is fasting, this is discipline, this is the prayer without ceasing ye came here to perform. One holy monk daubing colours on a bit of rag, and this reverend father, who should be the pattern and exemplar of his community, aiding and abetting him!"
"Silence!" the Prior said. The one word was not ungently spoken, but it was that of a man accustomed to command and to be obeyed, and imposed on the coarse-grained peasant before him; nay, even left his burst of prophetic ire trembling on his tongue unspoken. The Prior had drawn his slender figure up to its full height; a spot of red tinged his cheeks, as with quiet composure he faced his aggressor. Never before had Matthias seen him as lie was now, for he had always despised him for a timid, delicate, effeminate soul, scarce fit to rule the turbulent world of the convent. For a brief moment the Prior of Toro became again that Count of Trevino who had led the troops of his noble house to victory on more than one occasion, and whose gallant doings even then were not quite forgotten in the court and world of Spain. The habitual respect of the lowly-born for a man of higher station and finer fibre asserted itself. He stood before his Prior pale and downcast, like a frightened hound.
"Listen," the prior continued. "Oh you, my brother, of little charity. What you call zeal, I call malice. To you has been given your talent. It led you to these convent walls. Develop it. To this, my brother, and your brother, although you seem to know it not, has been entrusted another talent. Who are you, to declaim against the gifts of God? There are talents, ay! and even virtues, that neither fructify to the owner nor to the world. Will you have saved other men from sin or helped the sinner by your flagellations and your fastings? He who has so little kindness in his heart, I fear me, would do neither. Yea, he would scarce save them if he could. Nay, brother," he added softly, "I doubt me
