Juan sighed. "To-morrow will reveal something," he said.
"Many things, perhaps," Gonsalvo returned. "Well--Dona Beatriz waits
you now. There is no poison in that wine, though it be of an earthly
vintage; and God himself puts the cup in your hand; so take it, and be
comforted. Yet stay, have you patience for one word more?"
"For a thousand, if you will, my cousin."
"I know that in heart you share his--_our_ faith."
Juan shrank a little from his gaze.
"Of course," he replied, "I have been obliged to conceal my opinions;
and, indeed, of late all things have seemed to grow dim and uncertain
with me. Sometimes, in my heart of hearts, I cannot tell what truth
is."
"'He came not to call the righteous, but sinners,'" said Gonsalvo. "And
the sinner who has heard his call must believe, let others doubt as they
may. Thank God, the sinner may not only believe, but love. Yes; in
that the beggar at the gate may take his stand beside the king's
children unreproved. Even I dare to say, 'Lord, thou knowest all things;
thou knowest that I love thee.' Only to them it is given to prove it;
while I--ay, there was the bitter thought. Long it haunted me. At last
I prayed that if indeed he deigned to accept me, all sinful as I was, he
would give me for a sign something to do, to suffer, or to give up,
whereby I might prove my love."
"And did he hear you?"
"Yes. He showed me one thing harder to give up than life; one thing
harder to do than to brave the torture and the death of fire."
"What is that?"
Once more Gonsalvo veiled his face. Then he murmured--"Harder to give
up--vengeance, hatred; harder to do--to pray for _their_ murderers."
"_I_ could never do it," said Juan, starting.
"And if at last--at last--_I_ can,--I, whose anger was fierce, and whose
wrath was cruel, even unto death,--is not that His own work in me?"
Juan half turned away, and did not answer immediately. In his heart
many thoughts were struggling. Far, indeed, was he from praying for his
brother's murderers; almost as far from wishing to do it. Rather would
he invoke God's vengeance upon them. Had Gonsalvo, in the depths of his
misery, remorse, and penitence, actually found something which Don Juan
Alvarez still lacked? He said at last, with a humility new and strange
to him,--
"My cousin, you are nearer heaven than I."
"As to time--yes," said Gonsalvo, with a faint smile. "Now farewell,
cousin; and thank you."
"Can I do nothing more for you?"
"Yes; tell my sister that I know all. Now, God bless you, and deliver
you from the evils that beset your path, and bring you and yours to some
land where you may worship him in peace and safety."
And so the cousins parted, never to meet again upon earth.