Accordingly, Leonella left Madrid, sincerely grieved at her
Sister's illness, and giving some few sighs to the memory of the
amiable but inconstant Don Christoval. She was fully persuaded
that at first She had made a terrible breach in his heart: But
hearing nothing more of him, She supposed that He had quitted the
pursuit, disgusted by the lowness of her origin, and knowing upon
other terms than marriage He had nothing to hope from such a
Dragon of Virtue as She professed herself; Or else, that being
naturally capricious and changeable, the remembrance of her
charms had been effaced from the Conde's heart by those of some
newer Beauty. Whatever was the cause of her losing him, She
lamented it sorely. She strove in vain, as She assured every
body who was kind enough to listen to her, to tear his image from
her too susceptible heart. She affected the airs of a lovesick
Virgin, and carried them all to the most ridiculous excess. She
heaved lamentable sighs, walked with her arms folded, uttered
long soliloquies, and her discourse generally turned upon some
forsaken Maid who expired of a broken heart! Her fiery locks
were always ornamented with a garland of willow; Every evening
She was seen straying upon the Banks of a rivulet by Moonlight;
and She declared herself a violent Admirer of murmuring Streams
and Nightingales;
'Of lonely haunts, and twilight Groves,
'Places which pale Passion loves!'
Such was the state of Leonella's mind, when obliged to quit
Madrid.
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