Still nothing was heard of the forgetful page.
In the mean time, the poor little Jacinta grew pale and
thoughtful. Her former occupations and amusements were abandoned,
her silk lay entangled, her guitar unstrung, her flowers were
neglected, the notes of her bird unheeded, and her eyes, once so
bright, were dimmed with secret weeping. If any solitude could be
devised to foster the passion of a love-lorn damsel, it would be
such a place as the Alhambra, where every thing seems disposed to
produce tender and romantic reveries. It is a very paradise for
lovers: how hard then to be alone in such a paradise- and not merely
alone, but forsaken!
"Alas, silly child!" would the staid and immaculate Fredegonda
say, when she found her niece in one of her desponding moods- "did I
not warn thee against the wiles and deceptions of these men? What
couldst thou expect, too, from one of a haughty and aspiring family-
thou an orphan, the descendant of a fallen and impoverished line? Be
assured, if the youth were true, his father, who is one of the
proudest nobles about the court, would prohibit his union with one
so humble and portionless as thou. Pluck up thy resolution, therefore,
and drive these idle notions from thy mind."
The words of the immaculate Fredegonda only served to increase the
melancholy of her niece, but she sought to indulge it in private. At a
late hour one midsummer night, after her aunt had retired to rest, she
remained alone in the hall of the tower, seated beside the alabaster
fountain.
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