They were the only children of Don Manuel Velasquez, a Spaniard of immense wealth, and of noble family, who in his youth had been sent from Spain, in a government capacity of some importance, to Cuba. He became deeply attached to, and married a beautiful Creole girl, and settled upon the island, after the expiration of his official engagement, rather than remove his loved Cubanean bride from the scenes of her childhood. She, the idol of his youth and the treasure of his riper years, had died, a short twelvemonth prior to the commencement of our tale; and Don Manuel, who was a Spaniard of the old school, proud, stern, bigoted, and of strong prejudices, a great stickler for etiquette and form, though naturally kind-hearted and hospitable, gave sufficient evidence of his sorrow, by his increased devotion to, and fondness for, the two sweet pledges of his heart’s only affection, the legacy of his departed wife; he seemed to live but to minister to their wants; their slightest wish was his law; and every thing that wealth could command, or kind solicitude imagine, was brought to increase their happiness. Clara, the eldest, was rather above the medium height; with a graceful figure, jet-black hair, dark eyes, perfectly formed features, and a complexion such as is only found in the daughters of Spain, (and rarely there,) as purely white as alabaster; and was surpassingly beautiful, notwithstanding the haughty expression of her mouth and eye, and the air of command that pervaded her motions. Francisca was the opposite of her sister; rather too short than otherwise; her features were not so regular as Clara’s; but the love and kindness that shone forth in her brilliant eye, and the sweet smile that played around her mouth, more than compensated for any want of symmetry. Their dispositions were as different as their outward contour. Clara was cold, proud and haughty; inheriting all the sterner traits of her father’s character: she was calculated to figure in the gay world, or to shine in a ball-room. Francisca was all heart, with a gentle and affectionate disposition, yet capable, when her feelings were interested, of the greatest exertions and sacrifices; she was one born to love and be loved; and was made for either unequaled happiness or misery. But let us return to where we first discovered them, in the piazza of their father’s house. They had been for some time quietly contemplating the fairy scene, when the silence was broken by the soft musical voice of Francisca. “Hermanita cara, mi alma,[1] what troubles you? How, this lovely evening, can you look so sad?” “Have I not enough to distress me, Niña?[2] Who on earth, but you, could be cheerful and contented cooped up in this dull out-of-the-way place?”