the youthful pair.  I inquired of my ancient conductress the history of this picture, and whether the beautiful female was not an ideal being?  “Alas!” said she, “it commemorates a heavy day for the house of D——­; on that day the last and fairest of its race sunk the victim of unrequited affection.  That is her picture; but, oh! her soul was more angelic than her person; she”—­but, reader, let me give the story in my own words.  The Lady Isabel was the last descendant of the family of D——­; her father had fallen in battle; his lady did not long survive him; and thus, at an early age, Isabel became an orphan.  Her mother’s brother was appointed her guardian, and, with his son Albert, came to reside at the Castle.  The children, thus insulated from the world, and educated entirely at home, saw nothing so worthy to be loved as each other, and their attachment was as romantic as the scenes around them.  They both (but particularly Isabel) delighted in the high chivalrous legends of antiquity—­and the tales of eternal constancy and self-devoted affection recorded of some of the earlier heroines of her family, were read with sacred veneration by the young enthusiast.  In a mind of ordinary temperament, little harm would have resulted from the indulgence of such a taste; to the impassioned soul of Isabel it was destructive and fatal.  Deprived by death of the mother who might have taught her to restrain and regulate her ardent feelings, they acquired by neglect additional strength, and eventually concentrated into a passion deep and lasting as her existence.  As years passed on, so did her love increase; she regarded Albert as the perfection of human excellence, and worshipped him with all the full devotedness of her warm heart.  It was not so with Albert; he thought of his fair cousin with pride—­with tenderness; but it was only the calm affection of a brother:  other feelings than those of love possessed him—­he languished for fame, for honourable distinction among his fellow men, and at length left his peaceful home, and the sweet companion of his youth, to fight the battles of his country.  His career was glorious; and after an absence of three years, he was recalled by the death of his father.  Isabel welcomed him with rapturous joy; he embraced her with a brother’s fondness, and gazed with delight on her improved beauty.  He suspected not that she loved him with more than a sisterly affection, and thought not of the wound he was about to inflict on this tender, enthusiastic being.  He told her of his attachment to a fair girl, who had consented to become his bride at the expiration of the term of mourning for his father.  She heard him with death-like silence, checked the groan that was bursting from her agonized heart, and strove to assume a look of cheerfulness.  Retired to the solitude of her apartment, she wept in bitter anguish—­her young soul was blighted; she had nothing left to live for; hope, happiness, and love were at an end; for love would now be guilt.