The dream of his
life was ever the independence of Portugal, with a native prince
upon the throne. And because of Anne's fervent hope, a hope that
grew almost daily into conviction, that Sebastian had survived
and would return one day to claim his kingdom, those two at
Madrigal, in that quiet eddy of the great stream of life, were
drawn more closely to each other.
But as the years passed, and Anne's prayers remained unanswered
and the deliverer did not come, her hopes began to fade again.
Gradually she reverted to her earlier frame of mind in which all
hopes were set upon a reunion with the unknown beloved in the
world to come.
One evening in the spring of 1594--four years after the name of
Sebastian had first passed between the priest and the princess--
Frey Miguel was walking down the main street of Madrigal, a
village whose every inhabitant was known to him, when he came
suddenly face to face with a stranger. A stranger would in any
case have drawn his attention, but there was about this man
something familiar to the friar, something that stirred in him
vague memories of things long forgotten. His garb of shabby black
was that of a common townsman, but there was something in his air
and glance, his soldierly carriage, and the tilt of his bearded
chin, that belied his garb.
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