a task I shall not attempt. Beauty
like hers must be left to the imagination. Think of the woman you
_yourself_ love or have loved; fancy her in her fairest moments, in
bower or boudoir--perchance a blushing bride--and you may form some
idea--No, no, no! you could never have looked upon woman so lovely as
Isolina de Vargas.

Oh! that I could fix that fleeting phantom of beauty--that I could paint
that likeness for the world to admire! It cannot be. The most puissant
pen is powerless, the brightest colour too cold. Though deeply graven
upon the tablet of my heart, I cannot multiply the impression.

It is idle to talk of wavy hair, profuse and glossed--of almond eyes
with long dark fringes--of pearl-white teeth, and cheeks tinted with
damascene. All these had she, but they are not peculiar
characteristics. Other women are thus gifted. The traits of _her_
beauty lay in the intellectual as much as the physical--in a happy
combination of both. The soul, the spirit, had its share in producing
this incomparable picture. It was to behold the play of those noble
features, to watch the changing cheek, the varying smile, the falling
lash, the flashing eye, the glance now tender, now sublime--it was to
look on all this, and be impressed with an idea of the divinest
loveliness.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

As I ate my frugal breakfast, such a vision was passing before me. I
contemplated the future with pleasant hopes, but not without feelings of
uneasiness. I had not forgotten the abrupt parting--no invitation to
renew the acquaintance, no hope, no prospect that I should ever behold
that beautiful woman again, unless blind chance should prove my friend.

I am not a fatalist, and I therefore resolved not to rely upon mere
destiny, but, if possible, to help it a little in its evolution.

Before I had finished my coffee, a dozen schemes had passed through my
mind, all tending towards one object--the renewal of my acquaintance
with Isolina de Vargas. Unless favoured by some lucky accident, or,
what was more desirable, _by the lady herself_, I knew we might never
meet again. In such times, it was not likely she would be much
"out-of-doors;" and in a few days, hours perhaps, I might be ordered _en
route_ never more to return to that interesting outpost.

As the district was, of course, under martial law, and I was _de facto_
dictator, you will imagine that I might easily