After a short silence the old woman looked undecidedly at Gabriel.

“Well, shall we begin the struggle?  Shall I call Esteban?”

“Yes, call him, he will be in the Cathedral.  And you, shall you dare to be present at the interview?”

“No, son, manage it yourself.  You know Esteban, and you know me.  I should either begin to cry, or I should turn and rend him for his obstinacy.  You will manage better by yourself, for this God has given you those talents that you have used so badly.”

The old woman went away, and Gabriel remained alone for more than half an hour, looking out of a window into the deserted cloister.  The yearly commemoration of the death of God spread in the priestly tribe on the roofs, an atmosphere of sadness even more marked than that inside the church.  All the women and children of the Claverias were down below admiring the monument, the “habitacions” seemed quite deserted.  As he sat Gabriel saw his brother pass by the window, and in another moment he appeared at the door.

“What do you want, Gabriel?  What has happened to you?  The aunt frightened me with her summons.  Are you worse?”

“Sit down, Esteban.  I am well, calm yourself.”

The “Wooden Staff” looked with surprise at Gabriel; his strange seriousness alarmed him and the prolonged silence in which he appeared to be arranging his thoughts without knowing where to begin.

“Speak, man!  Do make a beginning; you alarm me.”

“Brother,” said Gabriel gravely, “you know very well that I have respected the mystery in your life that I found on my return here.  You said to me, ‘My daughter is dead,’ and you never showed any wish to speak of her, and you can say if I have ever touched your old wound by the slightest allusion.”

“Well, and what then?  When are you going to stop?” said Esteban, becoming very gloomy; “why do you speak to me on a day so holy of things that cause me so much pain?”

“Esteban, we shall never understand each other if you hold on to your prejudices.  Do not make that gesture, but listen to me calmly; do not act like an automaton, pulled by the same wires that moved our grandfathers and our ancestors.  Be a man, and act according to your own thoughts.  You and I have different beliefs.  Setting aside religion which I know is a consolation to you, you know that I am silent as to mine, so as not to render my life here impossible.  But apart from this, you believe that the family is a work of God, an institution of supernatural origin.  I believe it to be a human institution based on the necessities of the species.  You condemn for ever anyone who betrays the laws of the family, or who deserts his banner, you sentence him to death and oblivion.  I pity his weakness and forgive.  We understand honour from a different point of view.  You believe in the Castillian honour—­that traditional and barbarous honour, more cruel and dismal even than dishonour; a theatrical