loud
barking of a dog, which lay in his kennel below the window; and it was
presently answered by a low, protracted whistle, that instantly quelled
the vigilant animal's irritation. Arthur mechanically raised his head,
to ascertain who was intruding on the silence of that lonely hour, and
saw a figure approaching, with quick, light footsteps, which a glance
assured him was M. de Valette. He was already near the building, and
soon stopped beneath a window in a projecting angle, which he appeared
to examine with great attention. Arthur felt a painful suspicion that
this casement belonged to Lucie's apartment, and, as it was nearly
opposite his own, he drew back, to avoid being observed, though he
watched, with intense interest, the motions of De Valette. The young
Frenchman applied a flute to his lips, and played a few notes of a
lively air,--then, suddenly breaking off, he changed the measure into
one so soft and plaintive, that the sounds seemed to float, like aerial
harmony, upon the stillness of the night. He paused, and looked
earnestly toward the window: the moon shone brightly against it, but all
was quiet within, and around, while he sang, in a clear and manly voice,
the following serenade:

Awake, my love! the moon on high
Shines in the deep blue, arched sky,
And through the clust'ring woodbine peeps.
To seek the couch where Lucie sleeps.

Awake, my love! for see, afar,
Shines, soft and bright, the evening star;
But oh! its brightest beams must die,
Beneath the light of Lucie's eye.

Awake, my love! dost thou not hear
The night-bird's carol, wild and clear?
But not its sweetest notes detain
When Lucie breathes her sweeter strain.

Awake, my love! the fragrant gale
Steals odours from yon spicy vale;
But can the richly perfum'd air
With Lucie's balmy breath compare?

Awake, my love! for all around,
With beauty, pleasure, hope, is crown'd
But hope nor pleasure dawn on me,
Till Lucie's graceful form I see.

Awake, my love! for in thy bower,
Thy lover spends the lonely hour;--
She hears me!--from the lattice screen
Behold my Lucie gently lean!

The window had, indeed, slowly opened, towards the conclusion of the
song, and Arthur observed some one,--Lucie, he doubted not,--standing
before it, partially concealed by the folds of a curtain.

"Sung like a troubadour!" exclaimed a voice, which he could not mista