their wondering and youthful auditors. On these occasions,
Isabella became the depository of all that they had
gleaned. To her they confided, under the same pledge of
secrecy which had been exacted from themselves, every
circumstance of horror connected with those days; nor
were they satisfied until they had shewn her those scenes
with which so many dreadful recollections were associated.
On one naturally of a melancholy temperament, these oft
recurring visits could not fail to produce a deep effect;
and insensibly that gloom of disposition, which might
have yielded to the influence of years and circumstances,
was more and more confirmed by the darkness of the imagery
on which it reposed. Had she been permitted to disclose
to her kind mother all that she had heard and known on
the subject, the reciprocation of their sympathies might
have relieved her heart, and partially dissipated the
phantasms that her knowledge of those events had conjured
up; but this her brothers had positively prohibited,
alleging, as powerful reasons, not merely that the men
who had confided in their promise, would be severely
taken to task by their father, but also that it could
only tend to grieve their mother unnecessarily, and to
re-open wounds that were nearly closed.

Thus was the melancholy of Isabella fed by the very
silence in which she was compelled to indulge. Often was
her pillow wetted with tears, as she passed in review
the several fearful incidents connected with the tale in
which her brothers had so deeply interested her, and she
would have given worlds at those moments, had they been