tears and I fell upon my knees at his feet, I embraced him, I begged his forgiveness, and I assured him that I was ready to set out--'" Ibarra's growing agitation caused her to suspend the reading, for he had grown pale and was pacing back and forth. "What's the matter? What is troubling you?" she asked him. "You have almost made me forget that I have my duties, that I must leave at once for the town. Tomorrow is the day for commemorating the dead." Maria Clara silently fixed her large dreamy eyes upon him for a few moments and then, picking some flowers, she said with emotion, "Go, I won't detain you longer! In a few days we shall see each other again. Lay these flowers on the tomb of your parents." A few moments later the youth descended the stairway accompanied by Capitan Tiago and Aunt Isabel, while Maria Clara shut herself up in the oratory. "Please tell Andeng to get the house ready, as Maria and Isabel are coming. A pleasant journey!" said Capitan Tiago as Ibarra stepped into the carriage, which at once started in the direction of the plaza of San Gabriel. Afterwards, by way of consolation, her father said to Maria Clara, who was weeping beside an image of the Virgin, "Come, light two candles worth two reals each, one to St. Roch, [45] and one to St. Raphael, the protector of travelers. Light the lamp of Our Lady of Peace and Prosperous Voyages, since there are so many tulisanes. It's better to spend four reals for wax and six cuartos for oil now than to pay a big ransom later." CHAPTER VIII Recollections Ibarra's carriage was passing through a part of the busiest district in Manila, the same which the night before had made him feel sad, but which by daylight caused him to smile in spite of himself. The movement in every part, so many carriages coming and going at full speed, the carromatas and calesas, the Europeans, the Chinese, the natives, each in his own peculiar costume, the fruit-venders, the money-changers, the naked porters, the grocery stores, the lunch stands and restaurants, the shops, and even the carts drawn by the impassive and indifferent carabao, who seems to amuse himself in carrying burdens while he patiently ruminates, all this noise and confusion, the very sun itself, the distinctive odors and the motley colors, awoke in the youth's mind a world of sleeping recollections. Those streets had not yet been paved, and two successive days of sunshine filled them with dust which covered everything and made the passer-by cough while it nearly blinded him. A day of rain formed pools of muddy water, which at night reflected the carriage lights and splashed mud a distance of several yards away upon the pedestrians on the narrow sidewalks. And how many women have left their embroidered slippers in those waves of mud!