of the lake.

Half an hour afterwards one of the rowers claimed that he could
distinguish in the water near the shore traces of blood, but his
companions shook their heads dubiously.

CHAPTER LXII

Padre Damaso Explains

Vainly were the rich wedding presents heaped upon a table; neither
the diamonds in their cases of blue velvet, nor the pina embroideries,
nor the rolls of silk, drew the gaze of Maria Clara. Without reading
or even seeing it the maiden sat staring at the newspaper which gave
an account of the death of Ibarra, drowned in the lake.

Suddenly she felt two hands placed over her eyes to hold her fast
and heard Padre Damaso's voice ask merrily, "Who am I? Who am I?"

Maria Clara sprang from her seat and gazed at him in terror.

"Foolish little girl, you're not afraid, are you? You weren't expecting
me, eh? Well, I've come in from the provinces to attend your wedding."

He smiled with satisfaction as he drew nearer to her and held out
his hand for her to kiss. Maria Clara approached him tremblingly and
touched his hand respectfully to her lips.

"What's the matter with you, Maria?" asked the Franciscan, losing his
merry smile and becoming uneasy. "Your hand is cold, you're pale. Are
you ill, little girl?"

Padre Damaso drew her toward himself with a tenderness that one would
hardly have thought him capable of, and catching both her hands in
his questioned her with his gaze.

"Don't you have confidence in your godfather any more?" he asked
reproachfully. "Come, sit down and tell me your little troubles as
you used to do when you were a child, when you wanted tapers to make
wax dolls, You know that I've always loved you, I've never been cross
with you."

His voice was now no longer brusque, and even became tenderly
modulated. Maria Clara began to weep.

"You're crying, little girl? Why do you cry? Have you quarreled
with Linares?"

Maria Clara covered her ears. "Don't speak of him not now!" she cried.

Padre Damaso gazed at her in startled wonder.

"Won't you trust me with your secrets? Haven't I always tried to
satisfy your lightest whim?"

The maiden raised eyes filled with tears and stared at him for a long
time, then again fell to weeping bitterly.

"Don't cry so, little girl. Your tears hurt me. Tell me your troubles,
and you'll see how your godfather loves you!"

Maria Clara approached him slowly, fell upon her knees, and raising
her tear-stained face toward his asked in a