him, she had not scrupled to believe
that he was the author of the sonnets.

As these considerations passed over her mind, joy, fear and tenderness
contended at her heart; she leaned again from the casement to catch the
sounds, which might confirm, or destroy her hope, though she did
not recollect to have ever heard him sing; but the voice, and the
instrument, now ceased.

She considered for a moment whether she should venture to speak: then,
not choosing, lest it should be he, to mention his name, and yet too
much interested to neglect the opportunity of enquiring, she called from
the casement, 'Is that song from Gascony?' Her anxious attention was
not cheered by any reply; every thing remained silent. Her impatience
increasing with her fears, she repeated the question; but still no sound
was heard, except the sighings of the wind among the battlements above;
and she endeavoured to console herself with a belief, that the stranger,
whoever he was, had retired, before she had spoken, beyond the reach
of her voice, which, it appeared certain, had Valancourt heard and
recognized, he would instantly have replied to. Presently, however, she
considered, that a motive of prudence, and not an accidental removal,
might occasion his silence; but the surmise, that led to this
reflection, suddenly changed her hope and joy to terror and grief; for,
if Valancourt were in the castle, it was too probable, that he was here
a prisoner, taken with some of his countrymen, many of whom were at that
time engaged in the wars of Italy, or intercepted in some attempt to
reach her. Had he even recollected Emily's voice, he would have feared,
in these circumstances, to reply to it, in the presence of the men, who
guarded his prison.

What so lately she had eagerly hoped she now believed she
dreaded;--dreaded to know, that Valancourt was near her; and, while she
was anxious to be relieved from her apprehension for his safety, she
still was unconscious, that a hope of soon seeing him, struggled with
the fear.

She remained listening at the casement, till the air began to freshen,
and one high mountain in the east to glimmer with the morning; when,
wearied with anxiety, she retired to her couch, where she found
it utterly impossible to sleep, for joy, tenderness, doubt and
apprehension, distracted her during the whole night. Now she rose from
the couch, and opened the casement to listen; then she would pace the
room with impatient steps, and,