“Just two short nights ago,” so spoke Luella’s diary, “our only surviving parent went home to the Father who gave her life; her pale hands clasping the silver crucifix to her still heart, and her last faint breath used to speak to her dearest earthly treasures. ‘You must be Arabel’s mother, Luella, and perform your own life-task well,’ was her only counsel to me. To Christa she said still less, doubtless knowing that she had her father’s strong intellect and thorough knowledge of human nature. Arabel was her principal thought, and no wonder, either, she is so young and inexperienced. I wish I could remember half that I have heard her say. I wonder why she said so many times, ‘if you would escape a life of unhappiness, remember what I say, and never, never wed an infidel.’” But we are making a short story too long. Suffice it to say that the girls soon learned to take each her own place at the vineyard, and direct the laborers at their work with quiet ease. “It is not often that we meet now, Claud says,” murmured Arabel, “after being six months in the vineyard; but I know he likes his wild home better than this, and surely I do, it is so very pleasant to have no confinement to certain hours of labor. Tonight I am going again to the fortress--joy! joy!” And she went fearlessly as the wild bird to its mountain nest, trustingly as the lamb to the shepherd’s fold. Claud was walking on the battlements, with his eyes fixed upon the ground. Arabel ascended the steps and commenced the promenade. Four times they met and passed each other; then, trembling with a strange apprehension, she approached and laid her white hand on his arm. He started as though just awakened from a dream. “Is it you, Bel?” he said, and pressed a kiss on her pallid brow, then led her out from the deep shadow to where they could see the moonlight resting on the waves. “Claud, I am afraid of you,” Arabel said, soberly. “What makes your hand tremble, and your cheek so pale?” and she looked earnestly into his face. “Poor child!” said Claud, sadly. Arabel heard it, and answered quickly, “O, Claud, I am not a child! I can bear to know anything. See how strong I am!” and she drew her hand from his arm and stood before him. Claud smiled, sadly and said, “We are twins in sorrow now; both alone, Bel!” Slowly the blood left her face, and her hands clasped nervously together. “Tell me what you mean, Claud,” she said, as she only half understood him; “tell me if you have no father!”