Just at that moment the clock in the house struck eight. The curate trembled and went and sat down in a corner of the room.
“He is coming,” said Sinang, pinching Maria Clara. “Do you hear?”
The bell in the church tolled eight and all arose to pray. Father Salví, with a weak and trembling voice, led, but, as each one had his own thoughts, nobody paid any attention to him.
The prayer had scarcely ended, when Ibarra presented himself. The young man was wearing mourning, not only in his dress, but in his face. In fact, it was so evident that Maria Clara, on seeing him, arose and took a step toward him as if to ask what ailed him, but at the same instant a discharge of musketry was heard. Ibarra stopped, his eyes rolled and he was unable to speak. The curate hid himself behind a pillar. More shooting and more noise was heard in the direction of the convent, followed by cries and the sound of people running. Captain Tiago, Aunt Isabel and Linares entered the room, hurriedly crying “tulisan! tulisan!” Andeng followed them, brandishing a spit and ran toward her foster sister.
Aunt Isabel fell on her knees and prayed the Kyrie eleison. Captain Tiago, pale and trembling, carried a chicken’s liver on his fork, and, in tears, offered it to the Virgin of Antipolo. Linares had his mouth full and was armed with a spoon. Sinang and Maria Clara embraced each other. The only person who did not move was Ibarra. He stood as if petrified, his face indescribably pale.
The cries and blows continued, the windows were shut with a bang, a whistle was heard, and occasionally a shot.
“Christe eleison! Santiago, fasten the windows,” groaned Aunt Isabel.
“Fifty great bombs and a thanksgiving mass,” replied Captain Tiago. “Ora pro nobis!”
After a time, things quieted down and there was a terrible silence. The voice of the alferez was distinguished, as he came running in, and crying: “Father curate! Father Salví! Come!”
“Misere! The alferez is asking for confession!” cried Aunt Isabel.