aised his head to see the old lieutenant gazing
at him with something like a smile in place of the hard expression
and the frown which usually characterized him.

"Young man, be careful! Learn from your father!" was the abrupt
greeting of the old soldier.

"Pardon me, but you seem to have thought a great deal of my father. Can
you tell me how he died?" asked Ibarra, staring at him.

"What! Don't you know about it?" asked the officer.

"I asked Don Santiago about it, but he wouldn't promise to tell me
until tomorrow. Perhaps you know?"

"I should say I do, as does everybody else. He died in prison!"

The young man stepped backward a pace and gazed searchingly at the
lieutenant. "In prison? Who died in prison?"

"Your father, man, since he was in confinement," was the somewhat
surprised answer.

"My father--in prison--confined in a prison? What are you talking
about? Do you know who my father was? Are you--?" demanded the young
man, seizing the officer's arm.

"I rather think that I'm not mistaken. He was Don Rafael Ibarra."

"Yes, Don Rafael Ibarra," echoed the youth weakly.

"Well, I thought you knew about it," muttered the soldier in a
tone of compassion as he saw what was passing in Ibarra's mind. "I
supposed that you--but be brave! Here one cannot be honest and keep
out of jail."

"I must believe that you are not joking with me," replied Ibarra in
a weak voice, after a few moments' silence. "Can you tell me why he
was in prison?"

The old man seemed to be perplexed. "It's strange to me that your
family affairs were not made known to you."

"His last letter, a year ago, said that I should not be uneasy if
he did not write, as he was very busy. He charged me to continue my
studies and--sent me his blessing."

"Then he wrote that letter to you just before he died. It will soon
be a year since we buried him."

"But why was my father a prisoner?"

"For a very honorable reason. But come with me to the barracks and
I'll tell you as we go along. Take my arm."

They moved along for some time in silence. The elder seemed to be in
deep thought and to be seeking inspiration from his goatee, which he
stroked continually.

"As you well know," he began, "your father was the richest man in
the province, and while many loved and respected him, there were
also some who envied and hated him. We Spaniards who come to the
Philippines are unfortunately not all we ought to be. I say this as
much on account of one