our punishment severe.

"Poor child!" exclaimed Donna Celia, pressing my hand which was still
locked in hers. I continued there until the age of ten, when an old
lady who came to the asylum, took a fancy to me; for I often heard it
remarked, that I was a very handsome boy, although I have rather grown
out of my good looks lately, Clara.

A pressure of my other hand, and a negative smile, was the answer; and I
proceeded--The old lady Donna Isabella, who was of the noble family of
Guzman, wanted a page, and intended to bring me up in that capacity.
She carried me to her house where I was clad in a fancy dress. I used
to sit by her side on the carpet, and run upon any message which might
be required; in fact, I was a sort of human bell, calling up every body
and fetching every thing that was wanted; but I was well fed, and very
proud of a little dagger which I wore in my girdle. The only part of my
education to which I objected, was learning to read and write from a
priest, who was domiciled in the family, and who had himself as great an
aversion to teaching as I had to learning. Had the affair rested
entirely between us, we might have arranged matters so as to please both
parties; but as the old lady used to prove my acquirements by making me
read to her, as she knotted, we neither of us could help fulfilling our
engagements. By dint of bullying and beating, at last I was
sufficiently enlightened to be able to read a romance to my mistress, or
answer an invitation-note in the negative or affirmative. My mistress
had two nieces who lived with her, both nearly grown up when I entered
the family. They taught me dancing for their own amusement, as well as
many other things; and by their care I improved very much, even in
reading and writing. Although a child, I had a pleasure in being taught
by two pretty girls. But it is necessary that I should be more
particular in my description of these two young ladies. The eldest,
whose name was Donna Emilia, was of a prudent, sedate disposition,
always cheerful, but never boisterous; she constantly smiled, but
seldom, if ever, indulged in a laugh. The youngest, Donna Teresa, was
very different--joyous and light-hearted, frank and confiding in her
temper, generous in disposition: her faults arose from an excess of
every feeling--a continual running into extremes. Never were two
sisters more fond of each other--it appeared as if the difference
between their dispositions but