"When thou hast no farther use for an Adjutant of Infantry," I answered. 66 Agreed. When that time comes, I will let thee know. When wilt thou begin thy duty?" "To-morrow, your Excellency." "Till to-morrow then, adios.' He extended his hand; I touched it, bowed, and withdrew, no longer wondering that the Queen had said it was "worth the trouble of being a sovereign to have one such subject as Gonsalvo de Cordova." From that day until the fall of Granada, I hardly unhelmed a score of times in the presence of a stranger. Once was, when the Doña Guadita de Ullana, bathed in tears for the loss of her gallant husband, begged the soldier who had rescued his body from the Moors, at the very gate of Baza, that he would lift his visor that she might know for whom she ought to pray. When I complied with her request and she saw who it was had risked his life to rescue the brave knight's body, she thanked God because it was as the dead, to whom she had vowed eternal widowhood, would have desired. When she asked what guerdon she could give I craved only the kerchief stained with her tears. Whereat all applauded, and she vowed that any request I might make consistent with her honor, she would grant if it were in her last hour. The Infantry of Gonsalvo de Cordova made its mark in that savage war, and won for its chief much honor; also for some of its "Captains of Fifties," more than one of whom was there trained for victory and renown in lands which were then undreamed of, save by that white-haired giant, who, without helm or salade, cut his way with a huge two-handed blade into the midst of the turbaned throng, which made a stand about the Holy Fountain, in the Orchard of Baza. But for Gonsalvo's Infantry there had been an end then and there of all attempt to reach the Ind by sailing westward. Some of the glory won by the new corps shone by reflection on the Adjutant of Infantry, but no one spoke his name or gave him other recognition. He was simply an upper servant in the military household of "the Prince of Cavaliers." Yet I enjoyed the duty that devolved upon me, and not seeking nor expecting promotion or any personal advancement except the knighthood on which my heart had so long been set, I was content to do my duty without regard to consequences. This was all the easier from the fact that though I did everything and suggested many things, all was in Gonsalvo de Cordova's name, and I acted only as his instrument. The position was exactly fitted both to my temper and preparation. It was half clerical, which suited my studious habits, yet of a character requiring administrative ability as well as giving scope for that sort of military knowledge which is gathered from hearing battles and sieges, arms and armies, familiarly discussed by those who have not only borne arms but exercised high command. This I say, not to praise myself, but because the memory of that time brings back a proud day when Gonsalvo de Cordova publicly acknowledged the indebtedness of his fame to my efficiency. Nevertheless, there was one who had not forgotten Del Porro. Riding at eventide across the plain that lay without the walls of Granada after service in the conquered city had become monotonous, I spoke to one whom I overtook, somewhat bitterly of the wrongs imposed upon the subjugated people and the rapacity of the Holy Office, who, when the war against the Moors was over, began at once the spoliation of the Jews to fill the depleted treasury. As if shaped out of the gathering mist, an unshod mule came softly over the white dust to my side, and a voice I shall never forget, exclaimed in cold, harsh tones : "Who art thou that speakest thus lightly of the Right Hand of God?" "And who art thou that makest such demand of a soldier of their Majesties?" "Men call me the Pillar of Fire,'" was the calm, exultant reply. "God have mercy!" shouted my companion. "Torquemada!" Thereupon he put spurs to his horse and fled. I never saw him more. As he had spoken quite as harshly as I, he had equal reason to fear. I did not attempt to fly; not because I did not fear, for I felt a chill as of death creep down my back under my armor, though it was midsummer and the breath of the south wind was stifling. But I knew it was useless to try to escape from one who had ten thousand eyes and ears at his command in Spain, and who held King and Queen in mortal terror of his wrath. Only guile could serve, and of this there was little hope. Even then a dull flame just visible to the right of the road we traveled, showed where another victim, "delivered up to the civil authorities," had expired in the flames of the Quemadero, which was set up without the city, almost before the cross had been reared within it. "What is thy name?" asked the Chief Inquisitor, sternly. "In truth, Holy Father," I answered, "my words were but lightly spoken. A soldier abhors bloodshed except by the sword and in open strife." "The Holy Office sheds no man's blood. The Holy Word declares an unqualified curse against every one by whom man's blood is shed: by man shall his blood be shed.' It is not seemly that the servants of the Most High should be exposed to this anathema, in their efforts to