&ldquo;Certainly. There is no doubt of their brotherhood,&rdquo; he insisted. &ldquo;All men are brothers, and as such know almost too much of each other. But&rdquo;&mdash;and here in the old patriarchal head, white as silver, the black eyes humorously twinkled&mdash;&ldquo;if we are all brothers, all the women are not our sisters.&rdquo; </p> <p> One of the younger guests was heard murmuring his satisfaction at the fact. But the General continued, with deliberate earnestness: &ldquo;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&rsquo;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&mdash;not of love.&rdquo; </p> <p> After presenting this excuse in a spirit of chivalrous justice, the General remained silent for a time. &ldquo;I rode past the house every day almost,&rdquo; he began again, &ldquo;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 or that by the hand that picks it up. </p> <p> &ldquo;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-place for the wounded man in one of the huts amongst the fruit trees at the back of the house. That hovel, an abundance of clear water while the fever was on him, and some words of pity were all they could give. I suppose he had a share of what food there was. And it would be but little: a handful of roasted corn, perhaps a dish of beans, or a piece of bread with a few figs. To such misery were those proud and once wealthy people reduced.&rdquo; </p> <p> VII </p> <p> General Santierra was right in his surmise. Such was the exact nature of the assistance which Gaspar Ruiz, peasant son of peasants, received from the Royalist family whose daughter had opened the door of their miserable refuge to his extreme distress. Her sombre resolution ruled the madness of her father and the trembling bewilderment of her mother. </p> <p>