adences the very soul of a lover's melancholy.

Various entertainments were also devised to dispel her loneliness, and
to charm away the idea of confinement. Groups of Andalusian dancers
performed, in the splendid saloons, the various picturesque dances of
their country; or represented little amorous ballets, which turned
upon some pleasing scene of pastoral coquetry and courtship. Sometimes
there were bands of singers, who, to the romantic guitar, warbled
forth ditties full of passion and tenderness.

Thus all about her enticed to pleasure and voluptuousnesss; but the
heart of Inez turned with distaste from this idle mockery. The tears
would rush into her eyes, as her thoughts reverted from this scene of
profligate splendour, to the humble but virtuous home from whence she
had been betrayed; or if the witching power of music ever soothed her
into a tender reverie, it was to dwell with fondness on the image of
Antonio. But if Don Ambrosio, deceived by this transient calm, should
attempt at such time to whisper his passion, she would start as from a
dream, and recoil from him with involuntary shuddering.

She had passed one long day of more than ordinary sadness, and in the
evening a band of these hired performers were exerting all the
animating powers of song and dance to amuse her. But while the lofty
saloon resounded with their warblings, and the light sound of feet
upon its marble pavement kept time to the cadence of the song, poor
Inez, with her face buried in the silken couch on which she reclined,
was only rendered more wretched by the sound of gayety.

At length her attention was caught by the voice of one of the singers,
that brought with it some indefinite recollections. She raised her
head, and cast an anxious look at the performers, who, as usual, were
at the lower end of the saloon.

One of them advanced a little before the others. It was a female,
dressed in a fanciful, pastoral garb, suited to the character she was
sustaining; but her countenance was not to be mistaken. It was the
same ballad-singer that had twice crossed her path, and given her
mysterious intimations of the lurking mischief that surrounded her.
When the rest of the performances were concluded, she seized a
tambourine, and, tossing it aloft, danced alone to the melody of her
own voice. In the course of her dancing, she approached to where Inez
reclined: and as she struck the tambourine, contrived dexterously to
throw a folded paper on