"Father, I am the brother of the man who was killed on the day of the fiesta," replied Lucas, in a tearful tone. Father Salví stepped back. "And what of it?" he muttered, in an unintelligible voice. Lucas made an effort to weep, and dried his eyes with his handkerchief. "Father," said he, crying, "I have been to Crisostomo's house to ask him for indemnity. At first, he received me with kicks, saying that he would not pay anything, since he had run the risk of being killed through the fault of my dear, unfortunate brother. Yesterday, I went to talk with him again, but he had already left for Manila, leaving me for charity's sake five hundred pesos for my poor brother--five hundred pesos--ah! Father." The curate listened to the first part of his story with surprise and attention, but slowly there appeared on his lips a smile--a smile of such contempt and sarcasm at the comedy that was being played, that if Lucas had seen it he would have fled in all haste. "And what do you want now?" he asked, turning his back to him. "Alas! Father, for love of God tell me what I ought to do. Father, you have always given good advice." "Who has told you that? You do not live here." "But the whole province knows you, Father!" Father Salví went up to him with his eyes full of anger and, motioning to the street, said to the frightened Lucas: "Go to your house and give thanks to Don Crisostomo that he has not sent you to jail. Get away from here." Forgetting his rôle, Lucas muttered: "Well, I thought----" "Out of here!" cried Father Salví, in a nervous tone. "I want to see Father Dámaso." "Father Dámaso is busy. Out of here!" ordered the curate, in an imperative tone, again. Lucas went down the stairs murmuring: "He is another. How poorly he pays! He who pays better...." The voice of the curate had reached the ears of all in the house, even Father Dámaso, Captain Tiago and Linares. "An insolent beggar who came to ask alms and doesn't want to work," said Father Salví, taking his hat and cane and starting toward the convent. CHAPTER XXVI THE PERSECUTED. By the dim light which the moon diffused through the thick branches of the trees, a man wandered along the forest trails slowly and cautiously. From time to time, as if to find out where he was, he whistled a particular melody, to which another in the distance responded with the same air. The man listened attentively, and afterward proceeded in the direction of the distant sound. Finally, passing through the thousand difficulties which a virgin forest offers in the night time, he came to a small clearing. High rocks, crowned with trees, surrounded the place, forming a sort of ruined amphitheatre. Recently cut trees, with their charred trunks and enormous rocks, which Nature had covered with her mantle of green foliage, filled the middle of the open space.