I DO not know what relation exists between salt water and love, but experience has made me realize that there exists in it some mysterious and stimulating virtue. On land I am able to control somewhat my most vehement sentiments and conquer them. Once on board I am a lost man. The most insignificant attraction takes on gigantic proportions and in a little while knocks me flat. So it happened that while in Valencia I proposed to myself to make nothing of flattering invitations, and never again in my life to return to stand before DoÑa Cristina, continuing in this commendable resolution until I left Barcelona, no sooner did I find myself afloat than it vanished like the mist, and seemed to me a veritable absurdity.

It was from Hamburg that I wrote to the shipping house, asking permission to remain over one voyage at home, to arrange certain family affairs. Meanwhile it had come about that I was not able to think of anything but the wife of MartÍ. Not even in dreams did she leave my mind; every word she had spoken sounded ceaselessly in my ears, as if I had in my brain a phonograph charged with conversations, and in my heart I felt every one of her gestures and movements. On returning towards Valencia the delight of thinking that soon I was going to enjoy a sight of my idol produced in me a sentiment of mingled shame and remorse. I feared a disdainful reception from her, and I feared also an affectionate and cordial one from her husband.

I did not intend to lodge in his house, to hush my noisy conscience. After spending six days in Alicante, I went to Valencia with a friend who chanced along, and made him an excuse for not going to the house of MartÍ. I did not go directly to see him, preferring to go later. I went out first to take a walk in the streets. But while walking through one of the principal streets, I saw not far distant three ladies looking at the fashions in a shop-window.

As I drew near I perceived that one of them was Cristina, and the other two, DoÑa Clara and DoÑa Amparo. I hastened up to them, and saluted them standing behind them. (How could I do such a thing?)

Cristina turned her head; and, as if she had seen something alarming, she gave a cry and ran forward hastily a few steps. My astonishment was great and the surprise of these ladies was scarcely less. Perceiving at once the strangeness of her conduct, and as if ashamed, she turned and came and welcomed me with unusual amiability. She explained her cry and her flight by declaring that a few moments ago she had given a bit of alms to a poor creature who had been a criminal, and all at once, without knowing why, it seemed to her as if he had followed them and was going to attack her. DoÑa Amparo and DoÑa Clara were satisfied with this, and laid her attack of nerves to her condition; they wished her to come into a shop and take a quieting draught, but Cristina said no.

I knew better than this, and walked on with them, saddened because I knew.

MartÍ received me with lively delight, professing to be vexed with me because I had not sought the hospitality of his house; but I, fortified by my excuse, held fast, and would not give in. Sabas also showed pleasure at seeing me. I could not do less than offer him my compassion on seeing in his face traces plainer than ever of his arduous labors beneath the sun. The result of these, by what I could gather, was the acquisition of an amber mouthpiece with his initials engraved upon it, of which he was so proud that it seemed as if all the vigils and anxieties that it had cost him had been well spent.

It was not necessary to inquire what impression my arrival made upon Castell. His cold, ceremonious courtesy made unnecessary any inquiries of that sort. Really it seemed to me that the lightly disdainful attitude that he held towards all the world was a little emphasized towards me. Perhaps I was ill-tempered, but a secret instinct warned me that this man hated me, and I paid him in his own coin.

Cristina was now quite advanced in her maternal expectations. Although women do not consider themselves beautiful at this time, except to their husbands, I found her more beautiful and interesting than ever, an indubitable proof of the depth of the affection wherewith she had inspired me. Her imaginary fears and her agitations at sight of me only increased it, and I credited her lack of courtesy to these imaginary fears. I noted that after the meeting she took pains not to look at me; but the very haughtiness with which she did it showed that some agitation ruled her spirit, and that I was not absolutely indifferent to her. Such was at least my illusion at the time.

Although I was not lodged in his house, the cordiality of MartÍ and my secret longing forced me to go every day to dine and spend some time with them. It was impossible for me to hide my love. At the risk of being observed (not by MartÍ, who was innocence personified, but by the others), I scarcely quitted the sight of Cristina. Whenever occasion presented, I made plain what was passing in my soul. If she dropped anything upon the floor, I was there to hasten and pick it up. If she glanced towards the door, I had already run to close it. If she complained of any ill feeling, I proposed all the remedies imaginable. In short, I showed to all concerned a lively interest and anxiety that came from my heart. She received these attentions with a serious face, sometimes with a certain diffidence; but I understood that she would not permit herself to take the slightest notice, and this sufficed me.

