“No,” said St. Aubert, “this is a light I love. Sit down, my good friend. Emily, my love, I find myself better than I have been all day; this air refreshes me. I can enjoy this tranquil hour, and that music, which floats so sweetly at a distance. Let me see you smile. Who touches that guitar so tastefully? are there two instruments, or is it an echo I hear?” 

 “It is an echo, monsieur, I fancy. That guitar is often heard at night, when all is still, but nobody knows who touches it, and it is sometimes accompanied by a voice so sweet, and so sad, one would almost think the woods were haunted.” “They certainly are haunted,” said St. Aubert with a smile, “but I believe it is by mortals.” “I have sometimes heard it at midnight, when I could not sleep,” rejoined La Voisin, not seeming to notice this remark, “almost under my window, and I never heard any music like it. It has often made me think of my poor wife till I cried. I have sometimes got up to the window to look if I could see anybody, but as soon as I opened the casement all was hushed, and nobody to be seen; and I have listened, and listened till I have been so timorous, that even the trembling of the leaves in the breeze has made me start. They say it often comes to warn people of their death, but I have heard it these many years, and outlived the warning.” 

 Emily, though she smiled at the mention of this ridiculous superstition, could not, in the present tone of her spirits, wholly resist its contagion. 

 “Well, but, my good friend,” said St. Aubert, “has nobody had courage to follow the sounds? If they had, they would probably have discovered who is the musician.” “Yes, sir, they have followed them some way into the woods, but the music has still retreated, and seemed as distant as ever, and the people have at last been afraid of being led into harm, and would go no further. It is very seldom that I have heard these sounds so early in the evening. They usually come about midnight, when that bright planet, which is rising above the turret yonder, sets below the woods on the left.” 

 “What turret?” asked St. Aubert with quickness, “I see none.” 

 “Your pardon, monsieur, you do see one indeed, for the moon shines full upon it;—up the avenue yonder, a long way off; the château it belongs to is hid among the trees.” 

 “Yes, my dear sir,” said Emily, pointing, “don’t you see something glitter above the dark woods? It is a fane, I fancy, which the rays fall upon.” 

 “O yes, I see what you mean; 

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