Thus was it with Alcala. Having received the gospel with joy, he intuitively began to consider what return of grateful obedience he could make for unmerited mercy. Having cheerfully resolved to run the race set before him, he felt that he must speed towards his glorious goal disencumbered of the weight of the sin which most easily beset him. Alcala had little difficulty in discovering what that sin was. Turning from contemplation of Christian doctrine to that of Christian duties, the Spaniard was struck by the very first sentence uttered by Divine lips in the Sermon on the Mount—"Blessed are the poor in spirit."
Alcala paused long, with his finger on that verse. He was a Spaniard, and a Spaniard of noble birth. He had been, as it were, cradled in pride; taught to regard pride as a lofty virtue. Was it needful, and even if needful, was it possible, to overcome what seemed woven into his very nature? Could the high-spirited cavalier ever become the meek and lowly believer?
Alcala felt that, in the struggle against pride in its various forms, he was now entering his spiritual Plaza de Toros; that his own strength was as weakness compared with that of the mighty enemy before him. He must ask for strength greater than his own, he must seek for the aid of that Holy Spirit who could enable him to overthrow and trample even upon pride. Alcala reflected deeply on the numerous passages in Scripture which represent humility as essential to the character of a believer. It was difficult indeed to throw aside prejudices that had become as a part of himself, to recognize the truth that nothing is really degrading but sin, and that the highest and noblest have nothing whereof to boast. Alcala's reflections, however, brought him to a conviction which was once simply and beautifully expressed by a believer, whose life proved that she spoke from the heart:[16]—"What is the position of a Christian? To wash the disciples' feet, to sit at the Saviour's feet,—this is the position of a Christian!"
"I shall bear on my person to the end of my days a scar to remind me that God abhors pride," thought Alcala; "and the lesson will be enforced by new privations, in which, alas! my family must share. Who has more reason than I to know that pride is a fiend who, under the name of high spirit, lures us on to destruction? But for unmerited grace, I should have sacrificed to him both body and soul. His voice was more strong in this guilty heart than the appeals of reason, conscience, and affection. I preferred dying like a madman, to owning that I had boasted like a fool!"
Alcala was thus pondering over the subject, when his sister entered his apartment, knelt by his side, and timidly took his hand in her own.
"Something has grieved my sweet one," said Alcala, reading trouble in the face of his sister.
"Alcala, I must hide nothing from you," murmured Inez, with the meekness of a child confessing a fault. "I fear that I may have done wrong, but you will judge when you know the whole truth. Donna Maria was here yester-evening, while the English señor was with you. I could not help speaking to her of my troubles; I could not help telling her of our—our difficulties," continued Inez, drooping her head. "I thought that she had the means to help us, and—we are so poor, Alcala!"
"Poverty is no disgrace, my Inez," said Alcala; "except," he added gravely, "poverty brought on by such an act of criminal folly and pride as that which has laid me here."
"I told our mother's friend that I had parted with all,—everything that could be turned into money,—even your guitar, Alcala," continued Inez with a sigh. "'What, child!' replied Donna Maria, 'even with King Philip's reliquary, which holds the hair of Santa Veronica, the heirloom of which your family is so proud? I would give you twenty dollars for that!'"
"A liberal offer!" cried Alcala, with irony. "Our fathers would not have sold the relic for twenty thousand!" The cavalier felt that the little hand which he held was trembling, and reproached himself for the unguarded exclamation.