“And you say nobody but the daughter of Captain Tiago came between them? Not a monk, nor the alcalde?” asked Captain Martin. “I wouldn’t like to be in the young man’s shoes. None of those who were afraid of him will ever forgive him. Hah, that’s the worst of it!”
“You think so?” demanded Captain Basilio, with interest.
“I hope,” said Don Filipo, exchanging glances with Captain Basilio, “that the pueblo isn’t going to desert him. His friends at least——”
“But, señores,” interrupted the gobernadorcillo, “what can we do? What can the pueblo? Whatever happens, the monks are always in the right——”
“They are always in the right, because we always say they’re in the right. Let us say we are in the right for once, and then we shall have something to talk about!”
The gobernadorcillo shook his head.
“Ah, the young blood!” he said. “You don’t seem to know what country you live in; you don’t know your compatriots. The monks are rich; they are united; we are poor and divided. Try to defend him and you will see how you are left to compromise yourself alone!”
“Yes,” cried Don Filipo bitterly, “and it will be so as long as fear and prudence are supposed to be synonymous. Each thinks of himself, nobody of any one else; that is why we are weak!”
“Very well! Think of others and see how soon the others will let you hang!”
“I’ve had enough of it!” cried the exasperated lieutenant. “I shall give my resignation to the alcalde to-day.”