Montigny listened a moment, then replied soothingly:
“Dismiss these pale-cheeked panics, for you hear nothing; or if you do it is but the common voices of the night. It is merely the hoarse bullfrog croaking in the swamp; and the green grasshopper a chirrupping in the meadow; for, saving these, all nature with myself is listening to you. Be reassured: there is nothing, but what your own excited fancy has conjured: even the wind has ceased to sigh amongst the leaves; the moon stands still, and her arrested beam no longer draws the shadow on the dreamy dial. Then, proceed, my love, for when you speak you fill my ears with heaven, but when you pause then opens the abyss.”
“Yet listen; I hear it again:” she said; “it was not fancy; no.”
“What else? what can befall you, love, whilst I am here?” he murmured.
“Nothing, I hope,” she answered, falteringly.
“Then nothing dread.”
“I dread to say it, yet I must: Good night.”
“Already?” he demanded.
“All too long!” cried an imperious voice; and the advocate stood before them.
“Amanda, ah, Amanda, Miss Macdonald,” he continued, “is it thus you fool us? Go, bird, into your cage. Nurse, take my lady in.” And Amanda beheld behind her the melancholy Mona, half shrouded in a cloak covering her night attire.