o heard it did not know what
to say. Father Salvi looked in another direction, perhaps so as not
to meet the dark look which the old man directed toward him. Maria
Clara dropped her flowers and sat motionless. Father Sibyla, the one
who knew how to keep silent, appeared to be the only one who knew
how to ask questions.

"Are you referring to the letters, Senor Guevara?"

"I am telling what the defendant's attorney told me. He has taken up
the case with zeal and interest. Aside from some ambiguous lines which
this young man wrote to a young woman before departing for Europe,
they have found no proof to sustain the accusation. In these few lines,
the officers saw a plan and threat against the Government."

"And what about the declaration made by the bandit before he died?"

"That statement has proved of no account, since, according to the
bandit himself, the conspirators never had communicated with the young
man, but only with one, Lucas, who was Ibarra's enemy, as they have
been able to prove, and who committed suicide, perhaps from remorse. It
has been proved that the papers found in the possession of the dead
man were forged, since the handwriting was like that of Ibarra seven
years ago, but not like that of to-day--a fact which shows that it
was copied from the letter used as evidence against him. Besides,
his attorney says that if Ibarra had not admitted the genuineness of
the letter, he would have been able to do much for him; but, at the
sight of it, the young man turned pale, lost heart and acknowledged
that he had written it."

"Do you say," asked a Franciscan, "that the letter was directed to
a young woman? How did it get into the hands of the officers?"

The lieutenant did not reply. He looked for a moment at Friar Salvi
and then walked off, twisting nervously the end of his grey beard. In
the meantime, others were commenting something like this:

"There you see the hand of God!" said one. "Even the women hate him."

"He had his house burned, thinking that he could thus save himself. But
he did not reckon with his host--that is, with his querida, [23] with
his babai," [23] added another, smiling. "That is God's work. Santiago
protects Spain!"

The old army officer stopped and approached Maria Clara. She was
listening to the conversation, immovable in her seat. The flowers
were at her feet.

"You are a very prudent young woman," said the old lieutenant to her
in a low voice. "You have done well to ha