women crossed themselves but continued their comments.

Ibarra had telegraphed from the capital of the province welcoming Aunt
Isabel and her niece, but had failed to explain the reason for his
absence. Many thought him a prisoner on account of his treatment of
Padre Salvi on the afternoon of All Saints, but the comments reached
a climax when, on the evening of the third day, they saw him alight
before the home of his fiancee and extend a polite greeting to the
priest, who was just entering the same house.

Sisa and her sons were forgotten by all.

If we should now go into the home of Maria Clara, a beautiful nest
set among trees of orange and ilang-ilang, we should surprise the two
young people at a window overlooking the lake, shadowed by flowers
and climbing vines which exhaled a delicate perfume. Their lips
murmured words softer than the rustling of the leaves and sweeter
than the aromatic odors that floated through the garden. It was the
hour when the sirens of the lake take advantage of the fast falling
twilight to show their merry heads above the waves to gaze upon the
setting sun and sing it to rest. It is said that their eyes and hair
are blue, and that they are crowned with white and red water plants;
that at times the foam reveals their shapely forms, whiter than
the foam itself, and that when night descends completely they begin
their divine sports, playing mysterious airs like those of AEolian
harps. But let us turn to our young people and listen to the end of
their conversation. Ibarra was speaking to Maria Clara.

"Tomorrow before daybreak your wish shall be fulfilled. I'll arrange
everything tonight so that nothing will be lacking."

"Then I'll write to my girl friends to come. But arrange it so that
the curate won't be there."

"Why?"

"Because he seems to be watching me. His deep, gloomy eyes trouble
me, and when he fixes them on me I'm afraid. When he talks to me, his
voice--oh, he speaks of such odd, such strange, such incomprehensible
things! He asked me once if I have ever dreamed of letters from my
mother. I really believe that he is half-crazy. My friend Sinang and
my foster-sister, Andeng, say that he is somewhat touched, because
he neither eats nor bathes and lives in darkness. See to it that he
does not come!"

"We can't do otherwise than invite him," answered Ibarra
thoughtfully. "The customs of the country require it. He is in your
house and, besides, he has conducted himself nobl