One day I grew more daring. Showing no such intention, I went nearer and nearer to her until my arm touched her dress. Then she got up brusquely and placed herself elsewhere. These silent rebuffs produced a melancholy impression upon me. But I was compensated by other enjoyments, fanciful, perhaps, but that did not hinder their being delicious. When we were sitting at table, although as I have said she took great pains not to look at me face to face, she could not help glancing about, and her eyes would meet and thrill my own. When this happened, I believed I could see that her face colored slightly.

Love did not wholly stifle my powers of observation. I mean to say that I loved the wife of MartÍ and studied her at the same time. I soon came to see and understand that beneath her rare and gracious mingling of timidity and ease of manner, of insistent happiness and supercilious seriousness, there existed in her a depth of exquisite sensibility, carefully and even ferociously guarded. The modesty of sentiment was so strong in her that any manifestation of tenderness caused it to retreat. She preferred to pass for hard and cold rather than that anyone should read her soul.

Unlike her mamma, who was delighted to receive endearments, and who kissed everybody, she never gave a caress to any member of her family, and avoided receiving one whenever possible. Her husband himself, when he found himself a little rebuffed, took it with his jolly shout, accepting everything with a laugh. In spite of this they all loved her dearly, and looked upon her coldness as a graceful oddity, with which it pleased her at times to snub them a little.

Because of her character, the least expression of affection from her lips had an inestimable value. But it was necessary to turn it off and pretend that it was not noticed. If it was observed and she knew it, all was lost. She returned at once to her brusqueness, cutting off gratitude with some ironical or disdainful speech. She also had the spirit of contradiction well developed; that is to say, she was wont to antagonize other people, not from pride or ill-humor, as I was soon convinced, but rather because of her great reserve, which made it repugnant to her to show the real strength of her feelings.

And with all this—an extraordinary thing!—there was never a creature whose features expressed more fully the movements and emotions of her spirit, even to the faintest shades of thought. Whatever dominated her for the moment, whatever stirred her, in spite of barred fortress that she sought to guard, was revealed in her eyes, in the changeful lights on her face, in all her gestures and movement.

MartÍ showed himself every day franker and more cordial towards me. This, it may be divined, made it possible for none but a villain to breathe in an enterprise against him. And I, who did not hold myself that, was embarrassed and saddened. We were inseparable from the first. Not only did we dine and take our coffee together, but he often insisted that I should accompany him while he was attending to his business; he soon made me his confidant and even asked me to give him advice. At last, after I had been five or six days in Valencia, he joyously proposed that we should thee-and-thou each other, and without waiting for my response began to do so with a cordiality that touched me. I experienced a mingled pride and humiliation, pleasure and pain; thinking how the confidence of this man brought me nearer his wife, yet held me all the more removed from her morally. I had occasion to prove this only a few hours afterwards. When we were again at the house, I, out of shyness, did everything possible to conceal that we had so soon adopted a new method of addressing each other. MartÍ made it plain directly. Cristina lifted her head surprised, looked at us both an instant, and dropped her eyes again, but not before I had, I believed, surprised in them an expression of annoyance. I guessed what passed in her soul.

MartÍ invited me the next day to visit his estate at CabaÑal, where he had certain orders to give about the house and garden. The family was usually installed there by May, the present month; but this year, on account of the happy event that was expected, the moving out had been postponed.

We made the trip on foot, by the road and across the fields, in order to see the farms and gardens that lie between the city and the sea. I consented with good will, and at the hour for the promenade we started out upon our way, walking slowly until we reached the place.

My companion never closed his mouth after we came out of the house. The discussion of his affairs engrossed him to such an extent that he paid no attention to the delicious country, carpeted with flowers, whose white cottages seemed like doves alighted near us. Round about every one of the little houses with their sharp-pointed roofs grew a grove of orange-trees, pomegranates, and algarrobos. Beyond were cultivated fields with flowers and vegetables, some set with roses, lilies, carnations, gillyflowers; and others with strawberries, alfalfa, and artichokes. Running about among them on the well-beaten paths were beautiful brunette children, who stopped to gaze at us with their deep, dark eyes. The father of the family, bending to his task, would always lift his head as we passed and salute us gravely and silently, lifting his hand to his hat of coarse straw.

MartÍ did not see this, and scarcely the road we were walking on.

