the girl would say gaily--"it makes me nervous
seeing you so very quiet keeping me company when what you want is
life and movement. Go to your friends; they are expecting you in the
bell-ringer's tower. They have been talking about me, thinking it is
I who keep you in the house. Go out to walk, uncle! Go and speak of
those things that stir you so much, and that those poor people listen
to open-mouthed. Be careful as you go up the stairs; go slowly and
stop often, so that the demon of the cough, may not get hold of you."

Gabriel spent the later hours of the morning in the bell-ringer's
"habitacion." The walls of ancient whitewash were adorned by faded
and yellow engravings, representing episodes in the Carlist war,
remembrances of the mountain campaign which for long years had been
the pride of Mariano, but of which now he never spoke.

Here Gabriel met all his admirers. Even the shoemaker worked at night
in order not to deprive himself of this meeting. Don Martin, the
curate, also came up, concealing himself carefully so that Silver
Stick should not see him. It was a small community grouping itself
round the sick apostle, with all the zeal inspired by the unknown.

Gabriel answered all these men's questions, that so often betrayed the
simplicity of their minds. When a fit of coughing seized him, they all
surrounded him with concern written on their faces. They would have
wished even at the cost of their own lives to restore him to health.
Luna, carried away by his enthusiasm, ended by narrating to them the
story of his life and sufferings, and so the prestige of martyrdom
came to increase the ardour of these people. The narrowed minds of
these sedentary men, living tranquil and safe in the Cathedral, made
them admire the adventures and torments of this fighter; for them he
was a martyr to this new religion of the humble and oppressed, and
besides, their innocence converted him into a victim of that social
injustice which they daily hated more.

For them there was no other truth but Gabriel's words; the
bell-ringer, although the roughest and most silent among them, was
the most advanced in his conversion. His admiration for Gabriel which
dated from their childhood, his dog-like fidelity, carried him on with
leaps and bounds, making him accept at once even the most distant
ideals.

"I am whatever you are, Gabriel," he said firmly. "Are you not an
anarchist? I will be one also--indeed, I think I have always been one