forest and dressing in the cast-off
rags of those charitable enough to give. At length the famous Balat
fell into the hands of justice, and paid a dreadful penalty for
his crimes, to that society which had never done anything to teach
him better than to commit them. One morning the young brother, who
had been in the forest gathering fruits, came back to find the dead
body of his mother in front of their cabin, the horror-stricken eyes
staring upward; and following them with his own, the unhappy boy saw
suspended from a limb the bloody head of his brother."

"My God!" cried Ibarra.

"It is perhaps the cry that escaped the lips of my father," said
Elias coldly. "Like a condemned criminal, he fled across mountains
and valleys. When he thought himself far enough away to have lost
his identity, he found work with a rich man of the province of
Tayabas. His industry and the sweetness of his disposition gained
him favor. Here he stayed, economized, got a little capital, and as
he was yet young, thought to be happy. He won the love of a girl of
the pueblo, but delayed asking for her hand, fearing that his past
might be uncovered. At length, when love's indiscretion bore fruit,
to save her reputation he was obliged to risk everything. He asked to
marry her, his papers were demanded, and the truth was learned. As
the father was rich, he instituted a prosecution. The unhappy young
man made no defence, and was sent to the garrison.

"Our mother bore twins, my sister and me. She died while we were
yet young, and we were told that our father was dead also. As our
grandfather was rich, we had a happy childhood; we were always
together, and loved each other as only twins can. I was sent very
early to the college of the Jesuits, and my sister to La Concordia,
that we might not be completely separated. In time we returned to
take possession of our grandfather's property. We had many servants
and rich fields. We were both happy, and my sister was affianced to
a man she adored.

"By my haughtiness, perhaps, and for pecuniary reasons, I had won the
dislike of a distant relative. He threw in my face the obscurity of our
origin and the dishonor of our race. Believing it calumny, I demanded
satisfaction; the tomb where so many miseries sleep was opened, and
the truth came forth to confound me. To crown all, there had been
with us many years an old servant, who had suffered all my caprices
without complaint. I do not know how our relative