The dresses of the twain were even more dissimilar than the character of the features. His costume was a tight jacket and expansive trowsers, belted with an Indian sash, which, while it displayed the symmetry of a faultless figure, permitted the wearer to put forth his strength with graceful freedom. Had his wild profession been doubtful, the Albanian cap, ornamented pistols, sabre and poniard, would have betrayed his calling. His beautiful companion wore the dress of the Ursulines; the back-turned hood displayed the sweetest face imaginable, while the hand that rested on the rover’s arm, as if to stay his departure, might have formed a study for Canova. The picture fascinated me; all was forgotten while I gazed upon it. I looked again. Despite the darkening influence of sun and storm, a thick moustache, and foreign costume, the corsair’s aspect was decidedly British. It was a fair skin embrowned by climate, with which a wild and martial carriage and hair of raven blackness accorded well. Wrapped in silent admiration--now gazing on “the bold brigand”--now enraptured with the sweet gentleness of the confiding girl, who seemed ready to abandon “home and heaven” for “her wild love,” I did not hear the door open until the host was almost standing at my side. Addressing me in a voice of peculiar sweetness, he bade me a warm welcome, apologized for not receiving me in the hall; and then telling me that supper was in readiness, he led me with excellent tact into a general conversation. We talked on indifferent subjects for a few minutes, while gradually my self-possession returned. Although described by the unknown as stern and suspicious, and by Andy as misanthropic and unamiable, my host seemed kind and hospitable to a marvel. Just then the door opened again, a girl of remarkable beauty glided in, and Mr. Hartley led her forward. “This, sir,” said he, “is my daughter; and this gentleman, Isidora, is our guest.” We both cast down our eyes; she in maiden timidity colouring to the very brow, and I--I shame to own it--blushing like a country orator addressing “the unwashed” for the first time. I muttered a confused apology for an intrusion at that late hour, said something about bad roads, a lame horse, and Heaven knows what beside, to which she gave a gentle acceptation. I raised my eyes. By heaven! there stood the corsair’s mistress! ay, there in youthful loveliness--and the host,--all his bland expression gone, as, steadily regarding us, he looked with scornful indifference beneath his coal-black brows (but that his years doubled the corsair’s in the painting,)--his haughty curl of lip and eyebrow would have half persuaded me that he had himself been a rover of the sea.