the parrot slept on its swing, and the bullfinch
on the perch in its cage, and in the pauses of Amanda's voice, the
drowsy cat was heard purring in its evening doze. Nothing was heard
without, except the fitful bark of the Newfoundland dog at some
stray passer by; and, at length, even that had ceased; Mona's needle
was laid aside, the domestics, obedient to the early habits of
country life, were abed, Mona herself had now retired, and Amanda
being left alone, nothing was heard but the measured ticking of
the old clock on the corner of the stairs. The lamp had been taken
away by the departing Mona, and in the obscurity, the moonbeams
fell in grey streaks adown the damask curtains; and after a brief
meditation on the subject of her reading, Amanda rose, noiselessly
ascended the carpeted stairs to her room, approached the window,
drew aside the drapery, and gazed towards Mainville. Thus had she
done each night since the memorable interview with Claude Montigny;
and now not less long did she linger there, but longer; nor thought
of retiring, till, startled at the approaching sound of horses,
she hastily re-closed the curtains; the sound ceased, and she began
slowly to undress. But her thoughts were elsewhere; and, falling
into a reverie, she sat with her raised fingers still upon her
dress, that she was about to withdraw from before her snowy bosom,
when again she heard the sound of hoofs on the road, and soon a
shaking of reins near the gate, and champing of the bit, mingled
with the smothered growl of the awakened Newfoundlander. Divining
the cause, and seized with trembling, she arose, again threw aside
the curtains, and beheld in the moonlight a figure advancing up
the lawn. A moment she gazed upon the apparition; then, scarcely
knowing what she did, opened the folding window, and half within
and half without her chamber, leaning forward into the night,
demanded in a piercing whisper of enquiry and alarm: "Who comes
there? Speak, is it Claude Montigny?"

"It is I, my love, for by what name shall you be called, yet dearer,
worthier than love?" responded the subdued, yet full, clear voice
of Claude. Then, drawing nearer, he continued in an enraptured
tone:

"Oh, my lady, oh, my heart, my love, my life; my mistress now, my
wife that is to be: my breath, my soul; my hope, my happiness, my
all in all; fair presence--but in vain my tongue seeks for the word
that shall embody you, and, like the hunted hare returning to its