Maria Clara, seated at the piano, made a movement to rise, but her strength failed her and she had to sit down again. Linares grew pale; Captain Tiago lowered his eyes.
“The young man seems to me very sympathetic,” said the curate. “At first I misjudged him. He is impulsive, but when he commits a fault, he knows so well how to atone for it that one is forced to forgive him. If it were not for Father Dámaso——” And the curate flashed a glance at Maria Clara. She was listening with all her being, but did not take her eyes off her music, in spite of the pinches that were expressing Sinang’s joy. Had they been alone they would have danced.
“But Father Dámaso has said,” continued the curate, without losing sight of Maria Clara, “that as godfather he could not permit; but, indeed, I believe if Señor Ibarra will ask his pardon everything will arrange itself.”
Maria rose, made an excuse, and with Victorina left the room.
“And if Father Dámaso does not pardon him?” asked Don Santiago in a low voice.
“Then Maria Clara must decide. But I believe the matter can be arranged.”
The sound of an arrival was heard, and Ibarra entered. His coming made a strange impression. Captain Tiago did not know whether to smile or weep. Father Salvi rose and offered his hand so affectionately that Crisóstomo could scarcely repress a look of surprise.
“Where have you been all day?” demanded wicked Sinang. “We asked each other: ‘What can have taken that soul newly rescued from perdition?’ and each of us had her opinion.”
“And am I to know what each opinion was?”
“No, not yet! Tell me where you went, so I can see who made the best guess.”