all_ to him, and again he was starting
onward, when his steps were arrested by sounds that mingled with the
cooing of the wood-pigeon among "the umbrageous multitude of leaves."

Other sounds were none at that stillest hour of the still sultry
evening; and among the mingled tones, Walter's ear caught some not to be
mistaken, for the voice that uttered them was that of Adrienne. Its
breathings were, however, in a higher and less mellifluous key than
those of the plaintive bird; but a third voice, sweeter than either,
uttered a low undertone, and _that_ voice was the voice of Madelaine.
Quick was the ear of Walter to recognise and distinguish those familiar
accents, but its sense of melody yielded _of course_ to the fond
prejudice, which could not have been expected to find harshness in the
tones of his mistress, or allow superior sweetness to those of another
voice. Whatever were his secret thoughts on that head, it is not to be
supposed that at such a moment he stopped to compare the "wood-notes
wild," as coolly and critically as if he were weighing the merits of a
pair of opera-singers. No--after a second of attention--not half a one
of doubt--he sprang aside from the road leading to the mansion, and was
lightly and swiftly threading the tortuous woodpath, and could now
discern, through one of its bowery archways, the sparkling of the little
fountain that played before one of the three entrances to the pavilion,
and another turn of the sylvan puzzle would have brought him to the
spot; but in his impatience he lost the well-known clue, and in a moment
found himself at the back, instead of the front of the small temple.
The corner would have been rounded at three steps; but at that
critical moment, a word spoken by the most vehement of the fair
colloquists--spoken at the highest key of a voice, whose powers Walter
was now for the first time fully aware of--arrested his steps as by art
magic. His own name was uttered, associated with words of such strange
import, that Walter's astonishment, overpowering his reflective
faculties, made him excusable in remaining, as he did, rooted to the
spot, a listener to what passed within.

That strange colloquy consisted, on one side, of taunts, and
accusations, and menaces. On the other, of a few deprecating words--a
sigh or two--and something like a suppressed sob--and lastly, of an
assurance, uttered with a trembling voice, that the speaker "never had
harboured the slightest thoug