th is not known.

After the first moments of effusion had passed and inquiries about
Carlicos and his wife had been made and answered, Padre Damaso asked,
"Come now, what does Carlicos want me to do for you?"

"I believe he says something about that in the letter," Linares
again stammered.

"In the letter? Let's see! That's right! He wants me to get you a job
and a wife. Ahem! A job, a job that's easy! Can you read and write?"

"I received my degree of law from the University."

"_Carambas!_ So you're a pettifogger! You don't show it; you look
more like a shy maiden. So much the better! But to get you a wife--"

"Padre, I'm not in such a great hurry," interrupted Linares in
confusion.

But Padre Damaso was already pacing from one end of the hallway to
the other, muttering, "A wife, a wife!" His countenance was no longer
sad or merry but now wore an expression of great seriousness, while
he seemed to be thinking deeply. Padre Salvi gazed on the scene from
a distance.

"I didn't think that the matter would trouble me so much," murmured
Padre Damaso in a tearful voice. "But of two evils, the lesser!" Then
raising his voice he approached Linares and said to him, "Come, boy,
let's talk to Santiago."

Linares turned pale and allowed himself to be dragged along by the
priest, who moved thoughtfully. Then it was Padre Salvi's turn to
pace back and forth, pensive as ever.

A voice wishing him good morning drew him from his monotonous walk. He
raised his head and saw Lucas, who saluted him humbly.

"What do you want?" questioned the curate's eyes.

"Padre, I'm the brother of the man who was killed on the day of the
fiesta," began Lucas in tearful accents.

The curate recoiled and murmured in a scarcely audible voice, "Well?"

Lucas made an effort to weep and wiped his eyes with a
handkerchief. "Padre," he went on tearfully, "I've been to Don
Crisostomo to ask for an indemnity. First he received me with kicks,
saying that he wouldn't pay anything since he himself had run the risk
of getting killed through the fault of my dear, unfortunate brother. I
went to talk to him yesterday, but he had gone to Manila. He left
me five hundred pesos for charity's sake and charged me not to come
back again. Ah, Padre, five hundred pesos for my poor brother--five
hundred pesos! Ah, Padre--"

At first the curate had listened with surprise and attention while
his lips curled slightly with a smile of such disdain and sarcasm
at t