Drawing the wrapper around her form, she lighted a lamp, and was about to quit the chamber, when her eyes suddenly encountered the mild and benignant glance which the portrait of a lady appeared to cast upon her. This portrait, which hung against the wall precisely opposite to the bed, represented a woman of about thirty years of age--a woman of a beauty much in the same style as that of Nisida, but not marred by anything approaching to a sternness of expression. On the contrary, if an angel had looked through those mild black eyes, their glances could not have been endowed with a holier kindness; the smiles of good spirits could not be more plaintively sweet than those which the artist had made to play upon the lips of that portrait. Yet, in spite of this discrepancy between the expression of Nisida's countenance and that of the lady who had formed the subject of the picture, it was not difficult to perceive a certain physical likeness between the two; nor will the reader be surprised when we state that Nisida was gazing on the portrait of her deceased mother. And that gaze--oh! how intent, how earnest, how enthusiastic it was! It manifested something more than love--something more impassioned and ardent than the affection which a daughter might exhibit toward even a living mother; it showed a complete devotion--an adoration--a worship! Long and fixedly did Nisida gaze upon that portrait; till suddenly from her eyes, which shot forth such burning glances, gushed a torrent of tears. Then--probably fearful lest this weakness on her part might impair the resolution necessary to execute the purpose which she had in view--Nisida dashed away the tears from her long lashes, hastily quitted the room. Having traversed the other two apartments of her own suit, she cast a searching glance along the passage which she now entered; and, satisfied that none of the domestics were about, for it was not yet six o'clock on that winter's morning, she hastened to the end of the corridor. The lamp flared with the speed at which she walked; and its uncertain light enhanced the pallor that now covered her countenance. At the bottom of the passage she cautiously opened the door, and entered the room with which it communicated. This was the sleeping apartment of her brother. A single glance convinced her that he was wrapt in the arms of slumber. He slept soundly too--for he was wearied with the vigil which he had passed by the death-bed of his father--worn out also by the thousand conflicting and unsatisfactory conjectures that the last instructions of his parent had naturally excited in his mind. He had not, however, been asleep a quarter of an hour when Nisida stole, in the manner described, into his chamber. A smile of mingled joy and triumph animated her countenance, and a carnation tinge flushed her cheeks when she found he was fast locked in the embrace of slumber.