perb rose-tree. "The
wind makes it tremble, and it bends, as if to hide its precious
charge. If the stalk stood rigid, it would break, the wind would
scatter the flowers, and the buds would die without opening. The
gust of wind passed, the stalk rises again, proudly wearing her
treasure. Who accuses her for having bowed to necessity? To lower the
head when a ball whistles is not cowardice. What is reprehensible is
defying the shot, to fall and rise no more."

"And will this sacrifice bear the fruit I seek? Will they have faith
in me? Can the priest forget his own offence? Will they sincerely
aid me to spread that instruction which is sure to dispute with the
convents the wealth of the country? Might they not feign friendship,
simulate protection, and, underneath, wound my enterprise in the heel,
that it fall more promptly than if attacked face to face? Admitting
your views, one might expect anything."

The old man reflected, then he said:

"If this happens, if the enterprise fails, you will have the
consolation of having done what you could. Something will have been
gained. Your example will embolden others, who fear only to commence."

Ibarra weighed these reasonings, examined the situation, and saw that
with all his pessimism the old man was right.

"I believe you," he said, grasping his hand. "It was not in vain
that I came to you for counsel. I will go straight to the curate,
who, after all, may be a fair-minded man. They are not all like the
persecutor of my father. I go with faith in God and man."

He took leave of Tasio, mounted, and rode away, followed by the regard
of the pessimistic old philosopher, who stood muttering to himself:

"We shall see, we shall see how the fates unroll the drama begun in
the cemetery!"

This time the wise Tasio was wrong; the drama had begun long before.

XXII.

THE MEETING AT THE TOWN HALL.

It was a room of twelve or fifteen by eight or ten yards. The
whitewashed walls were covered with charcoal drawings, more or less
ugly, more or less decent. In the corner were a dozen old shot-guns
and some rusty swords, the arms of the cuadrilleros.

At one end, draped with soiled red curtains, was a portrait of His
Majesty the King, and on the platform underneath an old fauteuil
opened its worn arms; before this was a great table, daubed with ink,
carved and cut with inscriptions and monograms, like the tables of
a German students' inn. Lame chairs and tottering bench