ep at the feet of
her holy protectress. Bowed by grief like a young lily before the storm,
she would spend whole hours, pale, motionless, detached from earthly
things, her tears flowing silently upon her beautiful clasped hands.
When the moment came to go and embrace her brother for the last time,
Nisida arose with the courage of a saint. She wiped away the traces of
her tears, smoothed her beautiful black hair, and put on her best white
dress. Poor child, she tried to hide her grief by an angelic deception.
She had the strength to smile! At the sight of her alarming pallor
Gabriel felt his heart wrung, a cloud passed over his eyes; he would have
run to meet her, but, held back by the chain which fettered him to a
pillar of his prison, stepped back sharply and stumbled. Nisida flew to
her brother and upheld him in her arms. The young girl had understood
him; she assured him that she was well. Fearing to remind him of his
terrible position, she spoke volubly of all manner of things--her aunt,
the weather, the Madonna. Then she stopped suddenly, frightened at her
own words, frightened at her own silence; she fixed her burning gaze upon
her brother's brow as though to fascinate him. Little by little
animation returned to her; a faint colour tinted her hollowed cheeks, and
Gabriel, deceived by the maiden's super human efforts, thought her still
beautiful, and thanked God in his heart for having spared this tender
creature. Nisida, as though she had followed her brother's secret
thoughts, came close to him, pressed his hand with an air of
understanding, and murmured low in his ear, "Fortunately our father has
been away for two days; he sent me word that he would be detained in
town. For us, it is different; we are young, we have courage!"

The poor young girl was trembling like a leaf.

"What will become of you, my poor Nisida?"

"Bah! I will pray to the Madonna. Does she not watch over us?" The
girl stopped, struck by the sound of her own words, which the
circumstances so cruelly contradicted. But looking at her brother, she
went on in a low tone: "Assuredly she does watch over us. She appeared
to me last night in a dream. She held her child Jesus on her arm, and
looked at me with a mother's tenderness. She wishes to make saints of
us, for she loves us; and to be a saint, you see, Gabriel, one must
suffer."

"Well, go and pray for me, my kind sister; go away from the view of this
sad place, which will eve