"Yes, I am Crisostomo," replied the young man gravely. "An enemy, a man who has reason to hate me, Elias, has rescued me from the prison where my friends put me." A sad silence followed his words. Maria Clara bent her head. Ibarra went on: "By the dead body of my mother, I pledged myself, whatever my future, to try to make you happy. I have risked all that remains to me, to come and fulfil that promise. Chance lets me speak to you, Maria; we shall never see each other again. You are young now; some day your conscience may upbraid you. Before I go away forever, I have come to say that I forgive you. Be happy--farewell!" And he began to move away; she held him back. "Crisostomo!" she said, "God has sent you to save me from despair. Listen and judge me!" Ibarra tried gently to release himself. "I did not come to call you to account; I came to bring you peace." "I want none of the peace you bring me. I shall find peace for myself. You scorn me and your scorn will make even death bitter." He saw despair in her poor, young face, and asked what she wished. "I wish you to believe that I have always loved you." He smiled bitterly. "Ah! you doubt me! you doubt your childhood's friend, who has never hidden a single thought from you! When you know my history, the sad story that was told me in my illness, you will pity me; you will no longer wear that smile. Why did they not let me die in the hands of my ignorant doctor! You and I should both have been happier!" She stopped a moment, then went on: "You force me to this, by your doubts; may my mother forgive me! In one of the most painful of my nights of suffering, a man revealed to me the name of my real father. If he had not been my father, this man said, he might have pardoned the injury you had done him." Crisostomo looked at Maria in amazement. "What was I to do?" she went on. "Ought I to sacrifice to my love the memory of my mother, the honor of him who was supposed to be my father, and the good name of him who is? And could I have done this without bringing dishonor upon you too?" "But the proof--have you had proof? There must be proof!" said Crisostomo, staggered. Maria drew from her breast two papers. "Here are two letters of my mother's," she said, "written in her remorse. Take them! Read them! My father left them in the house where he lived so many years. This man found them and kept them, and only gave them up to me in exchange for your letter, as assurance, he said, that I would not marry you without my father's consent. I sacrificed my love! Who would not for a mother dead and two fathers living? Could I foresee what use they would make of your letter? Could I know I was sacrificing you too?" Ibarra was speechless. Maria went on: