It was a serene and balmy evening, and as the stars appeared one by one in the firmament, and the illuminated sea slowly advanced and receded from the cliffs surrounding the fishing lodge; so much of peace and beauty pervaded every object, that Kara Aziek felt the scene tranquillize and renovate her. “Suffer me to remain here, my child!” she said, (as Blanche hearing the clock strike ten, would have had her retire to rest) “the sight of these boundless and sublime objects, seems to elevate and calm my spirit. Never before have I beheld them with such feelings. How wonderous! how magnificent, how surpassing all human ideas of nobleness, wisdom, and goodness, must be that great being by whom they were created! it is fit I should habituate myself to contemplate and adore that divine perfection which I may so soon be summoned to adore in the courts of Heaven.” Aziek paused, and her eyes floating in sweet though mournful tears, remained fixed upon the stars. Blanche turned weeping away, and the Duchess ventured to utter a few words of hope. Kara Aziek smiled gratefully, shook her head, and repeated in so low a voice that her words were scarce audible, “I am past hope, and you must not deceive yourselves: might I but behold my Sebastian once again, know him safe, and obtain from him one promise, I should die completely happy.” Blanche spoke not: she clasped her hands together with convulsive energy, and her heart only uttered a fervent petition to the Omnipotent for the success of her lover. The Duchess seated herself near the couch of the invalid. “And what, dearest madam!” she said respectfully, “what commands do you leave me for my future conduct to this dear girl whom I love as I do Hyppolito? a day must arrive when other affections than filial ones, will arise in her bosom--how then am I to decide for the Princess of Portugal?” Kara Aziek withdrew her eyes from above, and fixed them on the Duchess: the look which they exchanged at that moment, needed no interpreter. “Decide for her happiness, my kind friend! and let the generous man who may devote himself to the obscure and untitled Blanche, accept the blessing of her dying mother, for her dowry. I have nothing else to bestow.” Drowned in tears, flowing from various sources, Blanche precipitated herself by the side of her mother, covering her hands with kisses; the Duchess resumed, “Such are your sentiments, but what are those of Don Sebastian? Would not he frown on the presumptuous house of Medina Sidonia, were they to hazard a wish for uniting their proudest boast, their brightest hope, with the heiress of Portugal? My Hyppolito feels far more than a brother’s love for our Blanche; his passion is worthy its object, for he loved her ere he knew her rank.”