whom she associated. Alas! that such a trait should have become a
second nature to one with so heavenly a form and face. Perhaps it
was owing to the want of the judicious management of a mother, of
timely and kindly advice, that Isabella had grown up thus; certainly
it seemed hard, very hard, to attribute it to her heart, her natural
promptings, for at times she evinced such traits of womanly delicacy
and tenderness, that those who knew her best forgot her coquetry.

Her brother was a gentle and beautiful boy. A tender spirit of
melancholy seemed ever uppermost in his heart and face, and it had
been thus with him since he had known his first early grief-the loss
of his mother-some four or five years before the present period of
our story. Isabella, though she was not wanting in natural
tenderness and affection, had yet outgrown the loss of her parent;
but the more sensitive spirit of the boy had not yet recovered from
the shock it had thus received. The father even feared that he never
would regain his happy buoyancy, as he looked upon his pale and
almost transparent features, while the boy mused thoughtfully to
himself sometimes for the hour together, if left alone and
undisturbed.

"Ruez, dear, we've not been on the Plato since that fearful night,"
said Senorita Isabella, as she rested her hand gently upon the boy's
shoulder.

"It was a fearful night, sister," said the boy recalling the
associations with a shudder.

"And yet how clear and beautiful it seemed just before that terrible
accident."