ngs, and her
breast-pin, and placing them upon the balustrade of the azotea she
looked out toward the river.

A banca, loaded with rice grass, stopped at the foot of the landing on
the bank of the river at the rear of the house. One of the two men who
were propelling the boat went up the stone steps, leaped over the wall,
and a few seconds afterward, steps were heard coming up the azotea.

Maria Clara saw him stop on discovering her, but it was for only a
moment. The man advanced slowly and at about three steps from the
maiden, stopped again. Maria Clara stepped back.

"Crisostomo!" she gasped, full of terror.

"Yes, I am Crisostomo!" replied the young man, in a grave voice. "An
enemy, a man who has good reason to hate me, Elias, has helped me
out of the prison into which my friends had thrown me."

Silence followed these words. Maria Clara bowed her head and allowed
both her hands to drop at her side.

Ibarra continued:

"Beside the dead body of my mother, I swore to make you happy,
whatever might be my destiny. You can break your oath; she was not
your mother. But I, who am her son, I hold her memory sacred, and,
running great risk, I have come here to fulfill my oath. Fortune
permits me to speak with you personally. Maria, we shall not see each
other again. You are young and perhaps some day your conscience may
accuse you.... I come to tell you, before leaving, that I forgive
you. Now, may you be happy, and good-bye!"

Ibarra tried to leave, but the maiden stopped him.

"Crisostomo!" she said. "God has sent you to save me from
desperation.... Hear me and judge me!"

Ibarra wished to withdraw gently from her.

"I have not come," said he, "to call you to account.... I have come
to give you peace."

"I do not want the peace which you give me. I will give myself
peace. You despise me, and your contempt will make my life bitter
till death."

Ibarra saw the poor girl's desperation, and asked her what she desired.

"That you may believe that I have always loved you."

Crisostomo smiled bitterly.

"Ah! You doubt me, you doubt the friend of your infancy, who has
never hidden a single thought from you," exclaimed she in grief. "I
understand you. When you know my history, the history which they
revealed to me during my illness, you will pity me and you will no
longer answer my grief with that bitter smile. Why did you not let
me die in the hands of my ignorant doctor? You and I would have been
happier then