e satisfaction which even this late
expression of her real belief gave her; she had been silent so long!

Her Thorne and Duero envelope was dropping from her more and more. "Oh
yes, I have stood up for them," she said, another time. "Oh yes, I have
boasted of them, I knew how! I knew how better than any of them; I made
a study of it. The first Spaniards were blue-blooded knights and
gentlemen, of course; _they_ never worked with their hands. But the
Puritans were blacksmiths and ploughmen and wood-choppers--anything and
everything; I knew how to bring this all out--make a picture of it.
'Think what their _hands_ must have been!' I used to say" (and here her
weak voice took on for a moment its old crispness of
enunciation)--"'what great coarse red things, with stiff, stubby
fingers, gashed by the axe, hardened by digging, roughened and cracked
by the cold. Estimable men they were, no doubt; heroic--as much as you
like. But _gentlemen_ they were not.' I have said it hundreds of times.
For those idle, tiresome, wicked old Dueros, Margaret (the English
Thornes too, for that matter), were Garda's ancestors, and the right to
talk about them was the only thing the poor child had inherited;
naturally I made the most of it. They were the feature of this
neighborhood, of course--those Spaniards, I knew that; I had imagination
enough to appreciate it far more, I think, than the very people who were
born here. I made everything of it, this feature; I learned the history
and all the beliefs and ideas. I always hoped to get hold of some
northerners to whom I could tell it, tell it in such a way that it would
be of use to us, make a background for Garda some time. That's all
ended; I have never had the proper chance, and now of course never
shall. But at least I can tell _you_, Margaret, now that it is all over,
that in my heart I have always hated the whole thing--that in my heart I
have always ranked the lowest Puritan far, far above the very finest
Spaniard they could muster. They didn't work with their hands, these
knights and gentlemen; and why? Because they caught the poor Indians and
made them work for them; because they imported Human Flesh, they dealt
in negro slaves!" It was startling to see the faded blue eyes send forth
such a flash, a flash of the old abolitionist fire, which for a moment
made them young and brilliant again.

Margaret tried to soothe her. "It is nothing," said Mrs. Thorne, smiling
faintly and relapsing i