This Camilla was her governess, her friend, her confidante, I may
almost say her mother. Rosabella had lost her parents early. Her
mother died when her child could scarcely lisp her name; and her
father, Guiscardo of Corfu, the commander of a Venetian vessel,
eight years before had perished in an engagement with the Turks,
while he was still in the prime of life. Camilla, one of the
worthiest creatures that ever dignified the name of woman, supplied
to Rosabella the place of mother, had brought her up from infancy,
and was now her best friend, and the person to whose ear she
confided all her little secrets.

While Rosabella was still buried in her own reflections, the
excellent Camilla advanced from a side path, and hastened to join
her pupil. Rosabella started.

Rosabella.--Ah! dear Camilla, is it you? What brings you hither?

Camilla.--You often call me your guardian angel, and guardian angels
should always be near the object of their care.

Rosabella.--Camilla, I have been thinking over your arguments; I
cannot deny that all you have said to me is very true, and very
wise, but still -

Camilla.--But still, though your prudence agrees with me, your heart
is of a contrary opinion.

Rosabella.--It is, indeed.