“If my father does not wish me to marry him,” she said to herself, tormented by the first remorseful feeling of her life.  “I shall have done wrong to speak to him.  And yet he is so handsome!”

Then she knelt before the Virgin, who was her only confidante, the poor child having never known her mother, and tried to tell her the torments of her soul; but she could not achieve her prayer.  The thoughts became entangled within her brain, and she surprised herself uttering strange words.  But, assuredly, the Holy Virgin must have taken pity upon her lovely devotee, for she rose with the impression of a consoling thought, resolved to confide everything to her father.

“I cannot have a moment’s doubt,” she said to herself, as she unlaced her bodice, “of my father’s affection.  Well, then, if he forbids me to speak to him, it will be for my good.  And indeed, I have seen him but this once,” she added, as she threw herself upon the bed, “and now I think of it, I consider him very bold to dare to speak to me.  I am almost inclined to laugh at him.  How confidently he brought out his nonsense, how absurdly he rolled his eyes!  They are really very fine, those eyes of his, and so is his mouth, and his forehead and his hair.  He does not suspect that I noticed his hands, which are really very white, when he raised them to heaven, like a madman, as he walked up and down by the sea.  Come, come, is he going to prevent my sleeping?  I will not see him again!” she cried, drawing the sheet over her head like an angry child.  Then she began to laugh to herself over her lover’s dress, and meditated long upon what her companions would say to it.  Suddenly her brow contracted painfully, a frightful thought had stolen into her mind, she shuddered from head to foot.  “Suppose he were to think someone else prettier than me?  Men are so foolish!  Certainly, it is too hot, and I shall not sleep to-night.”

Then she sat up in her bed, and continued her monologue—­which we will spare the reader—­till the morning.  Scarcely had the first rays of light filtered through the interlacing branches of jasmine and wavered into the room, when Nisida dressed herself hurriedly, and went as usual to present her forehead to her father’s kiss.  The old man at once observed the depression and weariness left by a sleepless night upon his daughter’s face, and parting with an eager and anxious hand the beautiful black hair that fell over her cheeks, he asked her, “What is the matter, my child?  Thou hast not slept well?”

“I have not slept at all,” answered Nisida, smiling, to reassure her father; “I am perfectly well, but I have something to confess to you.”

“Speak quickly, child; I am dying with impatience.”

“Perhaps I have done wrong; but I want you to promise beforehand not to scold me.”

“You know very well that I spoil you,” said the old man, with a caress; “I shall not begin to be stern to-day.”