the rich undulations of that magnificent form! How the
wreaths and garlands of fantastically woven flowers became the romantic
loveliness of her person--that glowing Hebe of the South!

Holding in her fair hand a light, slim wand, and moving through the
delicious vale with all the soft abandonment of gait and limb which
feared no intrusion on her solitude, she appeared that Mediterranean
island's queen. What, though the evening breeze, disporting with her
raiment, lifted it from her glowing bosom?--she cared not; no need for
sense of shame was there! What though she laid aside her vesture to
disport in the sea at morn?--no furtive glances did she cast round; no
haste did she make to resume her garments; for whose eye, save that of
God, beheld her?

But was she happy? Alas! there were moments when despair seized upon her
soul; and, throwing herself on the yellow sand, or on some verdant bank,
she would weep--oh! she would weep such bitter, bitter tears, that those
who have been forced to contemplate her character with aversion, must
now be compelled to pity her.

Yes; for there were times when all the loveliness of that island seemed
but a hideous place of exile, an abhorrent monotony which surrounded
her--grasped her--clung to her--hemmed her in, as if it were an evil
spirit, having life and the power to torture her. She thought of those
whom she loved, she pondered upon all the grand schemes of her
existence, and she felt herself cut off from a world to which there were
so many ties to bind her, and in which she had so much to do. Then she
would give way to all the anguish of her soul--an anguish that amounted
to the deepest, blackest despair, when her glances wildly swept the
cloudless horizon, and beheld not a sail--no! nor a speck on the ocean
to engender hope. But when this tempest of grief and passion was past,
she would be angry with herself for having yielded to it; and, in order
to distract her thoughts from subjects of gloom, she would bound toward
the groves, light as a fawn, the dazzling whiteness of her naked and
polished ankles gleaming in contrast with the verdure of the vale.

One morning after Nisida had been many, many days on the island, she was
seated on the sand, having just completed her simple toilet on emerging
from the mighty bath that lay stretched in glassy stillness far as the
eye could reach, when she suddenly sprung upon her feet, and threw
affrighted looks around her. Had she possessed