hours would decide his fate. With this unsatisfactory
answer She was obliged to return to her Mistress, who now found herself
plunged into greater difficulties than ever.

Flora and Dame Jacintha exerted themselves to console her. The Latter
begged her to make herself easy, for that as long as She chose to stay
with her, She would treat her like her own Child. Antonia, finding that
the good Woman had taken a real affection for her, was somewhat
comforted by thinking that She had at least one Friend in the World. A
Letter was now brought to her, directed to Elvira. She recognized
Leonella's writing, and opening it with joy, found a detailed account
of her Aunt's adventures at Cordova. She informed her Sister that She
had recovered her Legacy, had lost her heart, and had received in
exchange that of the most amiable of Apothecaries, past, present, and
to come. She added that She should be at Madrid on the Tuesday night,
and meant to have the pleasure of presenting her Caro Sposo in form.
Though her nuptials were far from pleasing Antonia, Leonella's speedy
return gave her Niece much delight. She rejoiced in thinking that She
should once more be under a Relation's care. She could not but judge
it to be highly improper, for a young Woman to be living among absolute
Strangers, with no one to regulate her conduct, or protect her from the
insults to which, in her defenceless situation, She was exposed. She
therefore looked forward with impatience to the Tuesday night.

It arrived. Antonia listened anxiously to the Carriages, as they
rolled along the Street. None of them stopped, and it grew late
without Leonella's appearing. Still, Antonia resolved to sit up till
her Aunt's arrival, and in spite of all her remonstrances, Dame
Jacintha and Flora insisted upon doing the same. The hours passed on
slow and tediously. Lorenzo's departure from Madrid had put a stop to
the nightly Serenades: She hoped in vain to hear the usual sound of
Guitars beneath her window. She took up her own, and struck a few
chords: But Music that evening had lost its charms for her, and She
soon replaced the Instrument in its case. She seated herself at her
embroidery frame, but nothing went right: The silks were missing, the
thread snapped every moment, and the needles were so expert at falling
that they seemed to be animated. At length a flake of wax fell from
the Taper which stood near her upon a favourite wreath of Violets: This
comple