The ñaltaMartayMarífervor which constantly died away, as far as human beings were concerned, burned like a sweet-smelling incense on a lofty altar, to an object infinitely more worthy of it. Her heart could not remain inactive; she had to love, for it was the law of her being; she had to overflow with enthusiasm for something on which she should engage her thoughts every instant of her life, and offer continual sacrifices. Maria could not desire anything or love anything, without feeling herself stirred by a consuming fervor. When she was a child, she had loved another little girl of her own age, a child of dark complexion, with great, cruel, black eyes, and she loved her so passionately that she became her willing slave; the little black-eyed girl, the daughter of a poor mechanic, treated her with the authority of a queen and mistress, demanded from her all the playthings that she possessed, compelled her to submit to all her caprices, humiliated her whenever she felt like it, and oftentimes abused her in word and deed, without the affection of her enthusiastic friend being diminished in the least. On one occasion, when the two were ironing a doll's skirt, the cruel little girl said, in a disagreeable tone of mockery, "If you love me so dearly, why don't you put this hot iron on your arm for me?" Maria, without a moment's hesitation, pulled up the sleeve of her dress, and laid the heated iron on her arm, making a terrible burn. On account of other such actions as these, which had attracted Don Mariano's attention, he drove this unworthy friend out into the street, and forbade her ever darkening the door of his house again, a prohibition which broke his daughter's heart with grief.
When a heart is to this degree inflammable, its constant tendency is to take fire and be consumed with some extraordinary love; and if the object is not at hand, it seeks for it as one athirst seeks the fountain of crystalline water. Maria had sought hard for it and found it,--a love pure and immortal, sublime and marvellous; love for a God who crushes the stars to powder and enters the enamored soul like a gentle lamb. This love, which took more and more violent possession of her soul, was not only manifested in almost incomprehensible deeds of humility and mortification, but also escaped continually from her lips in passionate phrases, which winged themselves away like timid birdlings to take refuge in the sacred heart of Jesus. At first she had prayed with respectful worship, with soul and body prostrate, terrified rather than melted, like one who makes a declaration of love; but according as she understood, by a thousand manifest signs, that Jesus replied to her passionate affection and returned it with increase, she found greater freedom and eloquence in her words and a more enduring felicity in her whole being.