Emily, trembling with hope and fear, opened
her casement to listen, and to try whether her own voice could be
heard by the musician; for to endure any longer this state of torturing
suspense concerning Valancourt, seemed to be utterly impossible. There
was a kind of breathless stillness in the chambers, that permitted her
to distinguish from below the tender notes of the very lute she had
formerly heard, and with it, a plaintive voice, made sweeter by the low
rustling sound, that now began to creep along the wood-tops, till it
was lost in the rising wind.
Their tall heads then began to wave, while,
through a forest of pine, on the left, the wind, groaning heavily,
rolled onward over the woods below, bending them almost to their roots;
and, as the long-resounding gale swept away, other woods, on the
right, seemed to answer the 'loud lament;' then, others, further still,
softened it into a murmur, that died into silence. Emily listened,
with mingled awe and expectation, hope and fear; and again the melting
sweetness of the lute was heard, and the same solemn-breathing voice.
Convinced that these came from an apartment underneath, she leaned far
out of her window, that she might discover whether any light was there;
but the casements below, as well as those above, were sunk so deep in
the thick walls of the castle, that she could not see them, or even the
faint ray, that probably glimmered through their bars. She then ventured
to call; but the wind bore her voice to the other end of the terrace,
and then the music was heard as before, in the pause of the gust.
Suddenly, she thought she heard a noise in her chamber, and she drew
herself within the casement; but, in a moment after, distinguishing
Annette's voice at the door, she concluded it was her she had heard
before, and she let her in. 'Move softly, Annette, to the casement,'
said she, 'and listen with me; the music is returned.' They were silent
till, the measure changing, Annette exclaimed, 'Holy Virgin! I know that
song well; it is a French song, one of the favourite songs of my dear
country.' This was the ballad Emily had heard on a former night, though
not the one she had first listened to from the fishing-house in Gascony.
'O! it is a Frenchman, that sings,' said Annette: 'it must be Monsieur
Valancourt.' 'Hark! Annette, do not speak so loud,' said Emily, 'we may
be overheard.' 'What! by the Chevalier?' said Annette. 'No,' replied
Emily mournfully, 'but by somebody, who may report us to the Signor.