day and useless at evening, and Luis had many a low-voiced talk on the
quarter-deck with Juanita, who proved to be a young relative of the
archbishop. It was understood that she was to take the veil, and that,
young as she was, she would become, by and by, the lady abbess of a
nunnery to be established on the islands; and as her kinsman, though
severe to others, was gentle to her, she had her own way a good deal--
especially beneath the moon and the stars. For the rest, they had daily
services of religion, as dignified and sonorous as could have taken place
on shore, except on those rare occasions when the chief bass voice was
hushed in seasickness in some cabin below. Beautiful Gregorian masses rose
to heaven, and it is certain that the Pilgrim fathers, in their two months
on the Atlantic, almost a thousand years later, had no such rich melody as
floated across those summer seas. Luis was a favorite of Oppas, the
archbishop, who never seemed to recognize any danger in having an
enamoured youth so near to the demure future abbess. He consulted the
youth about many plans. Their aim, it seemed, was the great island called
Antillia, as yet unexplored, but reputed to be large enough for many
thousand people. Oppas was to organize the chief settlement, and he
planned to divide the island into seven dioceses, each bishop having a
permanent colony. Once established, they would trade with Spain, and
whether it remained Moorish or became Christian, Oppas was sure of
friendly relations.

The priests were divided among the three vessels, and among them there
was that occasional jarring from which even holy men are not quite free.
The different bishops had their partisans, but none dared openly face the
imperial Oppas. His supposed favorite Luis was less formidable; he was
watched and spied upon, while his devotion to the dignified Juanita was
apparent to all. Yet he was always ready to leave her side when Oppas
called, and then they discussed together the future prospects of the