ad now elapsed since her mysterious
disappearance had been passed by the young count in making every
possible inquiry and adopting every means which imagination could
suggest to obtain a clew to her fate. But all in vain. And never for a
moment did he suspect that she might be an inmate of the Carmelite
Convent, for, although he was aware of the terrible power wielded by
that institution, yet feeling convinced that Flora herself was incapable
of any indiscretion, it never struck him that the wicked machinations of
another might place her in the custody of the dreaded Carmelite abbess.

We said that Francisco had retired to rest somewhat early on the
above-mentioned night, and the domestics, yielding to the influence of a
soporific which Antonio, the faithless valet, had infused into the wine
which it was his province to deal out to them under the superintendence
of the head butler, had also withdrawn to their respective chambers.

Nisida had dismissed her maids shortly before eleven, but she did not
seek her couch. There was an expression of wild determination, of firm
resolve, in her dark black eyes and her compressed lips which denoted
the courage of her dauntless but impetuous mind. For of that mind the
large piercing eyes seemed an exact transcript.

Terrible was she in the decision of her masculine--oh! even more than
masculine--character, for beneath that glorious beauty with which she
was arrayed beat a heart that scarcely knew compunction, or that, at all
events, would hesitate at nothing calculated to advance her interests or
her projects.

Though devoured with ardent passions, and of a temperament naturally
voluptuous and sensual even to an extreme, she had hitherto remained
chaste, as much for want of opportunity to assuage the cravings of her
mad desires, as through a sentiment of pride--but since she had loved
Wagner--the first and only man whom she had ever loved--her warm
imagination had excited those desires to such a degree, that she felt
capable of making any sacrifice, save one--to secure him to herself.

And that one sacrifice which she could not make was not her honor: no,
of that she now thought but little in the whirlwind of her impetuous,
ardent, heated imagination. But, madly as she loved Fernand Wagner--that
is, loved him after the fashion of her own strange and sensual
heart--she loved her brother still more; and this attachment was at
least a pure, a holy sentiment, and a gloriously redee