Every one seemed spell-bound till the air was done, and Jane Lambert spoke; but Juxon and Arthur now ran again to the beechery, and in a few minutes returned without better success than before.
"Well," said Jane Lambert, "we shall soon find out who it is that this dainty spirit is come to honour; for if it be Sophy or me, we shall have him flying with us on a bat's back all the way to the Grange; and if it be you, dear Kate, you will have more music than sleep to-night."
Katharine was spared all reply by Sir Oliver gravely saying, "that he remembered when he was a boy that beechery was said to be haunted, and that whenever the white lady appeared it boded evil to the family at Milverton." This old Philip had already mentioned to the servants, who stood grouped at the gate of the court-yard on the right, but none of whom had dared to venture down to the spot whence the music came, though they had seen all which passed.
Master Cuthbert ventured to observe, that the music was not like the wailing of a ghost, which came as a forerunner of grief; nor was it of such solemnity, that a spirit from heaven could take delight in it: and he doubted not that the minstrel was plain flesh and blood; that he had, probably, been arrested by the sounds of their little concert, had amused himself by responding to them with his own pleasant instrument, and had practised cleverly upon their curiosity by the nimbleness with which he had evaded their search. But Sir Oliver shook his head at this natural explanation of the mystery; and the Lamberts and Juxon, after putting their lips to a stirrup cup of spiced wine, took leave of their host, and the trampling of their horses soon died away in the distance.
Why, alas! and are you he? Be not yet those fancies changed? SIDNEY.
To Katharine there had been no mystery: she could not doubt that the invisible minstrel was her cousin Francis, and that he was again too near for her peace or his own.
Yet such is the sweet treachery of a loving heart, that she could not be sad to know, that one so dearly, though so hopelessly, attached to her, was perhaps within sight of the very window of her apartment, and standing upon some spot where they had formerly walked together in joy. Though resolved not to grant him more than one interview, and to dissuade him from seeking any future opportunities of intercourse, she could not but admit a natural feeling of delight, that she should once more, though but for a few brief moments, look upon him, and listen to his well remembered voice. In the solitude of her chamber she found that relief and freedom of thought which her spirit needed: her wakeful night was passed in reviewing former, and in shaping out future scenes; but of this last exercise of the mind she soon grew weary, for doubt hung over all her future prospects. It was about two hours after midnight, and the house was quite still, when Katharine, in a frame of mind that ill agreed with sleep and peace, arose, and wrapped in her night robe leaned from the casement of her chamber, and gazed out upon the fields and woods, and caught the sheen of the river as it glided beneath the holy moon. The scene was calm, the air serene, and her anxious spirit was soothed by contemplation. She remained long at the window; and as she was retiring turned her eyes to the left, where, beyond the Lime Walk, she could see the black shade of her favourite cedar near the fish-pond. In the moonlight near it she discerned the figure of a man walking slowly upon the grass. Her heart beat quick in her bosom; she leaned her brow against the wall: that surely was Francis. A projection of the building threw such a shadow over her window, that her figure could not be seen, and therefore she again looked forth and cast her eyes towards the cedar. The figure near paced slowly backwards and forwards, occasionally pausing for a minute or more, as if gazing at the house. Certainly it was Francis. Forbidden all access to the mansion by the angry prejudices of Sir Oliver, he had recourse to music to tell her of his return. They had often watched the moonbeams together from the terrace below; they had often been sheltered together beneath the broad arms of that very cedar in the heats of noon, till, suddenly, as by surprise, they loved and after shunned each other, from the sad knowledge that the barriers to their union were many, were cold, and were impassable. As all these after-thoughts crossed her noble mind, she suffered herself to look upon her cousin where he kept his lonely vigil, with that deep interest which must ever be inseparable from that being in whose heart we know that our image is enshrined and cherished.