daughter and son, both of whom we have already introduced to the
reader.

The daughter, beautiful, intelligent, and witty to a most
extraordinary degree, had absolutely broken the hearts of half the
men of rank on the island; for though yet scarcely twenty years of
age, Senorita Isabella was a confirmed coquette. It was her passion
to command and enjoy a devotion, but as to ever having in the least
degree cherished or known what it was to love, the lady was entirely
void of the charge; she had never known the tenderness of reciprocal
affection, nor did it seem to those who knew her best, that the man
was born who could win her confidence.

Men's hearts had been Isabella Gonzales's toys and playthings ever
since the hour that she first had realized her power over them. And
yet she was far from being heartless in reality. She was most
sensitive, and at times thoughtful and serious; but this was in her
closet, and when alone. Those who thought that the sunshine of that
face was never clouded, were mistaken. She hardly received the
respect that was due to her better understanding and naturally
strong points of character, because she hid them mainly behind an
exterior of captivating mirthfulness and never ceasing smiles.

The cool refreshing sea breeze that swept in from the water was most
delicious, after the scorching heat of a summer's day in the West
Indies, and the party paused as they breathed in of its freshness,
leaning upon the parapet of the walk, over which they looked down
upon the glancing waves of the bay far beneath them. The moon was
stealing slowly but steadily up from behind the lofty tower of Moro
Castle, casting a dash of silvery light athwart its dark batteries