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?”
“Oh, Clara! how can you call this lovely spot dull? I wish so much that father would let me stay here all the year, instead of spending half of it in that nasty Havana, where one is bothered all the day with foppish cavalleros, dressed to death, and thinking of nothing but their own sweet selves; and all the evenings with parties or the theatre.”
“Well, Miss Rusticity, you can stay here, and flirt with boors, and look at the water and flowers, as long as you please; but I intend to have father take me to that “nasty Havana,” as you call it, next week.”
Her words Francisca found were true, for in a few days after this conversation, an unusual bustle about the quiet mansion, the harnessing of horses and mules, and the noise of servants, gave evidence of a removal. The family were about starting for the capital of the island. We will not, however, accompany them over their long and rough road, but will join them in Havana, the day after their arrival at Don Manuel’s splendid town-house.