Three days passed, and the inhabitants of San Diego had ceased to talk or think of unhappy Sisa and her boys. Maria Clara, who, accompanied by Aunt Isabel, had just arrived from Manila, was the chief subject of conversation. Every one rejoiced to see her, for every one loved her. They marvelled at her beauty, and speculated about her marriage with Ibarra. On this evening, Crisóstomo presented himself at the home of his fiancée; the curate arrived at the same moment. The house was a delicious little nest among orange-trees and ylang-ylang. They found Maria by an open window, overlooking the lake, surrounded by the fresh foliage and delicate perfume of vines and flowers.
"The winds blow fresh," said the curate; "aren't you afraid of taking cold?"
"I don't feel the wind, father," said Maria.
"We Filipinos," said Crisóstomo, "find this season of autumn and spring together delicious. Falling leaves and budding trees in February, and ripe fruit in March, with no cold winter between, is very agreeable. And when the hot months come we know where to go."
The priest smiled, and the conversation turned to the pueblo and the festival of its patron saint, which was near.
"Speaking of fêtes," said Crisóstomo to the curate, "we hope you will join us in a picnic to-morrow, near the great fig-tree in the wood. The arrangements are all made as you wished, Maria. A small party is to start for the fishing-ground before sunrise," he went on to the curate, "and later we hope to be joined by all our friends of the pueblo."
The curate said he should be happy to come after his services were said. They chatted a few moments longer, and then Ibarra excused himself to finish giving his invitations and make his final arrangements.
As he left the house a man saluted him respectfully.
"You would not know my name, señor; I have been trying to see you for three days."
"Señor, my wife has gone mad, my children are lost, and no one will help me find them. I want your aid."
The man thanked him, and they disappeared together in the darkness of the unlighted streets.
The stars were yet brilliant in the sapphire vault, and in the branches the birds were still asleep when a merry party went through the streets of the pueblo, toward the lake, lighted by the glimmer of the pitch torches here called huepes.