"You who are here, priests, magistrates, have you seen your old father give himself for you, part from you for your good, die of grief in a prison, looking for your embrace, looking for consolation from any one who would bring it, sick, alone; while you in a foreign land? Then have you heard his name dishonored, found his tomb empty when you went there to pray? No? You are silent; then you condemn him!"
He raised his arm. But a girl, rapid as light, threw herself between him and the priest, and with her fragile hands held the avenging arm. It was Maria Clara. Ibarra looked at her with eyes like a madman's. Then, little by little, his tense fingers relaxed; he let fall the knife, and, covering his face with his hands, he fled.
The noise of the affair spread rapidly. At first no one believed it, but when there was no longer room for doubt, each made his comments, according to the degree of his moral elevation.
"Father Dámaso is dead," said some. "When he was carried away, his face was congested with blood, and he no longer breathed."
"May he rest in peace, but he has only paid his debt!" said a young stranger.
"One of us students who came from Manila for the fête left the church when the sermon in Tagalo began, saying it was Greek to him. Father Dámaso sent for him afterward, and they came to blows."
"Are we returning to the times of Nero?" asked another student.
"You mistake," replied the first. "Nero was an artist, and Father Dámaso is a jolly poor preacher!"
"To say which was wrong and which right is not easy," said the gobernadorcillo, "and yet, if Señor Ibarra had been more moderate----"
"You probably mean, if Father Dámaso had shown half the moderation of Señor Ibarra," interrupted Don Filipo. "The pity is that the rôles were interchanged: the youth conducted himself like an old man, and the old man like a youth."
"And you say nobody but the daughter of Captain Tiago came between them? Not a monk, nor the alcalde?" asked Captain Martin. "I wouldn't like to be in the young man's shoes. None of those who were afraid of him will ever forgive him. Hah, that's the worst of it!"
"You think so?" demanded Captain Basilio, with interest.
"I hope," said Don Filipo, exchanging glances with Captain Basilio, "that the pueblo isn't going to desert him. His friends at least----"