he speaks, and I am near, my soul hangs, as it were, upon her
words. When she smiles, I imagine that a ray of spiritual light enters
into my heart and rejoices it.

It has happened, when playing _hombre_, that our knees have touched by
chance, and then I have felt a thrill run through me impossible to
describe.

Get me away from this place. Write to my father and ask him to let me
return to you. If it be necessary, tell him everything. Help me! Be you
my refuge!

_May 30th._

God has given me strength to resist, and I have resisted.

It is now many days since I have been in the house of Pepita, many days
since I have seen her.

It is scarcely necessary that I should feign sickness, for I am in
reality sick. I have lost my color, and dark circles begin to show
themselves under my eyes; and my father asks me, full of affectionate
anxiety, what the cause of my suffering is, and manifests the deepest
concern in my regard.

The kingdom of heaven is said to yield to violence, and I am resolved to
conquer it. With violence I call at its gates that they may open to me.

With wormwood am I fed by the Lord, in order to prove me; and in vain do
I supplicate him to let this cup of bitterness pass away from me. But,
as I have passed and still pass many nights in vigil, delivered up to
prayer, a loving inspiration from the Supreme Consoler has come to
sweeten the bitterness of my cup.

I have beheld with the eyes of the soul the new country; and the new
song of the heavenly Jerusalem has resounded within the depths of my
heart.

If in the end I should conquer, glorious will be the victory; but I
shall owe it to the Queen of Angels, under whose protection I place
myself. She is my refuge and my defense; the tower and the house of
David, on whose walls hang innumerable shields and the armor of many
valiant champions; the cedar of Lebanon, that puts to flight the
serpent.

The woman who inspires me with an earthly love, on the contrary, I
endeavor to despise and abase in my thoughts, remembering the words of
the sage, and applying them to her.

"Thou art the snare of the hunter," I say to her; "thy heart is a net of
deceit, and thy hands are bands that imprison; he who fears God will
flee from thee, and the sinner shall be taken captive by thee."

In my meditations on love, I find a thousand reasons for loving God, and
against loving her.

I feel, in the depths of my heart, an indescribable enthusiasm that
convinces