Friars and Filipinos Part 26

"The happy chance--that is, Maria Clara--had, in the meantime awakened."

"De Espadana!" said Dona Victorina, finishing her breakfast. "Are we going to see little Clara?" And turning to Captain Tiago, "For you only, Don Santiago; for you alone! My husband does not treat anybody except people of categoria, and he even refuses some of them! My husband is not like those about here--in Madrid he only visited people of categoria."

They pa.s.sed into the sick room.

The room was almost dark. The windows were shut for fear of a draught, and the little light which illuminated the room came from the two wax candles which were burning in front of an image of the Virgin of Antipolo.

Her head wrapped up in a handkerchief, saturated in cologne water, her body wrapped in wide folds of white sheets which outlined her virginal form, the sick maiden lay on her bed of kamakon [18] among jusi and pina curtains. Her hair, forming a frame around her oval face, increased her transparent paleness, which was animated only by her large eyes full of sadness. At her side were her two friends and Andeng.

De Espadana felt of her pulse, examined her tongue, asked some questions, and shaking his head seriously, said:

"Sh-sh-she is si-sick. But we-we-we can cu-cu-cure her."

Dona Victorina looked with pride at those around her.

"A li-lichen in mil-milk in the-the morning; syrup of marsh marsh-mal-mallow, tw-o--two hounds'--hounds' tongue pi-pills,"

ordered De Espadana.

"Take courage, little Clara," said Dona Victorina, approaching her. "We have come to cure you. I am going to present our cousin to you."

Linares was absorbed, contemplating those eloquent eyes which seemed to be seeking some one, and he did not hear Dona Victorina call him.

"Senor Linares," said the curate, calling him out of his ecstacy. "Here comes Father Damaso."

In fact, Father Damaso was coming, pale and somewhat sad. On leaving his bed, his first visit was to Maria Clara. He was no longer the Father Damaso that he had been, so robust and talkative. He now walked along in silence and with unsteady footsteps.

CHAPTER XXV

SCHEMES.

Without paying attention to anybody, Father Damaso went straight to the sick room and took hold of Maria's hand.

"Maria!" said he, with indescribable tenderness, as tears dropped from his eyes. "Maria, my child, you are not going to die!"

Maria opened her eyes and looked at him with surprise.

None who knew the Franciscan suspected that he ever had such tender thoughts. No one ever supposed that a heart existed under that gross and rude aspect.

Father Damaso could say no more and left the maiden, weeping like a child. He went out through the room at the head of the stairs, to give free vent to his grief, on Maria Clara's balcony under her favorite vines.

"How he loves his G.o.d-daughter!" thought they all.

Father Salvi witnessed the scene, immovable and silent, lightly biting his lips.

When his grief was somewhat soothed, Father Damaso was introduced by Dona Victorina to the young Linares, who approached the friar with respect.

Father Damaso gazed at him in silence from head to foot. He took the letter which the young man handed to him and read it apparently without understanding it, for he asked him:

"And who are you?"

"Alfonso Linares, the G.o.d-son of your brother-in-law," stammered the young man.

Father Damaso leaned back and examined the young man again. His face brightened up and he rose to his feet.

"And so you are the G.o.d-son of little Charles!" he exclaimed. "Come here and let me embrace you. It was some days ago that I received your letter. So it is you! I did not know you--but that is easily explained, for you were not yet born when I left the country. I never knew you."

And Father Damaso stretched out his robust arms to the young man who blushed, either from shame or suffocation. Father Damaso seemed to have completely forgotten his grief.

After the first moments of effusion had pa.s.sed, and questions had been asked about Carlicos, as he called little Charles, Father Damaso asked:

"Well. What does Carlicos want me to do for you?"

"I believe he says something in the letter," stammered Linares again.

"In the letter? Let us see. 'Tis so! And he wants me to get you a job and a wife! Hm! Employment--employment: that is easy. Do you know how to read and write?"

"I have graduated in law from the Central University."

"Carambas! So you are a pettifogger? Well, you don't look it--you look more like a young gentleman. But so much the better! But to find you a wife--hm! hm! a wife."

"Father, I am not in a hurry about it," said Linares, confused.

But Father Damaso began to walk from one end of the room to the other, muttering: "A wife! A wife!"

His face by this time was no longer sad, nor was it cheerful. It expressed the greatest seriousness and he seemed to be meditating. Father Salvi surveyed the scene from a distance.

"I did not believe that it could give me such pain," murmured Father Damaso in a mournful voice. "But of two evils the lesser."

And raising his voice and approaching Linares, he said:

"Come here, my boy! We will speak with Santiago."

Linares turned pale and allowed himself to be led along by the priest, who was deep in thought.

Then it was Father Salvi's turn to walk up and down the room and he did so, meditating, as was his custom.

A voice bidding him good morning stopped his monotonous tread. He raised his head and his eyes met Lucas, who saluted him humbly.

"What do you want?" asked the eyes of the curate.

"Father, I am the brother of the man who was killed on the day of the fiesta," replied Lucas, in a tearful tone.