she then went on: "You have desired it, you have
doubted me! But may my mother forgive me! On one of the sorrowfulest
of my nights of suffering, a man revealed to me the name of my real
father and forbade me to love you--except that my father himself
should pardon the injury you had done him."

Ibarra recoiled a pace and gazed fearfully at her.

"Yes," she continued, "that man told me that he could not permit our
union, since his conscience would forbid it, and that he would be
obliged to reveal the name of my real father at the risk of causing a
great scandal, for my father is--" And she murmured into the youth's
ear a name in so low a tone that only he could have heard it.

"What was I to do? Must I sacrifice to my love the memory of my
mother, the honor of my supposed father, and the good name of the
real one? Could I have done that without having even you despise me?"

"But the proof! Had you any proof? You needed proofs!" exclaimed
Ibarra, trembling with emotion.

The maiden snatched two papers from her bosom.

"Two letters of my mother's, two letters written in the midst of her
remorse, while I was yet unborn! Take them, read them, and you will
see how she cursed me and wished for my death, which my father vainly
tried to bring about with drugs. These letters he had forgotten in a
building where he had lived; the other man found and preserved them
and only gave them up to me in exchange for your letter, in order
to assure himself, so he said, that I would not marry you without
the consent of my father. Since I have been carrying them about with
me, in place of your letter, I have, felt the chill in my heart. I
sacrificed you, I sacrificed my love! What else could one do for a
dead mother and two living fathers? Could I have suspected the use
that was to be made of your letter?"

Ibarra stood appalled, while she continued: "What more was left for me
to do? Could I perhaps tell you who my father was, could I tell you
that you should beg forgiveness of him who made your father suffer
so much? Could I ask my father that he forgive you, could I tell him
that I knew that I was his daughter--him, who desired my death so
eagerly? It was only left to me to suffer, to guard the secret, and
to die suffering! Now, my friend, now that you know the sad history
of your poor Maria, will you still have for her that disdainful smile?"

"Maria, you are an angel!"

"Then I am happy, since you believe me--"

"But yet," ad