rid the world of error and unbelief. In all that they do, therefore, care is taken to shed no drop of blood, even of the unworthiest while probing his soul for sin and compelling assent to the truths he hates. Even when found incorrigible, the sentence of destruction is never executed by the agents of the Holy Office, but clothed in the garb of the impenitent, the unhappy one against whom eternal doom is pronounced, through the faithfulness of their Catholic Majesties, is executed by the civil authorities by burning only; in order that even by implication no drop of blood may be shed by our action." "I doubt not thou art right, Holy Father; I am no casuist and shall willingly do penance for my words." "Aye, thou shalt do penance, of that be assured; but thou wert not so modest about thy casuistic skill a little time ago, methinks. What is thy name?" "Men call me Del Porro," I answered as calmly as I could. But now it was my listener's turn to show surprise. "Del Porro! The Duke of Medina Sidonia's Captain!" he exclaimed. "Where hast thou hid thyself so long? "In truth, Holy Father," I answered, "you must not blame a soldier if you find him not, because he is in the front of battle rather than with them that chant the victory." "But thou mightest have heard the King's trumpets! Knowest thou not that for a year proclamation hath been made for thee in every camp and a reward offered for him that should find thee dead or alive! That every Familiar in Spain hath special order to seize thee and bring thee before their Majesties without delay or intervention! God and Saint Dominic be praised for this good fortune! Come thou with me, my son!" He reached out his hand to take my rein, but the bridle of Achmet's son was far beyond his reach before he could touch it with a finger. Ere he could recover, my sword was out and though I would not turn its point against a man of his calling, I thought it no harm to send it into the neck of his mule just where the jointure leaves the marrow exposed, whereby the good Father was suddenly rolled in the dust. "Good-by, Holy Father!" I shouted as I spurred away. "It will be more than two years ere thou seest me again!' "Stop! Stop!" he cried. "Thou knowest not what thou art fleeing from! I will forgive thy sacrilege and impiety! I will absolve thy offense, if thou wilt but wait and hear me!" Achmet's hoof strokes drowned his voice as we fled away into the darkness. PACK CLOUDS AWAY. BY THOMAS HEYWOOD. (From "The Rape of Lucrece.") PACK clouds away, and welcome day, Wings from the wind, to please her mind, Bird prune thy wing, nightingale sing; To give my love good morrow. Wake from thy nest, robin redbreast, THE DEFEAT OF THE ARMADA. BY CHARLES KINGSLEY. (From "Westward Ho !") [CHARLES KINGSLEY, English clergyman, novelist, and miscellaneous writer, was born at Holne vicarage, Dartmoor, June 12, 1819. He took his degree of B. A. (1842) at Magdalen College, Cambridge, with honors in classics and mathematics, and two years later became rector of Eversley in Hampshire, where he resided through life. He was professor of modern history at Cambridge from 1860 until 1869, when he became canon of Chester, and subsequently (1873) of Westminster. He made his mark with the "Saint's Tragedy," a metrical drama; and added to his reputation with "Yeast" and "Alton Locke," novels dealing with social problems; and the historical romances " Hypatia," "Westward Ho!" and "Hereward the Wake." Other works are: "Glaucus," "The Heroes,' ," "The Water Babies," "Two Years Ago,' "Prose Idylls." In company with Dr. Maurice and others Kingsley devoted much attention to the amelioration of the condition of the working classes, and to their efforts may be traced the formation of coöperative associations. Kingsley died at Eversley, January 23, 1875.] In the mean while, rumor flew thousand-tongued through the length and breadth of the land; of vast preparations going on in Spain and Italy; of timber felled long before for some such purpose, brought down to the sea, and sawed out for shipbuilding; of casting of cannon, and drilling of soldiers; of ships in hundreds collecting at Lisbon; of a crusade preached by Pope Sixtus the Fifth, who had bestowed the kingdom of England on the Spaniard, to be enjoyed by him as vassal tributary to Rome; of a million of gold to be paid by the pope, one half down at once, the other half when London was taken; of Cardinal Allen writing and printing busily in the Netherlands, calling on all good Englishmen to carry out, by rebelling against Elizabeth, the Bull of Sixtus the Fifth, said (I blush to repeat it) to have been dictated by the Holy Ghost; of Inquisitors getting ready fetters and devil's engines of all sorts; of princes and noblemen, flocking from all quarters, gentlemen selling their private estates to fit out ships; how the Prince of Melito, the Marquess of Burgrave, Vespasian Gonzaga, John Medicis, Amadas of Savoy, in short, the illegitimate sons of all the southern princes, having no lands of their own, were coming to find that necessary of life in this pleasant little wheat garden. Nay, the Duke of Medina Sidonia had already engaged Mount Edgecombe for himself, as the |