The General had seen much of fratricidal strife. "Certainly. There is
no doubt of their brotherhood," he insisted. "All men are brothers,
and as such know almost too much of each other. But "--and here in
the old patriarchal head, white as silver, the black eyes humorously
twinkled--"if we are all brothers, all the women are not our
sisters."

One of the younger guests was heard murmuring his satisfaction at the
fact. But the General continued, with deliberate earnestness: "They
are so different! The tale of a king who took a beggar-maid for a
partner of his throne may be pretty enough as we men look upon
ourselves and upon love. But that a young girl, famous for her haughty
beauty and, only a short time before, the admired of all at the balls
in the Viceroy's palace, should take by the hand a guasso, a common
peasant, is intolerable to our sentiment of women and their love. It
is madness. Nevertheless it happened. But it must be said that in her
case it was the madness of hate--not of love."

After presenting this excuse in a spirit of chivalrous justice, the
General remained silent for a time. "I rode past the house every day
almost," he began again, "and this was what was going on within. But
how it was going on no mind of man can conceive. Her desperation must
have been extreme, and Gaspar Ruiz was a docile fellow. He had been an
obedient soldier. His strength was like an enormous stone lying on the
ground, ready to be hurled this way that by the hand that picks it up.

"It is clear that he would tell his story to the people who gave him
the shelter he needed. And he needed assistance badly. His wound was
not dangerous, but his life was forfeited. The old Royalist being
wrapped up in his laughing madness, the two women arranged a hiding-