Part 50 (1/2)

Elias took off his camisa. A ball grazed his hands and the report sounded out. Without being disturbed, he stretched out his hand to Ibarra, who was still in the bottom of the boat. Then he arose and leaped into the water, pus.h.i.+ng away the small craft with his foot.

A number of cries were heard. Soon at some distance the head of the young man appeared above the water as if to get breath, dropping out of sight at the next instant.

”There, there he is!” cried a number of voices, and the b.a.l.l.s from their rifles whistled again.

The falua and the other banca took up the chase. A light track of foam marked his course, every moment leading farther and farther away from Ibarra's banca, which drifted along as if abandoned. Every time that the swimmer raised his head to breathe the Civil Guards and the men on board the falua discharged their guns at him.

The pursuit continued. Ibarra's little banca was already far off. The swimmer was approaching the sh.o.r.e of the lake and was now some fifty yards distant from it. The rowers were already tired, but Elias was not, for his head often appeared above the water and each time in a different direction so as to disconcert his pursuers. No longer was there a light trail to betray the course of the diver. For the last time they saw him near the sh.o.r.e, some ten yards off, and they opened fire.... Then minutes and minutes pa.s.sed. Nothing appeared again on the tranquil surface of the lake.

Half an hour afterward one of the rowers pretended to have discovered signs of blood in the water near the sh.o.r.e, but his companions shook their heads in a manner which might mean either yes or no.

CHAPTER XLI

FATHER DaMASO EXPLAINS.

In vain the costly wedding gifts were heaped upon the table. Neither the diamonds in their blue velvet caskets, nor the embroidered pina, nor the pieces of silk had any attractions for Maria Clara. The maiden looked at the paper which gave the account of Ibarra's death, drowned in the lake, but she neither saw nor read it.

Of a sudden, she felt two hands over her eyes. They held her fast while a joyous voice, Father Damaso's, said to her:

”Who am I? Who am I?”

Maria Clara jumped from her seat and looked at him with terror in her eyes.

”You little goose, were you frightened, eh? You were not expecting me? Well, I have come from the provinces to attend your wedding.”

And coming up to her again with a smile of satisfaction, he stretched out his hand to her. Maria Clara approached timidly and, raising it to her lips, kissed it.

”What is the matter with you, Maria?” asked the Franciscan, losing his gay smile, and becoming very uneasy. ”Your hand is cold, you are pale.... Are you ill, my little girl?”

And Father Damaso drew her up to him with a fondness of which no one would have thought him capable. He grasped both the maiden's hands and gave her a questioning look.

”Haven't you any confidence in your G.o.dfather?” he asked in a reproachful tone. ”Come, sit down here and tell me your little troubles, just as you used to do when you were a child, when you wanted wax-candles to make wax figures. You surely know that I have always loved you.... I have never scolded you....”

Father Damaso's voice ceased to be brusque; its modulations were even caressing. Maria Clara began to weep.

”Are you weeping, my child? Why are you weeping? Have you quarrelled with Linares?”

Maria Clara covered her eyes with her hands.

”No! It is not he now!” cried the maiden.

Father Damaso looked at her full of surprise.

”Do you not want to entrust your secrets to me? Have I not always managed to satisfy your smallest caprices?”

The young woman raised her eyes full of tears toward him. She looked at him for some time, and then began to weep bitterly.