ON the morning of the following day, Ibarra, after visiting his lands, made his way to the home of old Tasio. Complete stillness reigned in the garden, for even the swallows circling about the eaves scarcely made any noise. Moss grew on the old wall, over which a kind of ivy clambered to form borders around the windows. The little house seemed to be the abode of silence.
Ibarra hitched his horse carefully to a post and walking almost on tiptoe crossed the clean and well-kept garden to the stairway, which he ascended, and as the door was open, he entered. The first sight that met his gaze was the old man bent over a book in which he seemed to be writing. On the walls were collections of insects and plants arranged among maps and stands filled with books and manuscripts. The old man was so absorbed in his work that he did not notice the presence of the youth until the latter, not wishing to disturb him, tried to retire.
"Ah, you here?" he asked, gazing at Ibarra with a strange expression.
"Excuse me," answered the youth, "I see that you 're very busy―"
"True, I was writing a little, but it 's not urgent, and I want to rest. Can I do anything for you?"
"A great deal," answered Ibarra, drawing nearer, but"
A glance at the book on the table caused him to exclaim in surprise, "What, are you given to deciphering hieroglyphics?"
"No," replied the old man, as he offered his visitor a chair. "I don't understand Egyptian or Coptic either,
