formed no small part of my contemplation during the night. She was enveloped in a loose night-gown, slightly closed round the waist. Her long black hair fell in graceful and natural profusion down each side of her neck: there was an air of slight anxiety and agitation in her look which gave to her features, which were delicately pretty, an animated cast of interest, which I had not before observed in them. She stepped forward a few paces, and cried, in a half whisper, "Don Simon!" She repeated the name, but no answer was given; again, and still all was silent. Poor thing! thought I, she has repented of her obstinacy, and Don Simon's determination will be gratified and fulfilled. This proved to be the truth; but in a manner very different from what I had anticipated. I was surprised, and, perhaps, a little mortified, to find that I had been wrong in all my conclusions, with respect to the scenes which I had witnessed. The denouement was of a nature perfectly distinct from any that
