t into the neighbouring port, and what seriously alarmed me was,
that my sister Nina had been seized with a dangerous illness. I would
have flown home, but my father forbade me; and the next account spoke of
her recovery--though she remained in a low and melancholy state most
unusual for her. It was at this time my eldest sister married a
nobleman of high character, greatly to our parents' satisfaction; and
soon afterwards the first misfortune which had yet happened to our
hitherto prosperous family occurred. Our second sister was seized with
a mortal malady, which terminated her existence.

"The shock was so great to our mother, worn out as she already was with
watching over Nina, that she could not rally; and she herself fell a
victim to the same fatal disease.

"I returned home to find my father prostrate by the double blow. For
months I anxiously watched over him, and at length, to my great joy, he
partially recovered his health and strength. Nina's spirits appeared to
me to have been much restored, her eye brightened, and often her lips
wore the same smile as of yore. I never ventured to mention the name of
Argiri Caramitzo to her, nor did she herself ever allude to the
circumstance of his shipwreck and stay at our castle; and I trusted that
she had banished him from her mind. Such happiness as the world can
give was about, I hoped, to revisit the remnant of our family. Alas!
how fallacious were my expectations."

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

"One summer's evening, my sister and I were seated with our father at an
open window of our apartment in the castle, whence we could enjoy a view
of the calm waters of the Adriatic. He was more cheerful than he had
been for a long time; and Nina took her guitar, and sang to him some of
the songs in which he used formerly to delight.

"While we sat there I observed a white sail in the far distance; and it
seemed to me to approach nearer and nearer the land. I pointed it out
to Nina; and it struck me afterwards that she grew pale as I spoke, and
placed her hand on her heart, as if to stop its throbbing. Yet at the
time I thought nothing of it. For a few minutes she was silent, and
lost in meditation, but at length recovered herself, and continued
singing. I remarked this, and I remember rallying her on the subject,
saying that her songs were all those she knew of a sad and plaintive
character.

"The time for sleep arrived, and we retired to our chambers. Nina
ki