place and steal after the Voice and its owner. Where
can she be going? Not far. She springs up the hill whereon the lords of
the castle once administered justice,--that hill which commands the
land far and wide, and from which can be last caught the glimpse of the
westering sun. How gracefully still is that attitude of wistful repose!
Into what delicate curves do form and drapery harmoniously flow! How
softly distinct stands the lithe image against the purple hues of
the sky! Then again comes the sweet voice, gay and carolling as a
bird's,--now in snatches of song, now in playful appeals to that dull
four-footed friend. She is telling him something that must make the
black ears stand on end, for I just catch the words, "He is coming," and
"home."

I cannot see the sun set where I lurk in my ambush amidst the brake and
the ruins, but I feel that the orb has passed from the landscape, in the
fresher air of the twilight, in the deeper silence of eve. Lo! Hesper
comes forth; at his signal, star after star, come the hosts,--

"Ch' eran con lui, quando l' amor divino,
Mosse da prima quelle cose belle!"

And the sweet voice is hushed.

Then slowly the watcher descends the hill on the opposite side; the form
escapes from my view. What charm has gone from the twilight? See, again,
where the step steals through the ruins and along the desolate court.
Ah! deep and true heart, do I divine the remembrance that leads thee?
I pass through the wicket, down the dell, skirt the laurels, and behold
the face looking up to the stars,--the face which had nestled to my
breast in the sorrow of parting years, long years ago; on the grave
where we had sat,--I the boy, thou the infant,--there, O Blanche, is thy
fair face, fairer than the fondest dream that had gladdened my exile,
vouchsafed to my gaze!

"Blanche, my cousin! again, again,--soul with soul, amidst the dead!
Look up, Blanche; it is I."

CHAPTER IV.

"Go in first and prepare them, dear Blanche; I will wait by the door.
Leave it ajar, that I may see them."

Roland is leaning against the wall, old armor suspended over the gray
head of the soldier. It is but a glance that I give to the dark cheek
and high brow: no change there for the worse,--no new sign of decay.
Rather, if anything, Roland seems younger than when I left. Calm is the
brow,--no shame on it now, Roland; and the lips, once so compressed,
smile with ease,--no struggle now, Roland, "not to complain