tomo repeated mechanically.

"You will soon learn that for an honest man to keep out of prison is
a difficult matter in the Philippines."

"You mock me! Why did he die in prison?"

"Come with me; we will talk on the way."

They walked along in silence, the officer stroking his beard in search
of inspiration.

"As you know," he began, "your father was the richest man of the
province, and if he had many friends he had also enemies. We Spaniards
who come to the Philippines are seldom what we should be. I say this
as truthfully of some of your ancestors as of others. Most of us come
to make a fortune without regard to the means. Well, your father was a
man to make enemies among these adventurers, and he made enemies among
the monks. I never knew exactly the ground of the trouble with Brother
Damaso, but it came to a point where the priest almost denounced him
from the pulpit.

"You remember the old ex-artilleryman who collected taxes? He became
the laughing-stock of the pueblo, and grew brutal and churlish
accordingly. One day he chased some boys who were annoying him, and
struck one down. Unfortunately your father interfered. There was a
struggle and the man fell. He died within a few hours.

"Naturally your father was arrested, and then his enemies unmasked. He
was called heretic, filibustero, his papers were seized, everything
was made to accuse him. Any one else in his place would have been
set at liberty, the physicians finding that the man died of apoplexy;
but your father's fortune, his honesty, and his scorn of everything
illegal undid him. When his advocate, by the most brilliant pleading,
had exposed these calumnies, new accusations arose. He had taken
lands unjustly, owed men for imaginary wrongs, had relations with the
tulisanes, by which his plantations and herds were unmolested. The
affair became so complicated that no one could unravel it. Your father
gave way under the strain, and died suddenly--alone--in prison."

They had reached the quarters.

The lieutenant hesitated. Ibarra said nothing, but grasped the old
man's long, thin hand; then turned away, caught sight of a coach,
and signalled the driver.

"Fonda de Lala," he said, and his words were scarcely audible.

V.

A STAR IN THE DARK NIGHT.

Ibarra went up to his chamber, which faced the river, threw himself
down, and looked out through the open window. Across the river a
brilliantly lighted house was ringing with joyous music