"One of two things! Either this business of the artesian wells will turn out well, in which case I not only hope soon to get a return on the capital employed, but I shall also make a good income for myself and my heirs; or it will turn out badly, and then it will look as if the capital were lost, but it will not really be so, because of my disposition and personal knowledge, trained and skilful in this class of work, which I think I should immediately use in making canals from a river in the province of Almeria, where there are great tracts of land that might prove very productive if watered, and which need only irrigation and ways of communication. It is a project that I have been turning over in my head for several years. You know well how much time and money it takes in Spain to get people together for this sort of business. Not only are directors, capitalists, and superintendents lacking, but even workmen who know how to carry out a certain class of works that I undertake. Well, whether the artesian wells turn out well or ill, I still have this knowledge ready at my command."

"That seems to me exactly the idea," I said, absorbed in the contemplation of the beautiful, variegated floral carpet that was spread before us.

"Yes, I think that's it!" exclaimed MartÍ, with emphasis. "But these ideas, friend Ribot," he went on, gayly flinging out his arms as if to embrace all mankind, "these ideas only come after some years of experience, and not even then unless one has practical sense and a vocation for business."

"Yes, aptitudes can be developed, but they cannot be acquired."

"There is my brother-in-law, Sabas. I make superhuman efforts to discover in him some ability, something he can do, and I only succeed in putting myself out. Whatever matter I confide to his care, even if I give him precise and definite instructions, he manages to knock all to pieces. It has got so tiresome that I leave him in peace and employ him in nothing whatever."

I could not help thinking that this punishment was not found very cruel by the brother-in-law, and yet it came into my imagination that he might have purposely provoked it as certain naughty children provoke it from their teachers, but I kept these and my other observations to myself.

"It is very different with my friend Castell. Of wide and penetrating talent, with a remarkable mind, immense learning, a profound knowledge of the sciences and arts, and even of mechanics—but from the first moment of application he is discouraged by the least scrap of an obstacle in his way. He is all obstacles and doubts and scruples. He loses heart before he begins anything and he has given up business. To carry out an industrial enterprise a knowledge of the matter is not enough; it must be studied; it is necessary that the one who undertakes it should possess an essentially positive mind—above all, that he should have, like me, an iron will."

Little by little we drew nearer to CabaÑal. I have already described these shores of the sea whose great plain lies blue beneath the sun. We walked on enveloped in its light and breathing the fragrant air. The joyfulness of such a scene, serene and luminous as a picture by Titian, the idyllic bits that we came upon here and there, entered into the soul and overflowed it with a gentle felicity. In all this joy, this soft tranquillity, MartÍ with his beautiful, waving locks, his great, innocent eyes, did not seem to me so forcible a man as he wished to appear, not altogether of iron.

Before coming to the first houses of the village we turned off to the left. There at a distance was a white villa that MartÍ told me was his property. On the way I saw a curious plot of ground whose walls were made of perfectly symmetrical and equal-sized stones. These walls seemed to be in ruins, and through great openings I could discern certain structures, great iron pipes, rusted and fallen in pieces to the ground, wheels and other portions of machinery.

"What is this?" I asked, surprised.

MartÍ coughed before replying, pulled a bit at his shirt cuffs, and declared, with a gesture between peevishness and shamefacedness:

"Nothing—a factory of artificial stones."

"But it does not seem to be running."

"No."

"Whom does it belong to?"

"To me."

I shut up, because I understood how much the subject mortified him. We went on several steps without deigning to cast another look upon the abandoned factory, when, turning, he suddenly exclaimed:

"Don't imagine that I didn't know how to manufacture stone—all these walls are built of the products of the factory. Take up a piece of the stone and examine it."

I took up a piece, examined it, and saw that in fact it had, in appearance at least, all the necessary qualities of resistance. It gave me pleasure to say so. MartÍ explained that the failure of the factory was due to the scarcity of workmen. Valencia was a province that for centuries had neglected industrial for agricultural pursuits; it lacked hands. Then the manager had not properly filled his place; the increase on tariffs and freights, etc., etc.

The subject was undoubtedly vexatious to my friend. He spoke of it in a low voice, with a frown on his forehead, and he avoided looking at the unlucky factory. So in order to mortify him no more, I showed the least possible interest in all the rusting machinery, and went onward without bestowing another particle of attention upon it.

