had ordained that
D. Barbara needed no confession. He absolved her from all sin for the
love and veneration she had for St. Vincent, but blamed the good saint
for the mercy he had shown D. Barbara.

Sebastian de las Cabras had been to the tombs of St. Vincent in
Compostella, in Salamanca, Cadiz, Malaga, and Seville, to induce the
good saint to undo his good work; but the bodies were inexorable, and
Barbara continued to plague him with her tongue, and to mark him with
her nails.

Seeing that he could get no relief for his home troubles from St.
Vincent, Sebastian recollected the faith of his fathers, and bethought
of applying for advice to an old Moor who lived in the neighbouring
village.

To this wise man he therefore went; and, after explaining matters, he
declared that he bore no ill-will to his wife, but rather to the saint,
for that it was owing to him that D. Barbara was spared.

"It is a difficult matter," said the Moor, "and one that will require
great consideration and prudence before attempting to master it. You
Christians make saints to serve you, and because your interests are not
all alike you blame the saints for not doing what is obviously
impossible. Now, I know that he whom you call St. Vincent loved the
tongue of a woman no better than the scimitar of the Saracen, and for
this reason did he probably prefer to spare the life of D. Barbara than
be importuned by her in his place of rest."

"What, then, would you advise me to do, for with D. Barbara I can no
longer live?"

"There are St. Nicholas, St. Tiburtius, St. Bartholomew, and others who
equally fear the noise of a woman's tongue; but little St. Francis died
stone-deaf, and being naturally of an envious disposition, nothing
would please him better than to revenge himself on his colleagues by
foisting D. Barbara on to them."

"But if little St. Francis be deaf, how shall I make him hear my
complaint?" demanded Sebastian.

"Thou art no true Catholic if thou knowest not the weakness of the
saints in general, but of their keepers here on earth in particular.
Thou mayest shout thyself deaf, dance, and jump, but they may not hear
thee; but if thou showest them the bright yellow gold thou wilt be heard
and understood, even if thou hadst not a voice, and wert as dumb as thou
wouldst wish D. Barbara to be," answered the Moor.

"I will away, then, to the market and sell some of my finest beasts, and
the money which I receive for them will I gladly