The Mysteries of Udolpho

Emily, trembling with hope and fear, opened

her casement to listen, and to try whether her own voice could be

heard by the musician; for to endure any longer this state of torturing

suspense concerning Valancourt, seemed to be utterly impossible. There

was a kind of breathless stillness in the chambers, that permitted her

to distinguish from below the tender notes of the very lute she had

formerly heard, and with it, a plaintive voice, made sweeter by the low

rustling sound, that now began to creep along the wood-tops, till it

was lost in the rising wind.

Their tall heads then began to wave, while,

through a forest of pine, on the left, the wind, groaning heavily,

rolled onward over the woods below, bending them almost to their roots;

and, as the long-resounding gale swept away, other woods, on the

right, seemed to answer the 'loud lament;' then, others, further still,

softened it into a murmur, that died into silence. Emily listened,

with mingled awe and expectation, hope and fear; and again the melting

sweetness of the lute was heard, and the same solemn-breathing voice.

Convinced that these came from an apartment underneath, she leaned far

out of her window, that she might discover whether any light was there;

but the casements below, as well as those above, were sunk so deep in

the thick walls of the castle, that she could not see them, or even the

faint ray, that probably glimmered through their bars. She then ventured

to call; but the wind bore her voice to the other end of the terrace,

and then the music was heard as before, in the pause of the gust.

Suddenly, she thought she heard a noise in her chamber, and she drew

herself within the casement; but, in a moment after, distinguishing

Annette's voice at the door, she concluded it was her she had heard

before, and she let her in. 'Move softly, Annette, to the casement,'

said she, 'and listen with me; the music is returned.' They were silent

till, the measure changing, Annette exclaimed, 'Holy Virgin! I know that

song well; it is a French song, one of the favourite songs of my dear

country.' This was the ballad Emily had heard on a former night, though

not the one she had first listened to from the fishing-house in Gascony.

'O! it is a Frenchman, that sings,' said Annette: 'it must be Monsieur

Valancourt.' 'Hark! Annette, do not speak so loud,' said Emily, 'we may

be overheard.' 'What! by the Chevalier?' said Annette. 'No,' replied

Emily mournfully, 'but by somebody, who may report us to the Signor.