A great longing for his native land awoke in him, he wished to return to Spain, to that land he had so often ridiculed, and which now in spite of its backwardness seemed to him so attractive.

He thought of his brothers, fixed like plants to the stones of the Cathedral, never interesting themselves with what took place in the world, never seeking for news of him, as though they had entirely forgotten him.
With a sudden impulse, as though he were afraid of dying away from his native land, he returned to Spain.

In Barcelona some of the "companions" had obtained for him the management of a printing press, but before taking up his post he wished to spend a few days in Toledo.
He returned an old man, though he was barely forty, speaking four or five languages, and poorer than when he had left it.

He found that his brother the gardener had died, and that the widow and her son had taken refuge in a garret in the Claverias, where she supported herself by washing the canon's linen.

Esteban, the "Wooden Staff," received him with the same admiration he had felt for him while in the seminary.