The bell announces the hour of evening prayer. On hearing the religious sound, all stop, leave their work and uncover their heads; the laborer, coming from the fields on the carabao’s back, suspends the song to which the animal keeps step, and prays; the women in the middle of the street make the sign of the cross, and move their lips with affectation so that no one may doubt their devotion: the man stops fondling his game-cock and recites the Angelus so that he may have good luck; in the houses, they pray in a loud voice ... every sound which is not a part of the Ave Maria is dissipated, silenced.

However, the curate, without his hat, hastily crosses the street, scandalizing many old women. And still more scandalous, he directs his steps towards the alferez’s house. The devout women think that it is time for them to stop the movement of their lips and to kiss the curate’s hand, but Father SalvÍ takes no notice of them. To-day he finds no pleasure in placing his bony hand under a Christian’s nose. Some important business must be occupying him that he should so forget his own interests and those of the Church!

He goes up the stairs and knocks impatiently at the alferez’s door. The latter appears, his eyebrows knit and followed by his better half, who smiles malignantly.

“Ah, Father Curate! I was just going to see you. Your he-goat....”

“I have a most important matter....”

“I can’t allow your goat to go on breaking down my fence.... I’ll shoot him if he gets in there again.”

“That is if you are alive to-morrow,” said the curate, breathless, and directing himself toward the sala.

“What! do you think that that seven-months-old puppy will kill me? I’ll kick him to pieces.”

Father SalvÍ stepped back and looked instinctively at the feet of the alferez.

“Whom are you talking about?” asked he, trembling.

“Of whom could I be talking but that big blockhead who proposes to challenge me to a duel with revolvers at one hundred paces?”

“Ah!” sighed the curate, and added: “I have come to speak about a most urgent matter which seriously concerns the life of all of us.”

“Seriously!” repeated the alferez, turning pale in turn. “Does this young fellow shoot well...?”

“I am not speaking about him.”

“Then?”

The friar pointed to the door which the alferez shut in his customary manner, by a kick. The alferez usually found his hands superfluous. An imprecation and a groan from without were heard.

“You brute. You have cut open my head!” cried his wife.

“Now unbosom yourself,” said he to the curate in a quiet manner. The latter looked at him for some time. Afterward he asked, in that nasal and monotonous priest’s voice:

“Did you see how I came running?”

“Umph! I thought something was the matter with you.”

“When I leave my duties in this manner there are grave motives.”

“And what is it?” asked the other, stamping his foot on the floor.

“Calm yourself!”

“Then, why did you come in such a hurry?”

The curate approached him and asked in a mysterious way:

“Don’t—you—know—anything—new?”

The alferez shrugged his shoulders.

“You confess that you know absolutely nothing?”

“What! do you mean to tell me about Elias, whom your sacristan mayor hid last night?” he asked.

“No, no! I don’t speak of such matters now,” replied the curate, in a bad humor. “I am talking about a great danger.”

“Then d——n it! Let it out.”

“Now then,” said the friar slowly and with a certain disdain, “you will see again how important we priests are. The lowest layman is worth a regiment, so that a curate....”

And then lowering his voice in a very mysterious manner:

“I have discovered a great conspiracy.”

The alferez started and looked at the friar astonished.

“A terrible and well-laid conspiracy, which is to break out this very night.”

“This very night!” exclaimed the alferez, moving at first toward Father SalvÍ, and then running after his revolver and saber, which were hanging on the wall: “Whom shall I arrest? Whom shall I arrest?” he cried.

“Be calm. It is not yet time, thanks to my great haste. At eight o’clock.”

“I’ll shoot them all!”

“Listen! This afternoon a woman, whose name I must not mention (it is a secret of the confessional) came to me and disclosed it all. At eight o’clock they will take the cuartel by surprise, sack the convent, seize the Government’s steamboat and assassinate all the Spaniards.”

The alferez was stupified.

“The woman has not told more than that,” added the curate.

“Has not told you more? Then I’ll arrest her!”

“No; I cannot consent to it. The tribunal of penitence is the throne of God of forgiveness.”

“Neither God nor forgiveness count in this matter. I’ll arrest her.”

“You are losing your head. What you ought to do is to prepare yourself. Arm your soldiers quietly and put them in ambush. Send me four Guards for the convent and notify the people on the Government steamboat.”

“The boat is not here. I’ll send to other sections for aid.”

“They would notice that and would not go on with their plans. No, don’t do that. What is important is that we catch them alive and make them talk; I say, you will make them disclose the conspiracy. I, in the capacity of a priest, ought not to mix myself in these matters. Now’s your chance! Here you can win crosses and stars. I ask only that you make it evident that I am the one who warned you.”

“It will be made evident, Father, it will be made evident! And perhaps a mitre will fall to you!” replied the radiant alferez.

