“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.”