The modest Linares was serious and very uneasy. He had just received a letter from DoÑa Victorina which, translated from the most illiterate Spanish, and omitting its many errors in spelling and punctuation, was as follows:

It was a serious matter. Linares knew DoÑa Victorina’s character and knew what she was capable of doing. To reason with her was out of the question; to beg was useless; to deceive her worse. There was no other remedy than to challenge.

“But what can I do?” he said to himself, as he was walking alone. “If he receives me harshly? If I meet his wife? Who would want to be my second? The curate? Captain Tiago? Cursed be the hour in which I gave ear to her advice! What will this seÑorita say about me? Now I am sorry to have been secretary to all the ministers.”

The good Linares was in this sad soliloquy when Father SalvÍ arrived. The Franciscan was certainly thinner and paler than usual, but his eyes shone with a peculiar light and a strange smile was seen on his lips.

“SeÑor Linares, all alone?” saluted the priest and directed his steps to the sala, through the half open door of which notes of the piano were heard.

Linares restrained a smile.

“And Don Santiago?” added the curate.

Captain Tiago presented himself at that moment, kissed the curate’s hand, took the Father’s hat and cane and smiled like one who had been blessed.

“Well, well!” said the curate, going into the sala, followed by Linares and Captain Tiago. “I have good news from Manila which you will all enjoy. I have received letters from Manila which confirm the one which SeÑor Ibarra brought me yesterday—so that, Don Santiago, the impediment is removed.”

Maria Clara was seated at the piano between her two girl friends. She half rose to her feet at this remark, but her strength failed her and she sat down again. Linares turned pale and looked at Captain Tiago, who turned his eyes to the floor.

“This young man really seems to me a very nice fellow,” continued the curate. “At first, I judged him bad—he is a little quick-tempered. But he knows so well how to atone for his faults afterward, that one cannot hold any grudge against him. If it were not for Father DÁmaso....” And the curate directed a quick glance at Maria Clara. She was listening to all that was going on but without taking her eyes off the music—in spite of the concealed pinches which Sinang gave her to express her joy. Had she been alone, she would have danced.

“Father DÁmaso?” asked Linares without finishing the sentence.

“Yes,” continued the curate. “Father DÁmaso has said that as ... godfather he could not permit ... but I believe that if finally, SeÑor Ibarra asks pardon, which I do not doubt he will do, all will be arranged.”

Maria Clara arose, made an excuse and retired to her room, accompanied by Victoria.

“And if Father DÁmaso does not pardon him?” asked Captain Tiago, in a low voice.

“Then Maria Clara will see that Father DÁmaso is her spiritual father. But I believe that they will come to an understanding.”

At that moment, steps were heard and Ibarra appeared, followed by Aunt Isabel. His presence on the scene produced a varied effect. He saluted Captain Tiago affably, the latter not knowing whether to smile or to weep; to Linares he bowed profoundly. Father SalvÍ arose and extended his hand to him so affectionately that Ibarra could not suppress a look of surprise.

“Do not think it strange,” said Father SalvÍ. “I was just paying you a compliment.”

Ibarra thanked him and approached Sinang.

“Where have you been all day?” she asked, with a childish laugh. “We have been asking each other, ‘Where could this soul redeemed from purgatory have gone?’ Each one of us gave a different answer.”

“And will you not tell what you said?”

“No, that is a secret; but I will surely tell you in private. Now tell us where you have been so that we can see who has been able to guess it.”

“No, that also is a secret; but I will tell you alone, if the seÑores will permit.”

“Certainly, certainly!” said Father SalvÍ.

Sinang took Crisostomo to one end of the hall. She was very happy with the idea of knowing a secret.

“Tell me, my little friend,” said Ibarra, “Is Maria angry with me?”

“I do not know, but she says that it is better that you should forget her and then begins to cry. Captain Tiago wants her to marry that gentleman; Father DÁmaso also wishes it; but she says neither yes nor no. This morning when we were asking for you, I said: ‘What if he has gone to make love to some one else?’ She replied to me: ‘Would to God that he had!’ and then began to cry.”

Ibarra was serious.

“Tell Maria that I want to speak with her alone.”

“Alone?” asked Sinang, knitting her eyebrows and looking at him.

“Entirely alone, no. But so that we may not be seen by that other seÑor.”

“It is difficult, but don’t worry. I will tell her.”

“And when will I know the answer?”

“To-morrow come to the house early. Maria never wants to be alone. We keep her company. Victoria sleeps by her side one night, and I the next. To-morrow night it is my turn. But listen: What is the secret? You are going without telling me the principal thing.”

“That is true. I was in the town of Los BaÑos. I went up there to do some business in cocoanut trees, since I am thinking of building a factory. Your father will be my partner.”

“Nothing more than that? Give us the secret!” exclaimed Sinang in a loud voice and in the tone of a defrauded usurer. “I thought——”

“Take care. I don’t want you to tell it.”

“I have no desire to!” replied Sinang, sticking up her nose. “If it were something more important, I would tell it to my friends. But to buy cocoanuts! cocoanuts! Who is interested in cocoanuts?”

And she went away in haste to find her girl friends.

A few moments afterward, Ibarra seeing that the conversation was lagging, took leave of the gathering. Captain Tiago’s expression was between sweet and sour; Linares was silent and observing; and the curate, feigning to be joyful, was telling stories. None of the girls had returned.