and though it is less apparent, it may very likely be more strict.  In the name of my morality I say to you, Esteban, my brother, either your daughter returns here or I go away.  I must return to the world to be persecuted like a wild beast, to the hospital, to the prison, to die like a dog in the ditch by the roadside.  I do not know what will become of me, but one thing is certain, it is that I shall go to-morrow, or even to-day, so as not to enjoy a moment more what is not mine.  I, who consider the appropriation of the goods of the world by a privileged minority as an iniquitous robbery, cannot enjoy knowingly the comforts that belong by natural right to another unhappy being.  I can only enjoy them sharing them with her.”

Esteban had risen to his feet with a gesture of despair.

“Are you mad, Gabriel?  Do you wish to leave me?  And you say it so calmly?  Your presence here is the only joy of my life after so many misfortunes.  I am accustomed to see you.  I must care for you, you are my whole family; before I had no interest, I lived without hope.  Now I have one, to see you strong and well, and can you say so carelessly that you will leave me?  No, you shall not go—­only this was wanting to me—­after the daughter, the brother; kill me once for all!—­Lord God, take me to Thyself!”

And the simple servant of the Church raised his hands in supplication while his eyes filled with tears.

“Be calm, Esteban.  Let us speak like men, without exclamations and tears.  Look at me, I am calm, but do not think for that it is less certain that I shall go to-day if you do not grant me what I pray.”

“But—­and she?  Where is she that you plead so earnestly for her?” said Esteban.  “Have you seen her and spoken to her?  Is she in Toledo?  Have you with the insolence of your unbelief even brought her into the Cathedral?”

Gabriel, seeing him tearful and broken by his threat of leaving, thought the decisive moment had arrived, and opening the door of Sagrario’s room he called: 

“Come out, child, ask your father’s pardon.”

He looked astounded, then he fixed his eyes on Gabriel as though he could not guess who that woman was.  What joke had his brother prepared?

With a brutal impulse he tore the woman’s hands from her face, looking at her earnestly; even so he did not recognise her.  In the midst of a painful silence he stood a long while looking at her.  Little by little, in that face so altered by illness, he began to trace the well-known features.  In the tearful eyes devoid of eyelashes something reminded him of the blue eyes of the lost daughter.  The discoloured lips, surrounded by deep lines, quivered painfully, murmuring always the same word: 

“Pardon! pardon!”

At the sight of such a wreck the father felt his courage fail; his eyes expressed an immense, an overwhelming sadness.

He retreated backwards to the door of the “habitacion,” followed by the young woman, dragging herself on her knees and stretching out her hands.