"Burn everything that may compromise you and within an hour put yourself in a place of safety."

"Why?" Ibarra was at length able to ask.

"Put all your valuables in a safe place--"

"Why?"

"Burn every letter written by you or to you--the most innocent thing may be wrongly construed--"

"But why all this?"

"Why! Because I've just discovered a plot that is to be attributed to you in order to ruin you."

"A plot? Who is forming it?"

"I haven't been able to discover the author of it, but just a moment ago I talked with one of the poor dupes who are paid to carry it out, and I wasn't able to dissuade him."

"But he--didn't he tell you who is paying him?"

"Yes! Under a pledge of secrecy he said that it was you."

"My God!" exclaimed the terrified Ibarra.

"There's no doubt of it, sir. Don't lose any time, for the plot will probably be carried out this very night."

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

"The blow cannot be averted," continued Elias. "I've come late, I don't know who the leaders are. Save yourself, sir, save yourself for your country's sake!"

"Whither shall I flee? She expects me tonight!" exclaimed Ibarra, thinking of Maria Clara.

"To any town whatsoever, to Manila, to the house of some official, but anywhere so that they may not say that you are directing this movement."

"Suppose that I myself report the plot?"

"You an informer!" exclaimed Elias, stepping back and staring at him. "You would appear as a traitor and coward in the eyes of the plotters and faint-hearted in the eyes of others. They would say that you planned the whole thing to curry favor. They would say--"

"But what's to be done?"

"I've already told you. Destroy every document that relates to your affairs, flee, and await the outcome."

"And Maria Clara?" exclaimed the young man. "No, I'll die first!"

Elias wrung his hands, saying, "Well then, at least parry the blow. Prepare for the time when they accuse you."

Ibarra gazed about him in bewilderment. "Then help me. There in that writing-desk are all the letters of my family. Select those of my father, which are perhaps the ones that may compromise me. Read the signatures."

So the bewildered and stupefied young man opened and shut boxes, collected papers, read letters hurriedly, tearing up some and laying others aside. He took down some books and began to turn their leaves.

Elias did the same, if not so excitedly, yet with equal eagerness. But suddenly he paused, his eyes bulged, he turned the paper in his hand over and over, then asked in a trembling voice:

"Was your family acquainted with Don Pedro Eibarramendia?"

"I should say so!" answered Ibarra, as he opened a chest and took out a bundle of papers. "He was my great-grandfather."

"Your great-grandfather Don Pedro Eibarramendia?" again asked Elias with changed and livid features.

"Yes," replied Ibarra absently, "we shortened the surname; it was too long."

"Was he a Basque?" demanded Elias, approaching him.

"Yes, a Basque--but what's the matter?" asked Ibarra in surprise.

Clenching his fists and pressing them to his forehead, Elias glared at Crisostomo, who recoiled when he saw the expression on the other's face. "Do you know who Don Pedro Eibarramendia was?" he asked between his teeth. "Don Pedro Eibarramendia was the villain who falsely accused my grandfather and caused all our misfortunes. I have sought for that name and God has revealed it to me! Render me now an accounting for our misfortunes!"

Elias caught and shook the arm of Crisostomo, who gazed at him in terror. In a voice that was bitter and trembling with hate, he said, "Look at me well, look at one who has suffered and you live, you live, you have wealth, a home, reputation--you live, you live!"

Beside himself, he ran to a small collection of arms and snatched up a dagger. But scarcely had he done so when he let it fall again and stared like a madman at the motionless Ibarra.

"What was I about to do?" he muttered, fleeing from the house.

CHAPTER LV

The Catastrophe

There in the dining-room Capitan Tiago, Linares, and Aunt Isabel were at supper, so that even in the sala the rattling of plates and dishes was plainly heard. Maria Clara had said that she was not hungry and had seated herself at the piano in company with the merry Sinang, who was murmuring mysterious words into her ear. Meanwhile Padre Salvi paced nervously back and forth in the room.

It was not, indeed, that the convalescent was not hungry, no; but she was expecting the arrival of a certain person and was taking advantage of this moment when her Argus was not present, Linares' supper-hour.

"You'll see how that specter will stay till eight," murmured Sinang, indicating the curate. "And at eight _he_ will come. The curate's in love with Linares."

Maria Clara gazed in consternation at her friend, who went on heedlessly with her terrible chatter: "Oh, I know why he doesn't go, in spite of my hints--he doesn't want to burn up oil in the convento! Don't you know that since you've been sick the two lamps that he used to keep lighted he has had put out? But look how he stares, and what a face!"

At that moment a clock in the house struck eight. The curate shuddered and sat down in a corner.

"Here he comes!" exclaimed Sinang, pinching Maria Clara. "Don't you hear him?"

The church bell boomed out the hour of eight and all rose to pray. Padre Salvi offered up a prayer in a weak and trembling voice, but as each was busy with his own thoughts no one paid any attention to the priest's agitation.

Scarcely had the prayer ceased when Ibarra appeared. The youth was in mourning not only in his attire but also in his face, to such an extent that, on seeing him, Maria Clara arose and took a step toward him to ask what the matter was. But at that instant the report of firearms was heard. Ibarra stopped, his eyes rolled, he lost the power of speech. The curate had concealed himself behind a post. More shots, more reports were heard from the direction of the convento, followed by cries and the sound of persons running. Capitan Tiago, Aunt Isabel, and Linares rushed in pell-mell, crying, "Tulisan! Tulisan!" Andeng followed, flourishing the gridiron as she ran toward her foster-sister.

Aunt Isabel fell on her knees weeping and reciting the _Kyrie eleyson_; Capitan Tiago, pale and trembling, carried on his fork a chicken-liver which he offered tearfully to the Virgin of Antipolo; Linares with his mouth full of food was armed with a case-knife; Sinang and Maria Clara were in each other's arms; while the only one that remained motionless, as if petrified, was Crisostomo, whose paleness was indescribable.

The cries and sound of blows continued, windows were closed noisily, the report of a gun was heard from time to time.