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palm-trees, within the gate Keisan, dwelt a wealthy old merchant, who had
a beautiful daughter. Demetrius had by chance seen her some time before,
and he was so struck with her loveliness, that, after pining for many
months in secret, he ventured on a disclosure, and, to his delighted
surprise, found that Isabelle had long silently nursed a deep and almost
hopeless passion for him also; so, being now aware that their love was
mutual, they were as happy as the bird that, all day long, sings in the
sunshine from the summits of the cypress-trees.

True is the adage of the poet, that "the course of true love never did
run smooth"; and, in the father of the maiden, they found that a
stumbling-block lay in the path of their happiness, for he was of an
avaricious disposition, and they knew that he valued gold more than
nobility of blood. Their fears grew more and more, as Isabelle, in her
private conversations, endeavoured to sound her father on this point; and
although the suspicions of affection are often more apparent than real,
in this they were not mistaken; for, without consulting his child--and as
if her soul had been in his hand--he promised her in marriage to a rich
old miser, ay, twice as rich, and nearly as old as himself.

Isabelle knew not what to do; for, on being informed by her father of the
fate he had destined for her, her heart forsook her, and her spirit was
bowed to the dust. Nowhere could she rest, like the Thracian bird that
knoweth not to fold its wings in slumber--a cloud had fallen for her over
the fair face of nature--and, instead of retiring to her couch, she
wandered about weeping, under the midnight stars, on the terrace on the
house-top--wailing over the hapless fate, and calling on death to come
and take her from her sorrows.

At morning she went forth alone into the garden; but neither could the
golden glow of the orange-trees, nor the perfumes of the rosiers, nor the
delicate fragrance of the clustering henna and jasmine, delight her; so
she wearied for the hour of noon, having privately sent to Demetrius,
inviting him to meet her by the fountain of the pillars at that time.

Poor Demetrius had, for some time, observed a settled sorrow in the
conduct and countenance of his beautiful Isabelle--he felt that some
melancholy revelation was to be made to him; and, all eagerness, he came
at the appointed hour. He passed along the winding walks, unheeding of
the tulips streaked like the rudd