hich drifted as if abandoned. Every time Elias raised
his head to breathe, the guards and the men of the falua fired on him.

The chase went on. The little bark with Ibarra was left far
behind. Elias was not more than a hundred yards from the shore. The
rowers were getting tired, but so was Elias, for he repeatedly
raised his head above the water, but always in a new direction, to
disconcert his pursuers. The deceiving wake no longer told the place
of the swimmer. For the last time they saw him, sixty feet from the
shore. The soldiers fired--minutes and minutes passed. Nothing again
disturbed the tranquil surface of the lake.

A half hour later, one of the rowers claimed to have seen traces of
blood near the shore, but his comrades shook their heads in doubt.

LIV.

FATHER DAMASO EXPLAINS HIMSELF.

In vain the precious wedding presents heaped up; not the brilliants
in their velvet cases, not embroideries of pina nor pieces of silk,
drew the eyes of Maria Clara. She saw nothing but the journal in
which was told the death of Ibarra, drowned in the lake.

Suddenly she felt two hands over her eyes, clasping her head, while
a merry voice said to her:

"Who is it? Who is it?"

Maria sprang up in fright.

"Little goose! Did I scare you, eh? You weren't expecting me, eh? Why,
I've come from the province to be at your marriage----" And with a
satisfied smile, Father Damaso gave her his hand to kiss. She took it,
trembling, and carried it respectfully to her lips.

"What is it, Maria?" demanded the Franciscan, troubled, and losing
his gay smile. "Your hand is cold, you are pale--are you ill, little
girl?" And he drew her tenderly to him, took both her hands and
questioned her with his eyes.

"Won't you confide in your godfather?" he asked in a tone of
reproach. "Come, sit down here and tell me your griefs, as you
used to do when you were little, and wanted some tapers to make
wax dolls. You know I've always loved you--never scolded you----"
and his voice became very tender. Maria began to cry.

"Why do you cry, my child? Have you quarrelled with Linares?"

Maria put her hands over her eyes.

"No; it's not about him--now!"

Father Damaso looked startled. "And you won't tell me your
secrets? Have I not always tried to satisfy your slightest wish?"

Maria raised to him her eyes full of tears, looked at him a moment,
then sobbed afresh.

"My child!"

Maria came slowly to him, fell on her knees at his