; nor why I have to
entrust it to my enemies, when I can trample on them."

"Because the field in which you are sowing your seed is in the hands
of your enemies, and you are weak in comparison to them.... It is
necessary that you first kiss the hand----"

But the young man did not allow him to go farther and exclaimed
violently: "To kiss their hands! You forget that, between them, they
killed my father; they threw his body out of its sepulchre: but I,
I who am his son, I do not forget it, and, if I do not avenge myself,
it is because I consider the prestige of the Church."

The old philosopher bowed his head. "Senor Ibarra," he replied slowly,
"if you keep those memories--memories which I cannot advise you to
forget--if you keep those memories, give up your plans and your
undertaking and try to work good for your countrymen in another
way. The undertaking needs another man than you for its execution,
because to carry it out will not only require money and care, but,
in our country, self-denial, tenacity and faith are also needed. The
land is not ready for it; it has been sown only with darnel."

Ibarra understood the weight of these words, but he was not going
to be discouraged. Thoughts of Maria Clara filled his mind; he must
fulfill his promise to her.

"Does not your experience suggest something other than this hard
method?" he asked in a low voice.

The old man took him by the arm and led him to the window. A cool
breeze was blowing from the north. Before his eyes lay the garden,
stretching out to the large forest which served as a park.

"Why do we not have to do the same as that weak young bush loaded
with roses and buds?" said the philosopher pointing to a beautiful
rose bush. "The wind blows, shakes it and it bends itself down as if
trying to hide its precious load. If the bush kept itself erect, it
would be broken off, the wind would scatter its flowers and the buds
would be blighted. The wind passes over, and the bush straightens
itself up again, proud of its treasure. Thus it would be with you,
a plant transplanted from Europe to this stony ground, if you did not
look about for some support and belittle yourself. Alone and lofty,
you are in bad condition."

"And would this sacrifice bring the fruits that I hope for?" asked
Ibarra. "Would the priest have faith in me and would he forget the
offense? Would his kind not be able to feign friendship, to make a
false show of protecting me, and then, from b