a formal promise from my father
that we shall leave here on the 25th, the day after St. John's day,
which is here celebrated with splendid feasts, and on the eve of which
there is a famous vigil.

Absent from Pepita, I begin to recover my serenity, and to think that
this first appearance of love was a trial of my virtue.

All these nights I have prayed, I have watched, I have performed many
works of penance.

The persistence of my prayers, the deep contrition of my soul, have
found favor with the Lord, who has manifested to me his great mercy.

The Lord, in the words of the prophet, has sent fire to the stronghold
of my spirit, he has illuminated my understanding, he has kindled my
resolution, and he has given me instruction. The working of the Divine
love which animates the Supreme Will has had power, at times, without my
deserving it, to lead me to that condition of prayerful contemplation in
which all the faculties of the soul are in repose. I have cast out from
the lower faculties of my soul every species of image--even her image;
and I am persuaded, if vanity does not deceive me, that, mind and heart
in reconciliation, I have known and enjoyed the Supreme Good that dwells
within the depths of the soul.

Compared with this good, all else is worthless; compared with this
beauty, all else is deformity. Who would not forget and scorn every
other love for the love of God?

Yes, the profane image of this woman shall depart, finally and forever,
from my soul. I shall make of my prayers and of my penance a sharp
scourge, and with it I will expel her therefrom, as Christ expelled the
money-lenders from the temple.

_June 18th._

This is the last letter I shall write to you. On the 25th I shall leave
this place without fail.

I shall soon have the happiness of embracing you. Near you I shall be
stronger; you will infuse courage into me, and lend me the energy in
which I am wanting.

A tempest of conflicting emotions is raging now in my soul. The disorder
of my ideas may be known by the disorder of what I write.

Twice I returned to the house of Pepita. I was cold and stern. I was as
I ought to have been, but how much did it not cost me!

My father told me yesterday that Pepita was indisposed, and would not
receive.

The thought at once assailed me that the cause of her indisposition
might be her ill-requited love.

Why did I return her glances of fire? Why did I basely deceive her? Why
did I make her beli