I think there were tears in her eyes when I left her, but I could not
see clearly, for mine also had suddenly grown dim.
And only the day before I had felt amused at the sight of this woman
sitting hot and greasy over her work, and had called her Juno of the
grease-pot! Now, after an acquaintance of about eighteen hours, I had
actually kissed her--a wife and the mother of six children, bidding
her adieu with trembling voice and moist eyes! I know that I shall
never forget those eyes, full of sweet, pure affection and tender
sympathy, looking into mine; all my life long shall I think of
Candelaria, loving her like a sister. Could any woman in my own
ultra-civilised and excessively proper country inspire me with a feeling
like that in so short a time? I fancy not. Oh, civilisation, with your
million conventions, soul and body withering prudishnesses, vain
education for the little ones, going to church in best black clothes,
unnatural craving for cleanliness, feverish striving after comforts
that bring no comfort to the heart, are you a mistake altogether?
Candelaria and that genial runaway John Carrickfergus make me think
so. Ah, yes, we are all vainly seeking after happiness in the wrong
way. It was with us once and ours, but we despised it, for it was only
the old, common happiness which Nature gives to all her children, and
we went away from it in search of another grander kind of happiness
which some dreamer--Bacon or another--assured us we should find.
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