"They say he has gone out."

"No presentations are necessary here," said Brother Damaso; "Santiago is a good fellow."

Er hat das Pulfer nicht erfunden. "He didn't invent gunpowder,"

added Laruja.

"What, you too, Senor de Laruja?" said Dona Victorina over her fan. "How could the poor man have invented gunpowder when, if what they say is true, the Chinese made it centuries ago?"

"The Chinese? 'Twas a Franciscan who invented it," said Brother Damaso.

"A Franciscan, no doubt; he must have been a missionary to China,"

said the Senora, not disposed to abandon her idea.

"Who is this with Santiago?" asked the lieutenant. Every one looked toward the door, where two men had just entered. They came up to the group around the table.

II.

CRISoSTOMO IBARRA.

One was the original of the portrait in oil, and he led by the hand a young man in deep black. "Good evening, senores; good evening, fathers," said Captain Tiago, kissing the hands of the priests, "I have the honor of presenting to you Don Crisostomo Ibarra."

At the name of Ibarra there were smothered exclamations. The lieutenant, forgetting to salute the master of the house, surveyed the young man from head to foot. Brother Damaso seemed petrified. The arrival was evidently unexpected. Senor Ibarra exchanged the usual phrases with members of the group. Nothing marked him from other guests save his black attire. His fine height, his manner, his movements, denoted sane and vigorous youth. His face, frank and engaging, of a rich brown, and lightly furrowed--trace of Spanish blood--was rosy from a sojourn in the north.

"Ah!" he cried, surprised and delighted, "my father's old friend, Brother Damaso!"

All eyes turned toward the Franciscan, who did not stir.

"Pardon," said Ibarra, puzzled. "I am mistaken."

"You are not mistaken," said the priest at last, in an odd voice; "but your father was not my friend."

Ibarra, astonished, drew slowly back the hand he had offered, and turned to find himself facing the lieutenant, whose eyes had never left him.

"Young man, are you the son of Don Rafael Ibarra?"

Crisostomo bowed.

"Then welcome to your country! I knew your father well, one of the most honorable men of the Philippines."

"Senor," replied Ibarra, "what you say dispels my doubts as to his fate, of which as yet I know nothing."

The old man's eyes filled with tears. He turned away to hide them, and moved off into the crowd.

The master of the house had disappeared. Ibarra was left alone in the middle of the room. No one presented him to the ladies. He hesitated a moment, then went up to them and said:

"Permit me to forget formalities, and salute the first of my countrywomen I have seen for years."

No one spoke, though many eyes regarded him with interest. Ibarra turned away, and a jovial man, in native dress, with studs of brilliants down his shirt-front, almost ran up to say:

"Senor Ibarra, I wish to know you. I am Captain Tinong, and live near you at Tondo. Will you honor us at dinner to-morrow?"

"Thank you," said Ibarra, pleased with the kindness, "but to-morrow I must leave for San Diego."

"What a pity! Well then, on your return----"

"Dinner is served," announced a waiter of the Cafe La Campana.

The guests began to move toward the table, not without much ceremony on the part of the ladies, especially the natives, who required a great deal of polite urging.

III.

THE DINNER.

The two monks finding themselves near the head of the table, like two candidates for a vacant office, began politely resigning in each other's favor.

"This is your place, Brother Damaso."

"No, yours, Brother Sibyla."

"You are so much the older friend of the family."

"But you are the curate of the quarter."

This polite contention settled, the guests sat down, no one but Ibarra seeming to think of the master of the house.

"What," said he, "you're not to be with us, Don Santiago?"

But there was no place: Lucullus was not dining with Lucullus.

"Don't trouble yourself," said Captain Tiago, laying his hand on the young man's shoulder. "This feast is a thank-offering for your safe return. Ho, there! bring the tinola! I've ordered the tinola expressly for you, Crisostomo."

"When did you leave the country?" Laruja asked Ibarra.

"Seven years ago."

"Then you must have almost forgotten it."

"On the contrary, it has been always in my thoughts; but my country seems to have forgotten me."