“Be sure and send me four un-uniformed Civil Guards, eh? Be discreet! To-night at eight o’clock, it will rain stars and crosses.”

While this was going on, a man came running down the road which led to Ibarra’s house, and quickly went up the stairs.

“Is the SeÑor at home?” asked Elias of the servant.

“He is in his laboratory at work.”

Ibarra, in order to pass the time while he impatiently waited for the hour when he could make explanations to Maria Clara, had gone to work in his cabinet.

“Ah, is it you, Elias?” he exclaimed. “I was thinking about you. Yesterday, I forgot to ask you for the name of that Spaniard in whose house your grandfather lived.”

“Don’t bother yourself, SeÑor, about me....”

“Look!” continued Ibarra, without noting the agitation of the young man, and putting a piece of bamboo to a flame. “I have made a great discovery. This bamboo is incombustible....”

“Don’t talk about bamboo now, SeÑor. Talk about collecting your papers and fleeing in a minute.”

Ibarra looked at him surprised, and, on seeing the seriousness in Elias’s countenance, he dropped the object which he had in his hands.

“Burn everything that can possibly implicate you in any way and put yourself in a more secure place within an hour.”

“And what for?” he asked at last.

“Put all that you have of value in a secure place....”

“And what for?”

“Burn all papers written by you or to you. The most innocent can be interpreted in a bad sense.”

“But what for?”

“What for? Because I have just discovered a conspiracy which will be attributed to you in order to ruin you.”

“A conspiracy? And who has planned it?”

“I have been unable to learn the author of it. Only a moment ago I was talking with one of the unfortunate men who have been paid for it. I could not dissuade him.”

“And didn’t that fellow say who paid him?”

“Yes. Asking me to keep the secret, he told me that it was you.”

“My God!” exclaimed Ibarra. He stood stupefied.

“SeÑor, don’t hesitate, don’t doubt, don’t lose time, for undoubtedly the conspiracy will break out this very night.”

Ibarra, with staring eyes, and hands holding his head, seemed not to hear him.

“The blow cannot be thwarted,” continued Elias. “I have arrived too late. I do not know their leaders ... save yourself, SeÑor, save yourself for the sake of your country.”

“Where shall I flee? They are expecting me this evening,” exclaimed Ibarra, thinking of Maria Clara.

“To any other town, to Manila, to the house of some official; only flee somewhere so that they will not say that you are directing the movement.”

“And if I myself denounce the conspiracy?”

“You denounce it?” exclaimed Elias, looking at him, and stepping back. “You would pass for a traitor and a coward in the eyes of the conspirators, and for a pusillanimous person in the eyes of others. They would say that you had played a trick to win some praise, they would say....”

“But what can be done?”

“Already I have told you. Destroy all the papers you have which relate to you; flee and await developments.”

“And Maria Clara?” exclaimed the young man. “No; death first!”

Elias wrung his hands and said:

“Well, then, at least avoid the blow. Prepare yourself against their accusations.”

Ibarra looked around him in a stupefied manner.

“Then, help me! There in those bags I have my family letters. Sort out those from my father, which are, perhaps, the ones that would incriminate me. Read the signatures.”

Ibarra, stunned and overwhelmed, opened and closed drawers, collected papers, hastily read letters, tore up some, kept others, took down books and thumbed through some of them. Elias did the same, if indeed with less confusion, with equal zeal. But he stopped, with eyes wide open, turned over a paper which he had in his hand and asked in a trembling voice:

“Did your family know Don Pedro Eibarramendia?”

“Certainly!” replied Ibarra, opening a drawer and taking out a pile of papers. “He was my great-grandfather.”

“Your great grandfather? Don Pedro Eibarramendia?” he again asked, with livid features and a changed appearance.

“Yes,” replied Ibarra, distracted. “We cut short the name, for it was too long.”

“He was a Basque?” said Elias approaching him.

“Yes; but what’s the matter?” he asked, surprised.

Elias closed his fist, shook it in Ibarra’s face and looked at him. Crisostomo stepped back as soon as he read the expression on that face.

“Do you know who Don Pedro Eibarramendia was?” he asked between his teeth. “Don Pedro Eibarramendia was that wretch who accused my grandfather and caused all our misery.... I was looking for one of his name. God has given you into my hands.... Account to me for our misfortunes.”

Ibarra looked at him terrified. Elias shook him by the arm and, in a bitter voice, filled with hate, said:

“Look at me well; see if I have suffered, and you, you live, you love, you have fortune, home, consideration. You live ... you live!”

And, beside himself, he ran toward a small collection of arms, but he had scarcely grasped two swords when he let them fall, and, like a madman, looked at Ibarra, who remained immovable.

“What am I to do?” he said and fled from the house.