mmand) to send for her attendants, and occupy a suite of rooms in
the castle, close to her royal mistress, in preference to returning to
her own home; from which, in its desolate grandeur, she shrunk almost
in loathing.

For seven days after her loss she had not quitted her apartment, seen
only by the Queen and her own woman; but after that interval, at
Isabella's gently expressed wish, she joined her, in her private
hours, amongst her most favored attendants; called upon indeed for
nothing save her presence! And little did her pre-occupied mind
imagine how tenderly she was watched, and with what kindly sympathy
her unexpressed thoughts were read.

On the evening in question, Isabella was seated, as was her frequent
custom, in a spacious chamber, surrounded by her female attendants,
with whom she was familiarly conversing, making them friends as well
as subjects, yet so uniting dignity with kindness, that her favor was
far more valued and eagerly sought than had there been no superiority;
yet, still it was more for her perfect womanhood than her rank that
she was so reverenced, so loved. At the farther end of the spacious
chamber were several young girls, daughters of the nobles of Castile
and Arragon, whom Isabella's maternal care for her subjects had
collected around her, that their education might be carried on under
her own eye, and so create for the future nobles of her country, wives
and mothers after her own exalted stamp. They were always encouraged
to converse freely and gayly amongst each other; for thus she learned
their several characters, and guided them accordingly. There was
neither restraint nor heaviness in her presence; for by a word, a
smile, she could prove her interest in their simple pleasures, her
sympathy in their eager youth.

Apart from all, but nearest Isabella, silent and pale, shrouded in the
sable robes of widowhood--that painful garb which, in its voiceless
eloquence of desolation, ever calls for tears, more especially when
it shrouds the young; her beautiful hair, save two thick braids,
concealed under the linen coif--sat Marie, lovely indeed still, but
looking like one

"Whose heart was born to break--
A face on which to gaze, made every feeling ache."

An embroidery frame was before her, "but the flowers grew but slowly
beneath her hand. About an hour after Isabella had joined her
attendants, a light signal was heard at the tapestried door of the
apartment. Th