"You had better keep out of the moonlight, my good lord," said Hungerford, carelessly. "Stay, I will throw on a hood and come with you."
"I would rather be alone," answered Lord Fulmer; and, taking up his lamp, he left the room.
Hurrying along the narrow passage, he soon reached that large open sort of vestibule, which I have mentioned, in one of the square flanking towers; and there he paused, and stood for a moment or two with his eyes fixed upon the ground in deep thought. After a while, a sound, as of voices singing, came upon his ear. At first it did not wake him from his reverie; but gradually it seemed to steal upon his senses and call his thoughts, at least in some degree, from that which had previously occupied them. There were seats on either side; and, setting down the lamp on one of them, he opened the window which looked to the south west, and through which the moonlight was streaming. The music then became more distinct, though it evidently proceeded from a great distance. It was calm, and sweet, and solemn; a strain of exquisite melody, not so rich and full in the harmony, indeed, as the anthems or masses of the Roman church, but yet apparently of a religious character. It seemed a hymn; and, after listening for a moment, Fulmer said:--
"This is strange! What can it mean? I will go forth and listen. It seems to come from the wood, there. I shall hear better on the battlements."
Descending the narrow winding staircase, which terminated the passage about ten yards beyond the door of his own apartments, he entered the inner court, and thence, through a tall archway, reached the outer court, beyond which lay the ramparts. Then ascending by the steps to the top of the wall, he walked round, till he had reached a spot exactly below the window in the square tower. The music, however, had ceased; and he listened for some minutes in vain, though he thought he heard a murmur of many voices speaking or reading altogether.
The momentary excitement of curiosity passed away; and, sitting down upon a stone bench placed for the warders' temporary repose, ha leaned his arm upon the battlement, and returned to his dark thoughts. Still, the calm and solemn scene around, the grey landscape lying stretched out afar in the moonlight, the waving lines of hill and dale faintly traced in the dim obscurity, the light mist lying in the hollows, a bright gleaming line in the distance where the rays fell upon some sheet of water, the tall dark towers of the castle rising by his side, the blue sky overhead, flooded in the south west with silver radiance, and in the north and east speckled with gemlike stars, the motionless air, the profound silence, seemed to calm and still his angry feelings, if not to soften or remove them. There are things in life, which, like frost, harden while they tranquillize. Such was not altogether the case with him, but still the root of bitterness was in his heart.
He paused and thought; but, before many minutes had passed, the music burst forth again, rising and falling in solemn swell and cadence, evidently many voices singing some holy song. It came from far; no articulate sounds reached his ear; but music is a language--a language understood by the whole earth--speaking grand truths to the heart; wordless, but more eloquent than all words. If he was not softened before, he was softened now; if his spirit before had been tied down to earthly passions, it was now, for a time at least, elevated, above himself.
I have said "for a time;" for Richard had described him rightly. He was a man of varying moods, naturally generous, high-minded, kind, but subject to all the impulses of the clay, and in whom there was an everlasting warfare between the mortal and immortal. He thought of Iola, and her beauty, and the dreams which in his imaginative heart he had dreamed of her; and still that wild and thrilling strain sounded in his ears amidst the solemn scene, raising his feelings up, above selfishness, and worldly lessons, to generous feelings and noble aspirations. He thought what a grand though melancholy joy it would be to give her happiness even by the sacrifice of his own. Something of pride might mingle with it too; for, in the picture of the mind, Iola was seen confessing that she had misunderstood him, and admiring where she could not love; but still it was not a low pride; and he felt more satisfied, more at peace with himself. His eyes wandered over the space before him, and he recollected how he had seen it that very day, as he rode towards the castle, lighted up with sunshine, bursting forth into green life, and full of the song of birds. Now it was all grey and still, with no sounds, but that faint echo-like hymn, pouring on the air like the dirge of departed hopes. It seemed a picture of his own fate, so lately lighted up with bright expectations, and now all dark and cold.
Suddenly, on the green slope beyond the walls, he saw a figure--a woman's figure, clad in white. With a quiet gliding motion, it walked quickly on; and, ere he had recovered from his surprise, it had disappeared amongst the first trees at the nearest angle of the wood. He thought it looked like Iola, that its movements were like hers, so easy, so effortless, so graceful. He turned towards the place where he knew her chamber was, and gazed up. There was a light still burning there, and, as he gazed, a female figure passed across the window.