Since the evening by the seaside so eventful to each, Olmedo had not seen Beatriz. Indeed he had avoided it, because with his present feelings he dared not trust himself alone with her. His profession having been chosen for him by his parents, he had been subjected when so young to the discipline of his order, that he had been screened from the usual temptations and experiences of ordinary life. Under any circumstances he would have been an upright man. In his convent he had early acquired an excellent character for strict compliance with the ritual of his faith, benevolence, and study. Some of his brethren, jealous perhaps of his greater influence among their flock, had hinted occasionally to their superior, that his opinions were somewhat liberal, and that he had displayed at times an independence and energy that betokened a more active mind than was consistent with their order. Whatever truth there may have been in these insinuations, such was the general respect in which he was held, that no harm came to him or even notice of them, except now and then a good-natured suggestion to be cautious in his expressions before certain of the brethren.

Olmedo was born for a wider sphere than a monastic life. His passions were active, but pure. There had always existed within him a silent protest to forced celibacy, for he felt that the family was an institution of God, while the convent was only of man. His mind, in all questions that affected the welfare of the human race, naturally took a broad and correct view, but so thoroughly grounded had he been in the faith and practices of his church, that when his opinions really differed, he preferred outwardly to submit to what he considered the highest authority. Whenever, however, his good sense could consistently be active in opposition to the narrow or fanatical views of other members of his order, he had invariably spoken, and in general with effect; and on all occasions which required self-devotion or the exercise of a stricter rule of conduct, he had been the most prompt among them.

He was eminently qualified to be a missionary. His sincerity of faith had not cramped his sympathies of human action. Active and thoughtful, self-denying, yet charitable, firm to his convictions while obedient to lawful discipline, with a winning, quiet manner, that commanded respect and confidence, he was just the man to go forth to the world as an example and preacher of the pure tenets of Christianity. The newly discovered continent of America, with its novel races, greatly interested him. There he could be freer than in Spain. Accordingly he had obtained permission to embark for this new field of religious enterprise.

Although Olmedo had come from Spain with her father, it so happened that it was in Cuba that he had first made the acquaintance of Beatriz. From that moment he found himself strongly drawn towards her by their mutual comprehension of each other’s character, which to each filled their want of sympathy in the deeper aspirations of their natures. To either their friendship was a new and sweet experience. Olmedo’s heart finding refreshment in the ingenuous feelings and impulses of Beatriz, while her mind expanded and strengthened in the intellectual resources of his. Their intercourse, or mental confidence it would be more proper to term it, as it related so exclusively to their minds, was the more complete, that while each was actually governed by the real affinities from which true love must spring, both were unconscious of any alloy of passion. Such an intimacy as existed between them, could not have been between brother and sister, neither between lovers, for while it was undoubtedly warmed by an undercurrent of feeling unknown to the former, it was free from all the embarrassments or dangers growing out of its recognized existence with the latter. Olmedo was her spiritual father, and something more; the magnet of her soul. She was his spiritual daughter, and filled to his then well disciplined nature the void which lack of female communion had ever caused. Hence both were free, unreserved, and affectionate. Theirs was of its kind a perfect love, because it had no fear, but now the time had come when the eyes of both were opened.

The effect on Olmedo of this sudden disclosure of his passion, was no less a source of acute misery to him than the same self-confession of Beatriz had been to her. Perhaps his sufferings were even greater. Hers were impulsive and passive. An intuitive perception disclosed all at once the joys a complete union of hearts like theirs might realize, while faith forbade the banns. With her, therefore, it was simply a struggle, not against reason, for that sided with her, but a conscience educated in opposition to nature. There is no source of mental misery more poignant than this, because it is the actual right struggling against the conventional wrong, which by a false view of the laws of God has been made to appear the right. It is God’s conscience against man’s conscience, claiming to be of God. And although the latter may not be right in itself, yet from having been chosen as a moral guide, circumstances may have woven so strong a web around it, that to suddenly break the woof would be a wrong. Hence, the eternal wrong having become the present right, nothing remains but to obey duty and leave the justification of God’s ways to his own good time.