What a walk was his along the marshy borders of the Avieiro! At times he hurried on without any motive for accelerating his steps, and again, equally without motive, stood still, his gaze riveted on some object but in reality seeing nothing. One regret, a gnawing grief, pierced his soul when he recalled the past. As in a shipwreck there is for each of the passengers some one particular object whose loss he deplores more bitterly than that of all his other possessions, so Segundo, of all his past life, regretted one instant above every other, an instant which he would have given all he possessed to live over again—that during which he had stood with Nieves on the edge of the precipice, when he might have obtained a worthy and glorious death, carrying with him into the abyss the precious treasure of his illusions, and the form of the woman who for that one unforgettable instant only, had truly loved him.

"A coward then, and a coward now!" thought the poet, calling all his resolution to his aid but finding himself unable to summon the necessary courage to throw himself at once into the cold and muddy waters of the river. What moments of anguish! Giddy with suffering he seated himself on a stone on the river bank and watched with idiotic vacancy of expression the circles formed on the bosom of the river by the drops of rain that fell slantingly from the gray sky, as they expanded and were lost in other circles that pressed upon them on all sides, while new circles took their place, to be lost in their turn in yet other circles, covering the surface of the water with a wavy design resembling the silver work called guillochÉ. The poet did not even notice that these same rain-drops that fell thick and fast on the surface of the Avieiro fell also on his hat and shoulders, ran down his forehead and, making their way between his collar and his skin, trickled down his neck. He noticed it only when the chill they produced made him shiver and he rose and walked slowly home, where dinner was already over and no one thought of offering him even so much as a cup of broth.

Two or three days later a fever declared itself, which was at first slight, but soon grew serious. Tropiezo called it a gastric and catarrhal fever, and truth compels us to say that he administered remedies not altogether inappropriate; gastric and catarrhal fevers are, for physicians whose knowledge is derived chiefly from experience, a perfect boon from Heaven, a glorious field in which they may count every battle a victory; a beaten path in which they run no risk of going astray. It will not lead them to the unknown pole of science, but at least it will betray them into no abyss.

As Tropiezo was leaving GarcÍa's house one evening, after his customary visit to Segundo, muffled up to the ears in his comforter, he saw, standing beside the lawyer's door in the shadow cast by the contiguous wall, a woman clad in an old morning gown and with her head bare. The night was bright and Don Fermin was able to distinguish her features, but it was not without some difficulty that he recognized her to be Leocadia, so altered and aged did the poor schoolmistress look. Her countenance betrayed the keenest anxiety as she asked the doctor:

"And what news, Don Fermin? How is Segundo getting on?"

"Ah, good evening, Leocadia. Do you know that at first I did not recognize you?—Well, very well; there is no cause for uneasiness. To-day I ordered him some of the puchero and some soup. It was nothing—a cold caught by getting a wetting. But the boy seems a little preoccupied, and he was for a time so sad and dejected that I thought he was never going to get back his appetite. At this season it is necessary to go warmly clad; we have a fine day, and then, when you least expect it, back come the rain and the cold again. And you—how are you getting on? They tell me that you have not been well, either. You must take care of yourself."

"There is nothing the matter with me, Don Fermin."

"So much the better. Any news of the boy?"

"He is in Orense, poor child. He can't get used to it."

"He will get used to it by and by. Of course—accustomed to be petted. Well, Leocadia, good-night. Go home, my dear woman, go home."

Don Fermin proceeded on his way, drawing his comforter up closer around his ears. That woman was mad; she had not taken the disease lightly, it seemed. And how altered she was! How old she had grown in these last few months! Old women were worse than young girls when they fell in love. He had done wisely, very wisely in telling her nothing about Segundo's new plans. She was capable of tearing down the house if he had told her. No, silence, silence. A shut mouth catches no flies. Let her find it out through someone else besides him. And with these sensible ideas and worthy intentions Tropiezo reached Agonde's, and before a quarter of an hour had elapsed unbosomed himself of his news: Segundo GarcÍa was going to America to seek his fortune—as soon as he should be entirely well, of course. He would take the steamer at Corunna.

The occasion was a favorable one for the company to lament once more in concert the death of Don Victoriano Andres de la Comba, protector and father of all the Vilamortans in want of situations, a useful representative and an untiring worker for the district. If he were alive now most assuredly a young man of so much ability—a poet—that night the party all agreed that Segundo had ability and was a poet—would not be obliged to go across the raging seas in quest of a decent situation. But since they had lost Don Victoriano, Vilamorta was without a voice in the regions of influence and favor, for SeÑorito de Romero, the present representative of the district, belonged to the class of docile representatives who give no trouble to the Government, who vote when their votes are wanted, and who hold themselves cheap, valuing themselves at no more than a few tobacco shops, and half a dozen or so of official appointments. Agonde took his revenge that night, expatiating on his favorite theme, and abusing the pernicious Eufrasian influence which was responsible for the decadence of Vilamorta, on account of which its youth were obliged to emigrate to the New World. The apothecary expounded his theories—he liked the representative of a district to show himself in it occasionally. Otherwise of what use was he? In his eyes the ideal representative was that famous politician from whom the barber of the town he represented had asked a place, basing his request on the fact that, owing to the distribution of appointments among the persons of his station in the town, there were no customers left for him to shave and he was starving. The Alcalde here interposed, saying that he had it on very good authority that SeÑorito de Romero intended to interest himself in earnest for Vilamorta; the confectioner and some others of those present confirmed this statement, and then arose a discussion in which it was proved beyond a doubt that a dead representative has no friends and that the new representative of the district had already, in the very stronghold of the former Combista radicals, friends and adherents.