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I called on her again the following night, and thereafter every afternoon and evening I was with her. We loved each other, but not a word of love had ever been spoken between us.

One evening she said to me: “I married a man without loving him. Shortly after marriage I hated him. Now he is dead. Only God knows what I suffered. Now I understand what love means; it is either heaven or it is hell. For me, up to the present time, it has been hell.”

I could not sleep that night. I lay awake thinking over these last words of Blanca’s. Somehow this woman frightened me. Would I be her heaven and she my hell?

My leave of absence expired. I could have asked for an extension, pretending illness, but the question was, should I do it? I consulted Blanca.

“Why do you ask me?” she said, taking my hand.

“Because I love you. Am I doing wrong in loving you?”

“No,” she said, becoming very pale, and then she put both arms about my neck and her beautiful lips touched mine.

Well, I asked for another month and, thanks to you, dear friend, it was granted. Never would they have given it to me without your influence.

My relations with Blanca were more than love; they were delirium, madness, fanaticism, call it what you will. Every day my passion for her increased, and the morrow seemed to open up vistas of new happiness. And yet I could not avoid feeling at times a mysterious, indefinable fear. And this I knew she felt as well as I did. We both feared to lose one another. One day I said to Blanca:

“We must marry, as quickly as possible.”

She gave me a strange look. “You wish to marry me?”

“Yes, Blanca,” I said, “I am proud of you. I want to show you to the whole world. I love you and I want you, pure, noble, and saintly as you are.”

“I cannot marry you,” answered this incomprehensible woman. She would never give a reason.

Finally my leave of absence expired, and I told her that on the following day we must separate.

“Separate? It is impossible!” she exclaimed. “I love you too much for that.”

“But you know, Blanca, that I worship you.”

“Then give up your profession. I am rich. We will live our lives out together,” she said, putting her soft hand over my mouth to prevent my answer.

I kissed the hand and then, gently removing it, I answered: “I would accept this offer from my wife, although it would be a sacrifice for me to give up my career; but I will not accept it from a woman who refuses to marry me.”

Blanca remained thoughtful for several minutes; then, raising her head, she looked at me and said very quietly, but with a determination which could not be misunderstood: “I will be your wife, and I do not ask you to give up your profession. Go back to your office. How long will it take you to arrange your business matters and secure from the government another leave of absence to return to Sevilla?”

“A month.”

“A month? Well, here I will await you. Return within a month, and I will be your wife. To-day is the fifteenth of April. You will be here on the fifteenth of May?”

“You may rest assured of that.”

“You swear it?”

“I swear it.”

“You love me?”

“More than my life.”

“Go, then, and return. Farewell.”

I left on the same day. The moment I arrived home I began to arrange my house to receive my bride. As you know I solicited another leave of absence, and so quickly did I arrange my business affairs that at the end of two weeks I was ready to return to Sevilla.

I must tell you that during this fortnight I did not receive a single letter from Blanca, though I wrote her six. I started at once for Sevilla, arriving in that city on the thirtieth of April, and went at once to the hotel where we had first met.