affect the listener half with delight, half with
awe, as if some demon creature of the desert
were mimicking man for its own merriment.
The chant now had changed into an air of
defying glee, of menacing exultation; it might have
been the triumphant war-song of some antique
barbarian tribe. The note was sinister; a shudder
passed through me, and Lilian had closed
her eyes, and was sighing heavily; then with a
rapid change, sweet as the coo with which an
Arab mother lulls her babe to sleep, the melody
died away. "There, there, look," murmured
Lilian, moving from me, "the same I saw last
night in sleep; the same I saw in the space
above, on the evening I first knew you!"

Her eyes were fixed—her hand raised; my
look followed hers, and rested on the face and
form of Margrave. The moon shone full upon
him, so full as if concentrating all its light upon
his image. The place on which he stood (a
balcony to the upper story of a house about
fifty yards distant) was considerably above the
level of the terrace from which we gazed on him.
His arms were folded on his breast, and he
appeared to be looking straight towards us.
Even at that distance the lustrous youth of his
countenance appeared to me terribly distinct,
and the light of his wondrous eye seemed to rest
upon us in one lengthened, steady ray through
the limpid moonshine. Involuntarily I seized
Lilian's hand, and drew her away almost by force,
for she was unwilling to move, and as I led her
back, she turned her head to look round; I, too,
turned in jealous rage! I breathed more freely.
Margrave had disappeared.

"How came he there? It is not his hotel.
Whose house is it?" I said aloud, though
speaking to myself.

Lilian remained silent; her eyes fixed upon
the ground as if in deep reverie. I took her
hand; it did not return my pressure. I felt
cut to the heart when she drew coldly from me
that hand, till then so frankly cordial. I
stopped short: "Lilian, what is this? you are
chilled towards me. Can the mere sound of that
man's voice, the mere glimpse of that man's face,
have——" I paused; I did not dare to complete
my question.

Lilian lifted her eyes to mine, and I saw at
once in those eyes a change. Their look was
cold; not haughty, but abstracted. "I do not
understand you," she said, in a weary, listless
accent. "It is growing late; I must go in."

So we walked on moodily, no longer arm in
arm, nor hand in hand. Then, it occurred to me
that, the next day, Lilian would be in that narrow
world of society; that there she could scarcely
fail to hear of Margrave, to meet, to know him.
Jealousy seized me with all its imaginary terrors,
and amidst that jealousy a nobler, purer
apprehension for herself. Had I been Lilian's brother
instead of her betrothed, I should not have trembled
less to foresee the shadow of Margrave's
mysterious influence passing over a mind so
predisposed to the charm which Mystery itself has
for those whose thoughts fuse their outlines in
fancies;—whose world melts away into Dreamland.
Therefore I spoke.

"Lilian, at the risk of offending you—alas! I
have never done so before this night—I must
address to you a prayer which I implore you
not to regard as the dictate of a suspicion
unworthy you and myself. The person whom you
have just heard and seen is, at present, much
courted in the circles of this town. I entreat
you not to permit any one to introduce him to
you. I entreat you not to know him. I cannot
tell you all my reasons for this petition;
enough that I pledge you my honour that those
reasons are grave. Trust, then, in my truth as I
trust in yours. Be assured that I stretch not the
rights which your heart has bestowed upon mine
in the promise I ask, as I shall be freed from all
fear by a promise which I know will be sacred
when once it is given."

"What promise?" asked Lilian, absently, as
if she had not heard my words.

"What promise? Why, to refuse all acquaintance
with that man; his name is Margrave. Promise
me, dearest, promise me."

"Why is your voice so changed?" said Lilian.
"Its tone jars on my ear," she added, with a
peevishness so unlike her, that it startled me
more than it offended; and, without a word
further, she quickened her pace, and entered the
house.

For the rest of the evening we were both taciturn
and distant towards each other. In vain
Mrs. Ashleigh kindly sought to break down
our mutual reserve. I felt that I had the right
to be resentful, and I clung to that right the
more because Lilian made no attempt at
reconciliation. This, too, was wholly unlike herself, for
her temper was ordinarily sweet—sweet to the
extreme of meekness; saddened if the slightest
misunderstanding between us had ever vexed
me, and yearning to ask forgiveness if a look or
a word had pained me. I was in hopes that, before
I went away, peace between us would be restored.
But long ere her usual hour for retiring to rest,
she rose abruptly, and complaining of fatigue and
headache, wished me good night, and avoided
the hand I sorrowfully held out to her as I
opened the door.

"You must have been very unkind to poor
Lilian," said Mrs. Ashleigh, between jest and
earnest, "for I never saw her so cross to you
before. And the first day of her return, too!"

"The fault is not mine," said I, somewhat
sullenly; "I did but ask Lilian, and that as a
humble prayer, not to make the acquaintance of
a stranger in this town against whom I have
reasons for distrust and aversion. I know not
why that prayer should displease her."

"Nor I. Who is the stranger?"

"A person who calls himself Margrave. Let
me at least entreat you to avoid him?"

"Oh, I have no desire to make acquaintance
with strangers. But, now Lilian is gone, do tell
me all about this dreadful murder? The