-perhaps the shade of his father,
perhaps the tempest which was approaching. He hurried through the town
and headed toward the outlying country, toward that old house which
he had not entered for so many years. The house was surrounded by a
wall, near which many cacti grew, and as he approached they seemed to
signal to him. The windows seemed to open, the ilang-ilang joyfully
waved its branches, and the doves fluttered about the little tower
on the peak of their garden house.

But the young man did not notice these signs of welcome on his return
to his old home. His eyes were riveted on the form of a priest who
was advancing from the opposite direction. It was the priest of San
Diego, that meditative Franciscan, the enemy of the alferez whom we
have mentioned. The wind was playing with the wide wings of his hat,
and the robe of guingon was flattened out, moulded by the wind to
the outline of his form, marking his slender thighs and bow-legs. In
his right hand he carried a cane. It was the first time that he and
Ibarra had met.

As they approached each other, the young man stopped and looked
at him fixedly. Father Salvi avoided the look and was somewhat
distracted. This vacillation lasted only a moment. Ibarra made a rush
toward him, and stopped the priest from falling only by grasping his
shoulder. Then, in a voice scarcely intelligible, he exclaimed:

"What have you done with my father?"

Friar Salvi, pale and trembling, as he read the unmistakable sentiments
which were depicted on the young man's face, could not reply.

"What have you done with my father?" he asked again, his voice almost
choking him.

The priest, shrinking from the tight grasp of Ibarra's hand, at last
made a great effort and said: "You are mistaken. I have done nothing
with your father."

"What? No?" continued the young man, the weight of his hand on the
priest's shoulder almost making him kneel.

"No, I assure you. It was my predecessor. It was Father Damaso----"

"Ah!" exclaimed the young man, throwing the priest down and giving
him a slap in the face. And leaving Father Salvi, he turned quickly
and went toward the house.

CHAPTER IX

ADVENTURES OF A SCHOOL TEACHER.

Laguna de Bay, surrounded by mountains, sleeps tranquilly in the
stillness of the elements, as if it had not joined the chorus of
the tempest on the night before. As first rays of dawn appear in the
eastern sky and awaken the phosphorescent myriads in the w