ter of the house?" asked the young
provincial. "I haven't been presented."

"They say he has gone out."

"No presentations are necessary here," said Brother Damaso; "Santiago
is a good fellow."

Er hat das Pulfer nicht erfunden. "He didn't invent gunpowder,"
added Laruja.

"What, you too, Senor de Laruja?" said Dona Victorina over her
fan. "How could the poor man have invented gunpowder when, if what
they say is true, the Chinese made it centuries ago?"

"The Chinese? 'Twas a Franciscan who invented it," said Brother Damaso.

"A Franciscan, no doubt; he must have been a missionary to China,"
said the Senora, not disposed to abandon her idea.

"Who is this with Santiago?" asked the lieutenant. Every one looked
toward the door, where two men had just entered. They came up to the
group around the table.

II.

CRISOSTOMO IBARRA.

One was the original of the portrait in oil, and he led by the hand
a young man in deep black. "Good evening, senores; good evening,
fathers," said Captain Tiago, kissing the hands of the priests,
"I have the honor of presenting to you Don Crisostomo Ibarra."

At the name of Ibarra there were smothered exclamations. The
lieutenant, forgetting to salute the master of the house, surveyed
the young man from head to foot. Brother Damaso seemed petrified. The
arrival was evidently unexpected. Senor Ibarra exchanged the usual
phrases with members of the group. Nothing marked him from other guests
save his black attire. His fine height, his manner, his movements,
denoted sane and vigorous youth. His face, frank and engaging, of a
rich brown, and lightly furrowed--trace of Spanish blood--was rosy
from a sojourn in the north.

"Ah!" he cried, surprised and delighted, "my father's old friend,
Brother Damaso!"

All eyes turned toward the Franciscan, who did not stir.

"Pardon," said Ibarra, puzzled. "I am mistaken."

"You are not mistaken," said the priest at last, in an odd voice;
"but your father was not my friend."

Ibarra, astonished, drew slowly back the hand he had offered, and
turned to find himself facing the lieutenant, whose eyes had never
left him.

"Young man, are you the son of Don Rafael Ibarra?"

Crisostomo bowed.

"Then welcome to your country! I knew your father well, one of the
most honorable men of the Philippines."

"Senor," replied Ibarra, "what you say dispels my doubts as to his
fate, of which as yet I know nothing."

The old man's eyes filled wit