sing her arms in
wild despair, and uttering piteous cries. It is thought that his
punishment consists in nightly visits to the cell in which Bernardo
died, and nightly endurance of the sight of his daughter's anguish; some
also say that the skeleton of his victim is presented to his eyes,
beaming with light, and that every ray eats into his soul like a canker.
I do not answer for all these tales, but this is the universal belief. I
merely relate to your favors the common talk of the peasantry, ever
given to superstition.

"I dimly remember hearing some such story in my childhood, from the old
castellan, from whom, I suppose, you have received the legend," said the
Conde; "but old Don Pedro never walked in my day, and if he does now,
his conscience must have become more tender with the lapse of years.
Cheer up, Magdalena, light of my eyes! You look quite pale from this
horrible tale. I'll answer for it that Don Pedro will not appear to you;
if he does, I'll settle his uneasy spirit for him. Surely, you do not
believe in ghosts? You are not so weak?"

"No, dear father; I know that it cannot be; and yet I own to feeling
some nervousness on the subject. Much as I long to live here, if I
thought there were any truth in such a spectral appearance, I would beg
you to leave to-morrow."

"That would be a sad loss to this castle, senorita," said Baptista,
furtively glancing at her pallid face from under his shaggy eyebrows.
"We must hope that Don Pedro may not walk to-night."

"Another romantic tale is told about a daughter of our house," said Don
Alonzo, wishing to draw off Magdalena'a thoughts from the subject which
filled them. "If you feel inclined to hear it, I will relate it."

"Nothing would be more pleasant," said the girls, who delighted in these
traditions.

DONA ISABEL, OR THE SECRET PASSAGE.

About a hundred and fifty years ago, when our branch had been
long-established at Alcantra, there flourished here a certain Don
Alphonso, who also had a beautiful daughter, Isabel by name. Her
portrait hangs in the gallery, and is remarkable for a sweet bravery of
look, and for a merry, piquant glance of her black eye, which I greatly
admired when a young man, and of which I have been often reminded when I
looked at my Clara. I think, my daughters, that you will agree with me
in seeing a strong resemblance in person, as I also do in character; you
can judge of that as my story proceeds. And by the way, Clara mia,
tra