see the conflict
coming, the cloud on the horizon: the struggle begun in the sphere
of the mind is going to descend to the arena of blood. Listen to the
voice of God; woe to those who resist it! History shall not be theirs!"

Elias was transfigured. He stood uncovered, his manly face illumined by
the white light of the moon. He shook his mane of hair and continued:

"Do you not see how everything is waking? The sleep has lasted
centuries, but some day the lightning will strike, and the bolt,
instead of bringing ruin, will bring life. Do you not see minds in
travail with new tendencies, and know that these tendencies, diverse
now, will some day be guided by God into one way? God has not failed
other peoples; He will not fail us!"

The words were followed by solemn silence. The boat, drawn on by the
waves, was nearing the bank. Elias was the first to speak.

"What shall I say to those who sent me?"

"That they must wait. I pity their situation, but progress is slow,
and there is always much of our own fault in our misfortunes."

Elias said no more. He lowered his eyes and continued to row. When
the boat touched the shore, he took leave of Ibarra.

"I thank you, senor," he said, "for your kindness to me, and, in your
own interest, I ask you to forget me from this day."

When Ibarra was gone, Elias guided his boat toward a clump of reeds
along the shore. His attention seemed absorbed in the thousands of
diamonds that rose with the oar, and fell back and disappeared in
the mystery of the gentle azure waves. When he touched land, a man
came out from among the reeds.

"What shall I say to the captain?" he asked.

"Tell him Elias, if he lives, will keep his word," replied the
helmsman sadly.

"And when will you join us?"

"When your captain thinks the hour has come."

"That is well; adieu!"

"If I live!" repeated Elias, under his breath.

XLIII.

IL BUON DI SI CONOSCE DA MATTINA.

While Ibarra and Elias were on the lake, old Tasio, ill in his
solitary little house, and Don Filipo, who had come to see him, were
also talking of the country. For several days the old philosopher, or
fool--as you find him--prostrated by a rapidly increasing feebleness,
had not left his bed.

"The country," he was saying to Don Filipo, "isn't what it was twenty
years ago."

"Do you think so?"

"Don't you see it?" asked the old man, sitting up. "Ah! you did not
know the past. Hear the students of to-day talking. Ne