"Then he's a tulisan?" asked Victoria shuddering.
"I don't think so, for they say that he fought against some tulisanes one day when they were robbing a house."
"He hasn't the look of a criminal," commented Sinang.
"No, but he looks very sad. I didn't see him smile the whole morning," added Maria Clara thoughtfully.
So the afternoon passed away and the hour for returning to the town came. Under the last rays of the setting sun they left the woods, passing in silence by the mysterious tomb of Ibarra's ancestors. Afterwards, the merry talk was resumed in a lively manner, full of warmth, beneath those branches so little accustomed to hear so many voices. The trees seemed sad, while the vines swung back and forth as if to say, "Farewell, youth! Farewell, dream of a day!"
Now in the light of the great red torches of bamboo and with the sound of the guitars let us leave them on the road to the town. The groups grow smaller, the lights are extinguished, the songs die away, and the guitar becomes silent as they approach the abodes of men. Put on the mask now that you are once more amongst your kind!
On the morning of the following day, Ibarra, after visiting his lands, made his way to the home of old Tasio. Complete stillness reigned in the garden, for even the swallows circling about the eaves scarcely made any noise. Moss grew on the old wall, over which a kind of ivy clambered to form borders around the windows. The little house seemed to be the abode of silence.
Ibarra hitched his horse carefully to a post and walking almost on tiptoe crossed the clean and well-kept garden to the stairway, which he ascended, and as the door was open, he entered. The first sight that met his gaze was the old man bent over a book in which he seemed to be writing. On the walls were collections of insects and plants arranged among maps and stands filled with books and manuscripts. The old man was so absorbed in his work that he did not notice the presence of the youth until the latter, not wishing to disturb him, tried to retire.
"Ah, you here?" he asked, gazing at Ibarra with a strange expression. "Excuse me," answered the youth, "I see that you're very busy--"
"True, I was writing a little, but it's not urgent, and I want to rest. Can I do anything for you?"