y heart, be gay;
And still I know not why,--
Thou answerest with a sigh,
(Fond heart!) Ah me!--
Ah me!

3.

As this twilight o'er the skies,
Doubt brings the sorrow;
Who knows when the daylight dies,
What waits the morrow?
Ah me, ah me!
Be blithe, be blithe, my lute,
Thy strings will soon be mute;
Be blithe--hark! while it dies,
The note forewarning, sighs
Its last--Ah me!
Ah me!

"My own Adeline--my sweetest night-bird," half-whispered Montreal, and
softly approaching, he threw himself at his lady's feet--"thy song is
too sad for this golden eve."

"No sound ever went to the heart," said Adrian, "whose arrow was not
feathered by sadness. True sentiment, Montreal, is twin with melancholy,
though not with gloom."

The lady looked softly and approvingly up at Adrian's face; she was
pleased with its expression; she was pleased yet more with words of
which women rather than men would acknowledge the truth. Adrian returned
the look with one of deep and eloquent sympathy and respect; in fact,
the short story he had heard from Montreal had interested him deeply in
her; and never to the brilliant queen, to whose court he was bound, did
his manner wear so chivalric and earnest a homage as it did to that lone
and ill-fated lady on the twilight shores of Terracina.

Adeline blushed slightly and sighed; and then, to break the awkwardness
of a pause which had stolen over them, as Montreal, unheeding the last
remark of Adrian, was tuning the strings of the lute, she said--"Of
course the Signor di Castello shares the universal enthusiasm for
Petrarch?"

"Ay," cried Montreal; "my lady is Petrarch mad, like the rest of them:
but all I know is, that never did belted knight and honest lover woo in
such fantastic and tortured strains."

"In Italy," answered Adrian, "common language is exaggeration;--but even
your own Troubadour poetry might tell you that love, ever seeking a new
language of its own, cannot but often run into what to all but lovers
seems distortion and conceit."

"Come, dear Signor," said Montreal, placing the lute in Adrian's hands,
"let Adeline be the umpire between us, which music--yours or mine--can
woo the more blandly."

"Ah," said Adrian, laughing; "I fear me, Sir Knight, you have already
bribed the umpire."

Montreal's eyes and Adeline's met; and in that gaze Adeline forgot all
her sorrows.

With a practised and