“Ah! brother, brother!” said Esteban, with an accent of mild reproof, “what has it profited you reading so many books and newspapers?  What is the use of trying to disturb and upset things that are all right; and if they are all wrong, is there no other means of righting them possible?  If you had followed your own path quietly, you would have been a beneficiary of the Cathedral, and, who knows, you might have had a seat in the choir among the canons, for the honour and profit of the family!  But you were always wrong-headed, although you were the cleverest of us all.  Cursed talent that leads to such misery!  What I have suffered, brother, trying to hear about your affairs!  What bitterness have I not gone through since you last came here!  I thought you were contented and happy in the printing office in Barcelona, receiving a salary that was a fortune compared to what we earn here.  I was disturbed at reading your name so often in the papers, at those meetings, where the division of everything is advocated, the death of religion and of the family, and I do not know what follies besides.  The ‘companion’ Luna said this, or the ‘companion’ Luna has done the other, and I tried to hide from the people of the ‘household’ that this ‘companion’ could be you, guessing that such madness must turn out ill—­furiously ill—­and after—­after came the affairs of the bombs.”

“I had nothing to do with that,” said Gabriel sadly.  “I am only a theorist; I condemned the action as premature and inefficacious.”

“I know it, Gabriel.  I always thought you innocent.  You so good, so gentle, who since you were a little one always astonished us by your kindness; you who seemed like a saint, as our poor mother used to say!  You kill, and so treacherously, by means of such infernal artifices!  Holy Jesus!”

And the “Wooden Staff” was silent, overcome by the recollection of those attempts that had overwhelmed his brother.

“But what is certain is,” he continued after a little, “that you fell into the trap spread by the Government after those affairs.  What I suffered for a while!  Now and again I heard firing in the castle ditch beyond there, and I searched anxiously in the papers for the names of those executed, always fearing to find yours.  There were rumours current of horrible tortures inflicted on those taken to make them confess the truth, and I thought of you, so frail, so delicate, and I feared that some day you would be found dead in a dungeon.  And I suffered even more from my anxiety that no one here should know of your situation; you a Luna! a son of Senor Esteban, the old gardener of the Primate, with whom all the canons and even the archbishop talked.  You mixed up with those infernal scoundrels who wish to destroy the world.  For this reason when Eusebio the ‘Virgin’s Blue,’ asked me if you could possibly be the Luna of whom he read in the papers, I replied that my brother was in America, that I heard from him now and again, but that he was occupied