"Really?"

"That's what I've heard from _a certain person,_--who always speaks
ill of him behind his back and flatters him to his face."

"Does he also visit Capitan Tiago?"

"From the first day after his arrival, and I'm sure that _a certain
person_ looks upon him as a rival--in the inheritance. I believe
that he's going to see the General about the question of instruction
in Castilian."

At that moment Isagani was called away by a servant to his uncle.

On one of the benches at the stern, huddled in among the other
passengers, sat a native priest gazing at the landscapes that were
successively unfolded to his view. His neighbors made room for him, the
men on passing taking off their hats, and the gamblers not daring to
set their table near where he was. He said little, but neither smoked
nor assumed arrogant airs, nor did he disdain to mingle with the other
men, returning the salutes with courtesy and affability as if he felt
much honored and very grateful. Although advanced in years, with hair
almost completely gray, he appeared to be in vigorous health, and even
when seated held his body straight and his head erect, but without
pride or arrogance. He differed from the ordinary native priests,
few enough indeed, who at that period served merely as coadjutors or
administered some curacies temporarily, in a certain self-possession
and gravity, like one who was conscious of his personal dignity
and the sacredness of his office. A superficial examination of his