the events which had of late so perplexed and tormented it; the
tranquillity of the scene, the bliss of Lilian's presence, had begun to
chase away even that melancholy foreboding which had overshadowed me in
the first moments of our reunion. So we came gradually to converse of the
future,--of the day, not far distant, when we two should be as one. We
planned our bridal excursion. We would visit the scenes endeared to her
by song, to me by childhood,--the banks and waves of my native
Windermere,--our one brief holiday before life returned to labour, and
hearts now so disquieted by hope and joy settled down to the calm serenity
of home.

As we thus talked, the moon, nearly rounded to her full, rose amidst skies
without a cloud. We paused to gaze on her solemn haunting beauty, as
where are the lovers who have not paused to gaze? We were then on the
terrace walk, which commanded a view of the town below. Before us was a
parapet wall, low on the garden side, but inaccessible on the outer side,
forming part of a straggling irregular street that made one of the
boundaries dividing Abbey Hill from Low Town. The lamps of the
thoroughfares, in many a line and row beneath us, stretched far away,
obscured, here and there, by intervening roofs and tall church towers.
The hum of the city came to our ears, low and mellowed into a lulling
sound. It was not displeasing to be reminded that there was a world
without, as close and closer we drew each to each,--worlds to one another!
Suddenly there carolled forth the song of a human voice,--a wild,
irregular, half-savage melody, foreign, uncomprehended words,--air and
words not new to me. I recognized the voice and chant of Margrave. I
started, and uttered an angry exclamation.

"Hush!" whispered Lilian, and I felt her frame shiver within my encircling
arm. "Hush! listen! Yes; I have heard that voice before--last night--"