In a few moments the voice died into air, and the instrument, which had
been heard before, sounded in low symphony. St. Aubert now observed,
that it produced a tone much more full and melodious than that of a
guitar, and still more melancholy and soft than the lute. They continued
to listen, but the sounds returned no more. 'This is strange!' said St.
Aubert, at length interrupting the silence. 'Very strange!' said Emily.
'It is so,' rejoined La Voisin, and they were again silent.

After a long pause, 'It is now about eighteen years since I first heard
that music,' said La Voisin; 'I remember it was on a fine summer's
night, much like this, but later, that I was walking in the woods, and
alone. I remember, too, that my spirits were very low, for one of my
boys was ill, and we feared we should lose him. I had been watching at
his bed-side all the evening while his mother slept; for she had sat
up with him the night before. I had been watching, and went out for a
little fresh air, the day had been very sultry. As I walked under the
shades and mused, I heard music at a distance, and thought it was
Claude playing upon his flute, as he often did of a fine evening, at
the cottage door. But, when I came to a place where the trees opened, (I
shall never forget it!) and stood looking up at the north-lights, which
shot up the heaven to a great height, I heard all of a sudden such
sounds!--they came so as I cannot describe. It was like the music of
angels, and I looked up again almost expecting to see them in the sky.
When I came home, I told what I had heard, but they laughed at me, and
said it must be some of the shepherds playing on their pipes, and I
could not persuade them to the contrary. A few nights after, however, my
wife herself heard the same sounds, and was as much surprised as I was,
and Father Denis frightened her sadly by saying, that it was music come
to warn her of her child's death, and that music often came to houses
where there was a dying person.'

Emily, on hearing this, shrunk with a superstitious dread entirely new
to her, and could scarcely conceal her agitation from St. Aubert.

'But the boy lived, monsieur, in spite of Father Denis.'

'Father Denis!' said St. Aubert, who had listened to 'narrative old age'
with patient attention, 'are we near a convent, then?'

'Yes, sir; the convent of St. Clair stands at no great distance, on the
sea shore yonder.'

'Ah!' said St. Aubert, as if struck with som