Parental emotions banished sleep from the pillow of Kara Aziek and Sebastian: their night was spent in conversation about her, upon whom hung all their domestic happiness. Would they find her still the same artless and admirable creature they had parted with in Brazil! would the same beautiful countenance present itself unchanged to their partial sight? A multitude of natural doubts and fears moderated their joy, but increased their impatience, and they rose soon, to commence their short journey to Rosolia. Gaspar had the self-denial to remain behind, lest his appearance in familiar society with the visitors of the Duchess Medina, should excite curiosity in her household. The hired carriage which conveyed them from Messina, was not long of bringing them to the gate of the villa. At beholding that house which contained her child, Kara Aziek’s emotion was heightened to painfulness: she turned pale, grew faint, and alighting from the carriage, tottered into a hall, almost unconscious of existence. Having paused a little to recover herself, a servant led them into an unoccupied apartment, where they were immediately joined by their daughter.--She came alone. At her entrance, both parents stretched out their arms towards her, without having power to advance; they scarcely saw the beautiful young creature who sprung to their embrace with the bloom of a Hebé, and a sensibility which covered her glowing cheeks with tears: they knew it was their child; for her voice vibrated in well-remembered sweetness on their ear. They blessed, they embraced, they wept over her; they murmured out their gratitude to Heaven; and lost to every thing else, thought only that they were indeed met to part no more. When this mutual transport had a little subsided, they were able to look attentively on Blanche: it was not her extreme beauty (though she was lovelier than any “mortal mixture of earth’s mould”) that elevated and delighted their hearts; it was the expression which made that beauty beautiful to them. Her eyes still beamed the tenderness and sweetness of her mother, her brow yet announced the energy and heroism of her father: her manner was still simple and modest; her words the language of unperverted truth. The mutual details of this happy family may be easily imagined: they consisted on the part of the parents in the repetition of what they had already repeated to Gaspar; and on the side of Blanche, in accounts of her habits of life, and such interesting anecdotes of her protectress as were connected with them.