As I was going away, I said, “And with respect to the Gospel, your lordship; what am I to understand?”

“No se,” said the Archbishop, again bending his head towards the right shoulder, whilst his features resumed their former vacant expression.  And thus terminated my interview with the Archbishop of Toledo.

“It appears to me,” said I to Maria Diaz, on returning home; “it appears to me, Marequita mia, that if the Gospel in Spain is to wait for toleration until these liberal bishops and archbishops come forward boldly in its behalf, it will have to tarry a considerable time.”

“I am much of your worship’s opinion,” answered Maria; “a fine thing, truly, it would be to wait till they exerted themselves in its behalf.  Ca! the idea makes me smile:  was your worship ever innocent enough to suppose that they cared one tittle about the Gospel or its cause?  Vaya! they are true priests, and had only self-interest in view in their advances to you.  The Holy Father disowns them, and they would now fain, by awaking his fears and jealousy, bring him to some terms; but let him once acknowledge them and see whether they would admit you to their palaces or hold any intercourse with you:  ‘Forth with the fellow,’ they would say; ’vaya! is he not a Lutheran?  Is he not an enemy to the Church?  A la horca, a la horca!’ I know this family better than you do, Don Jorge.”

“It is useless tarrying,” said I; “nothing, however, can be done in Madrid.  I cannot sell the work at the despacho, and I have just received intelligence that all the copies exposed for sale in the libraries in the different parts of Spain which I visited, have been sequestrated by order of the government.  My resolution is taken:  I shall mount my horses, which are neighing in the stable, and betake myself to the villages and plains of dusty Spain.  Al campo, al campo:  ’Ride forth because of the word of righteousness, and thy right hand shall show thee terrible things.’  I will ride forth, Maria.”

“Your worship can do no better; and allow me here to tell you, that for every single book you might sell in a despacho in the city, you may dispose of one hundred amongst the villages, always provided you offer them cheap:  for in the country money is rather scant.  Vaya! should I not know? am I not a villager myself, a villana from the Sagra?  Ride forth, therefore; your horses are neighing in the stall, as your worship says, and you might almost have added that the Senor Antonio is neighing in the house.  He says he has nothing to do, on which account he is once more dissatisfied and unsettled.  He finds fault with everything, but more particularly with myself.  This morning I saluted him, and he made me no reply, but twisted his mouth in a manner very uncommon in this land of Spain.”

“A thought strikes me,” said I; “you have mentioned the Sagra; why should not I commence my labours amongst the villages of that district?”