Chapter 22:

Three days have passed since the events narrated, three days which the town of San Diego has devoted to making preparations for the fiesta, commenting and murmuring at the same time.  While all were enjoying the prospect of the pleasures to come, some spoke ill of the gobernadorcillo, others of the teniente-mayor, others of the young men, and there were not lacking those who blamed everybody for everything.

There was a great deal of comment on the arrival of Maria Clara, accompanied by her Aunt Isabel.  All rejoiced over it because they loved her and admired her beauty, while at the same time they wondered at the change that had come over Padre Salvi.  He often becomes inattentive during the holy services, nor does he talk much with us, and he is thinner and more taciturn than usual, commented his penitents.  The cook noticed him getting thinner and thinner by minutes and complained of the little honor that was done to his dishes.  But that which caused the most comment among the people was the fact that in the convento were to be seen more than two lights burning during the evening while Padre Salvi was on a visit to a private dwelling—the home of Maria Clara! The pious women crossed themselves but continued their comments.

Ibarra had telegraphed from the capital of the province welcoming Aunt Isabel and her niece, but had failed to explain the reason for his absence.  Many thought him a prisoner on account of his treatment of Padre Salvi on the afternoon of All Saints, but the comments reached a climax when, on the evening of the third day, they saw him alight before the home of his fiancée and extend a polite greeting to the priest, who was just entering the same house.

Sisa and her sons were forgotten by all.

If we should now go into the home of Maria Clara, a beautiful nest set among trees of orange and ilang-ilang, we should surprise the two young people at a window overlooking the lake, shadowed by flowers and climbing vines which exhaled a delicate perfume.  Their lips murmured words softer than the rustling of the leaves and sweeter than the aromatic odors that floated through the garden.  It was the hour when the sirens of the lake take advantage of the fast falling twilight to show their merry heads above the waves to gaze upon the setting sun and sing it to rest.  It is said that their eyes and hair are blue, and that they are crowned with white and red water plants; that at times the foam reveals their shapely forms, whiter than the foam itself, and that when night descends completely they begin their divine sports, playing mysterious airs like those of Æolian harps.  But let us turn to our young people and listen to the end of their conversation. Ibarra was speaking to Maria Clara.

Tomorrow before daybreak your wish shall be fulfilled.  I’ll arrange everything tonight so that nothing will be lacking.

Then I’ll write to my girl friends to come.  But arrange it so that the curate won’t be there.