wonderful strong walls and towers and a perpetual sweet ringing
of church bells. It seemed to climb to one great palace and church, set
about with orchards, with many doves. The whole mounted like Monsalvat.
The city seemed to be ready for some one. They were hanging out
tapestries and weaving garlands and he heard musicians. Everywhere shone
a light of gladness. He returned to the