h his eyes the people as they rushed to and fro in
confusion. Their voices and cries he could vaguely hear even at that
distance. One of the servants came running in breathlessly and informed
him what was going on.

A thought entered his mind. Amid confusion and tumult libertines
take advantage of the fright and the weakness of woman. All flee to
save themselves; nobody thinks of anyone else; the women faint and
their cries are not heard; they fall; are trampled over; fear and
fright overcome modesty, and under cover of darkness.... He fancied
he could see Ibarra carrying Maria Clara fainting in his arms, and
then disappearing in the darkness.

With leaps and bounds, he went down the stairs without hat, or cane,
and, almost like a crazy person, turned toward the plaza.

There he found some Spaniards reproving the soldiers. He looked
toward the seats which Maria Clara and her friends had been occupying,
and saw that they were vacant.

"Father curate! Father curate!" shouted the Spaniards to him, but he
took no notice and ran on in the direction of the house of Captain
Tiago. There he recovered his breath. He saw through the transparent
shade, a shadow--that adorable shadow, so graceful and delicate in
its contour--that of Maria Clara. He could also see another shadow,
that of her aunt carrying cups and glasses.

"Well!" he muttered to himself. "It seems that she has only fallen
ill."

Aunt Isabel afterward closed the shell windows and the graceful shadow
could no longer be seen.

The curate walked away from there without seeing the crowd. He was
looking at the bust of a beautiful maiden which he had before his
eyes, a maiden sleeping and breathing sweetly. Her eyelids were shaded
by long lashes, which formed graceful curves like those on Rafael's
virgins. Her small mouth was smiling, and her whole countenance seemed
to breathe virginity, purity and innocence. That sweet face of hers
on the background of the white draperies of the bed was a vision like
the head of a cherubim among the clouds. His impassioned imagination
went on and pictured to him.... Who can describe all that a burning
brain can conceive?

CHAPTER XXIII

TWO VISITORS.

Ibarra found his mind in such a state that it was impossible for
him to sleep. So, in order to divert himself and to drive away the
gloomy idea which distracted his mind, he began work in his solitary
laboratory. Morning came upon him, still at work making mixture