He came nearer. Suddenly I knew him to be that Master
Christopherus who had entered the wedge of shadow yesterday
in the palace court. He was out of it now, in the broad
light, on the white road--on the way to France. He approached.
The ocean before Palos came and stood again
before me, salt and powerful. The keen, far, sky line of it
awoke and drew!

Christopherus Columbus came up with me. I said, "A
Palos sailor gives you good morning!"

Checking the horse, he sat looking at me out of blue-gray
eyes. I saw him recollecting. "Dress is different and
poorer, but you are the squire in the crowd! `Sailor
Palos sailor'--There's some meaning there too!"

He seemed to ponder it, then asked if I was for Cordova.

"No. I am going to Malaga where I take ship."

"This is not the Malaga road."

"No. But I am in no hurry! I should like to walk a mile
with you."

"Then do it," he answered. "Something tells me that
we shall not be ill travelers together."

I felt that also and no more than he could explain it.
But the reason, I know, stands in the forest behind the