an, of Marazion in
Cornwall. As for our business, we are shipwrecked mariners, or as good,
and our hope is to find an English vessel at Acapulco and so return
home. If you be a Christian you will help us."

"Christians help only Christians. I fear ye are Lutherans, enemies of
God."

"That we are not," answered Pharaoh stoutly. "I will say my Paternoster
in English with anybody, and my Belief too, for that matter."

The monk sighed. Perhaps he was disappointed to find that Pharaoh had so
much knowledge.

"And you?" he said, turning to me.

"I am a Christian," I answered, surlily enough, for I did not like this
examination.

"We are both Christians, master," said Pharaoh. "Maybe we think not as
you do on some points, but 'tis naught. So help us of your charity, and
assist us to get out of this country to our own, and we will say a
Paternoster for you night and morning."

"Verily," answered the monk, "you speak fairly. I will help you. You
shall go with me to Mexico, and there we will see what ships there are
at Vera Cruz."

"We would rather push forward to Acapulco," answered Pharaoh. "There are
more likely to be English ships there."

"English ships have gone there little during recent years, and you will
find none now," said the monk.

"For all that we would rather take our chance there," said Pharaoh.

"It will be better for you to accompany me to Mexico. Vera Cruz is close
at hand. And now, as the day waxes late, we will proceed."

Now, there was no use in further argument, for the monk had every
advantage of us, and was clearly minded to have us accompany him at
whatever cost. Therefore we had to yield ourselves to his will but never
did men give in with worse grace or heavier hearts than we.

"God help us!" said Pharaoh. "We are going into the very jaws of death
in going to Mexico. We shall meet Nunez there, and even if we do not, we
shall be handed over to the Inquisitors. But God's will be done.
Moreover, while there is life there is hope. We may pull through yet."

So we set out, the monk going first and taking no further notice of us
for some time. He would walk for hours as if absorbed in his own
thoughts, and again for a long stretch of time he would read his book or
count his beads, but to us he said little. He walked in the midst of the
Indians, who for their part were kind and considerate to us, and
indulged in no cruelties. Indeed, during our journey to the City of
Mexico we had no reason