Before I left her she had promised me her hand, and at parting
even clung to me, with her beautiful eyes wet with tears.
"Three years passed before I returned to seek her. During that time
I sent scores of letters to Basilio, but received no reply. Twice I
was wounded in fight, once very seriously. I was also a prisoner for
several months. I made my escape at last, and, returning to Montevideo,
obtained leave of absence. Then, with heart afire with sweet
anticipations, I sought that lonely sea-coast once more, only to find
the weeds growing on the spot where Basilio's _rancho_ had stood.
In the neighbourhood I learnt that he had died two years before, and
that after his death the widow had returned to Montevideo with Transita.
After long inquiry in that city I discovered that she had not long
survived her husband, and that a foreign senora, had taken Transita
away, no one knew whither. Her loss cast a great shadow on my life.
Poignant grief cannot endure for ever, nor for very long; only the
memory of grief endures. To this memory, which cannot fade, it is
perhaps due that in one respect at least I am not like other men. I
feel that I am incapable of passion for any woman. No, not if a new
Lucrezia Borgia were to come my way, scattering the fiery seeds of
adoration upon all men, could they blossom to love in this arid heart.
Since I lost Transita I have had one thought, one love, one religion,
and it is all told in one word--_Patria_.
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