We came at last to the walls of his grounds. We entered them by a wrought-iron gateway, and crossed a handsomely laid-out garden to approach the house. This was a modest structure, but sufficiently spacious, and furnished within in considerable luxury. The furniture, suitable for the summer season, was simple and elegant. But that which roused my enthusiasm was the extensive park that stretched beyond, whose walls reached to the seashore, upon which it opened by a wrought-iron gateway. Formerly this had been a productive field. But first MartÍ's father and then himself had transformed it into a vast garden. Shady, gravelled pathways were bordered by orange-trees, lemons, pomegranates, and many other sorts of fruit-trees. Here was a little grove of laurels, and in the middle of it was a stone table surrounded by chairs. There was a grotto tapestried with jasmine and honeysuckle; yonder was a thicket of cannas, or cypresses, and in the centre a statue of white marble. And like a base for decoration, there was the azure line of the sea, into whose waves seemed ready to fall the oranges that hung from the boughs. The sun, that was already sinking, enveloped the garden and the sea with a sudden blaze of illumination; its golden rays were scattered over the white paths of the enclosure, made the whitewashed house resplendent, penetrated the thickets of cypress and laurel, lighting up the marble faces of the statues, and hung drooping from the branches of the trees like threads of the gold of waving tresses. At the right were visible over the walls the masts of little fishing boats with their simple rigging, and yonder extended the town of CabaÑal in a rare and picturesque blending of fishermen's cots and aristocratic mansions wherein the grandees of the city came to spend the summer. More distant still was the port and the tall masts of steamboats.

MartÍ showed me all the grounds, although without much pleasure or pride. Business, past and future, burdened him; he did not know how to throw it off. It was only when we came to a corner next the beach that he was enough distracted for a few moments to point out to me a summer-house in the Greek style that was admirably introduced into this smiling landscape. It was adorned within by carved furniture brought from Italy, statues and vases. It had a little lookout balcony towards the sea, and over the door was inscribed a name that caused me a slight tremor.

"The building of this summer-house was a thing of my wife's. That is why I had her name put over the door."

From thence we returned to the house by new and ever more beautiful and embowered pathways. Before reaching it, we came upon a little artificial hill, and, topping it, a bit of a castle. About it was a little pond of water, imitating a moat. We crossed it by means of a drawbridge, and ascended by a narrow footpath between hedges of box and orange, arriving at the top in the time that it takes to tell of it. The path, because of its artful windings, produced the effect of being measured by rods, instead of by inches. Over the door of the little castle was engraved another name that also made me tremble, although in a very different way.

"The idea of the little artificial hill was my friend Castell's, and, naturally, it bears his name—which is all the better that it exactly suits it," he added, laughing.

For me the pun had much less charm. Perhaps the antipathy with which the subject inspired me had part in this. We entered the diminutive castle and ascended to its roof. From there were admirably revealed not only the park, which did not seem so vast, but also a good part of the cultivated grounds, all the harbor, and the Puerto Nuevo and the grand expanse of the sea. Above its innumerable wavelets, above the freshness and dark depths of the water hung the crystal vault of the sky, dappled with delicate tints of rose. The sun flung a river of gold across the waves. Among the flowery fields and the fields of maize shone the little white cottages nestled among their oranges and cypresses. Beyond Valencia was Miguelete, and in the distance the encircling mountains, that at this hour seemed all of violet and mauve and lilac.

"What is this hut?" I asked, disagreeably impressed by the sight of an ugly brick structure which reared itself up on the confines of the park.

"Nothing—that was an attempt at a beer manufactory," replied MartÍ dryly.

And again his brow was furrowed by the frown.

"And did it not get to the making of it?"

"Yes, there was some made. It turned out badly on account of the quality of the water. The maker, whom I got here from England, did not explain this to me in time, and I was obliged to waste money enough uselessly."

Coughing perfunctorily, he pulled at his shirt-cuffs, ran his fingers through his hair, and hastily descended the stair of the little castle, followed by me. There was in every movement of this man when he expressed pleasure or annoyance so much heartiness, such childlike innocence, that I felt myself constantly more attracted to him. It seemed to me that I had loved him for a great while.

When we came away from his estate the sun was already setting behind the distant mountains. We made our way around the house, and crossed the grounds again and through the fields of maize, the gardens and orchards. It was the hour of stopping work, and the laborers in the fields, with their Valencian kerchiefs about their heads, were resting at the doors of their cottages under the sweet fresh tendrils of vine-covered arbors. Their children were climbing upon their knees and dancing about them while the mothers prepared the rice for supper.