Men’s hearts had been Isabella Gonzales’s toys and playthings ever since the hour that she first had realized her power over them.  And yet she was far from being heartless in reality.  She was most sensitive, and at times thoughtful and serious; but this was in her closet, and when alone.  Those who thought that the sunshine of that face was never clouded, were mistaken.  She hardly received the respect that was due to her better understanding and naturally strong points of character, because she hid them mainly behind an exterior of captivating mirthfulness and never ceasing smiles.

The cool refreshing sea breeze that swept in from the water was most delicious, after the scorching heat of a summer’s day in the West Indies, and the party paused as they breathed in of its freshness, leaning upon the parapet of the walk, over which they looked down upon the glancing waves of the bay far beneath them.  The moon was stealing slowly but steadily up from behind the lofty tower of Moro Castle, casting a dash of silvery light athwart its dark batteries and grim walls, and silvering a long wake across the now silent harbor, making its rippling waters of golden and silver hues, and casting, where the Moro tower was between it and the water, a long, deep shadow to seaward.

Even the gay and apparently thoughtless Senorita Isabella was struck with delight at the view now presented to her gaze, and for a moment she paused in silence to drink in of the spirit-stirring beauty of the scene.

“How beautiful it is,” whispered the boy, who was close by her side.

“Beautiful, very beautiful,” echoed Isabella, again becoming silent.

No one who has not breathed the soft air of the south at an hour such as we have described, can well realize the tender influence that it exercises upon a susceptible disposition.  The whole party gazed for some minutes in silence, apparently charmed by the scene.  There was a hallowing and chastening influence in the very air, and the gay coquette was softened into the tender woman.  A tear even glistened in Ruez’s, her brother’s eyes; but he was a thoughtful and delicate-souled child, and would be affected thus much more quickly than his sister.

The eldest of the two gentlemen who were in attendance upon Don Gonzales and his family, was Count Anguera, lieutenant-governor of the island; and his companion, a fine military figure, apparently some years the count’s junior, was General Harero of the royal infantry, quartered at the governor’s palace.  Such was the party that promenaded on the parapet of the Plato.

As we have intimated, the two gentlemen were evidently striving to please Isabella, and to win from her some encouraging smile or other token that might indicate a preference for their attentions.  Admiration even from the high source that now tendered it was no new thing to her, and with just sufficient archness to puzzle them, she waived and replied to their conversation with most provoking indifference, lavishing a vast deal more kindness and attention upon a noble wolf-hound that crouched close to her feet, his big clear eye bent ever upon his mistress’s face with a degree of intelligence that would have formed a theme for a painter.  It was a noble creature, and no wonder the lady evinced so much regard for the hound, who ever and anon walked close to her.