awaking from that profound meditation, she started
from her seat with flashing eyes--heaving bosom--and an expression of
countenance denoting a fixed determination to accomplish some deed from
which her better feelings vainly bade her to abstain:--when she drew her
tall--her even majestic form up to its full height, the drapery
shadowing forth every contour of undulating bust and exquisitely modeled
limb--while her haughty lip curled in contempt of any consideration save
her own indomitable will--she appeared rather a heroine capable of
leading an Amazonian army, than a woman to whom the sighing swain might
venture to offer up the incense of love.

There was something awful in the aspect of this mysterious
being--something ineffably grand and imposing in her demeanor--as she
thus suddenly rose from her almost recumbent posture, and burst into the
attitude of a resolute and energetic woman.

Drawing the wrapper around her form, she lighted a lamp, and was about
to quit the chamber, when her eyes suddenly encountered the mild and
benignant glance which the portrait of a lady appeared to cast upon her.

This portrait, which hung against the wall precisely opposite to the
bed, represented a woman of about thirty years of age--a woman of a
beauty much in the same style as that of Nisida, but not marred by
anything approaching to a sternness of expression. On the contrary, if
an angel had looked through those mild black eyes, their glances could
not have been endowed with a holier kindness; the smiles of good spirits
could not be more plaintively sweet than those which the artist had made
to play upon the lips of that portrait.

Yet, in spite of this discrepancy between the expression of Nisida's
countenance and that of the lady who had formed the subject of the
picture, it was not difficult to perceive a certain physical likeness
between the two; nor will the reader be surprised when we state that
Nisida was gazing on the portrait of her deceased mother.

And that gaze--oh! how intent, how earnest, how enthusiastic it was! It
manifested something more than love--something more impassioned and
ardent than the affection which a daughter might exhibit toward even a
living mother; it showed a complete devotion--an adoration--a worship!

Long and fixedly did Nisida gaze upon that portrait; till suddenly from
her eyes, which shot forth such burning glances, gushed a torrent of
tears.

Then--probably fearful lest this weakne