She placed her harp in the window; for a minute or two the strings were silent, and she repeated her accustomed little invocation—
“Ye winds that were cradled beyond the broad sea,
Come stoop from your flight with your errand to me;
And softly the strings of my harp as ye blow,
Shall whisper your tidings of weal or of wo.”
The wind appeared to answer her summons but fitfully at first, the strings jarring without music, as it swept over them. The blast increasing in strength, the tones became for a while loud, harsh, and discordant; then, as it blew more steadily, they gradually blended into harmony, and at length, sent to her ear a strain of such deep melancholy, as struck despair into her heart. Suddenly there was a crash, succeeded by the tolling of a distant bell. So profound was the illusion of the spell-bound hearer, that she did not perceive the snapping of a string, which, by the striking of its loose fragment over the others, produced the sounds so full of wo, to her saddened spirit. They ceased, and the harp was silent.
Again its tones were heard, faintly, and as from afar; but gradually drawing nearer, as a gentle gale passed over the chords to the dejected girl. It fluttered round her, soft as the breath of a summer evening, kissed her fair brow and delicate cheek, and waved each golden curl which hung round her white throat, while a solemn strain arose, and softening by degrees to a melody of more than earthly beauty, as it seized upon her entranced senses, dispelled every cloud from her spirits, and poured into her soul peace and joy. Then as the breeze which bore it appeared to depart, and wing its way back over the ocean, the tones seemed to syllable the word, farewell, repeated each time with more sweetness, until the sounds were lost in distance. When Judith descended, her parents were rejoiced to see the dark shade dispelled from her brow.
Mr. Wendell sat up late on the preceding night, preparing a defense in a case, in which all the vigor of a powerful intellect was called forth, aided by profound legal learning. He retired to rest, weary, but not dispirited, confident that a few hours repose would fully restore him. But after sleeping heavily until late the next morning, he awoke, not refreshed with slumber, as was his wont, but feeling a languor wholly unknown to him before. He, however, would not succumb to the feeling, but rose, determined to conquer it; took a walk, and used violent exercise, which was of benefit, for when he returned he ate his breakfast with a good appetite, and then sat down to examine his notes. The seat of his indisposition was now apparent, for on his first attempt to read, he felt a pressure on his brain, and a confusion of ideas, which rendered his mind wholly incapable of following any train of argument, and scarcely able to take in the sense of what he had written. The only course now remaining to him, he adopted, which was to leave this case in the hands of the junior counsel, to have it, if possible, continued over to the Spring term; after doing which, he mounted his horse and proceeded homeward, leaving word that he would return in time for the Fayerweather case. For the first time in his life he felt gloomy and depressed. The exercise of riding was grateful to him, and he felt refreshed. After riding an hour or two, his spirits rose to their accustomed buoyancy, though his ideas still remained confused, when he attempted to pursue a train of thought.
He arrived in Salem about three o’clock in the afternoon—the same afternoon the poor dog Jaco died. At he was proceeding through the main street, or reaching the one which turned down to the wharves, his horse suddenly snorted and became restive. He patted and soothed his old servant, and then looked round to discover the occasion of so unwonted a freak, when he saw a powerfully built man in the garb of a seaman, who appeared to be advancing toward him. He stopped his horse with great difficulty, and the stranger came within a few yards of him. What was his surprise and joy on seeing George Fayerweather?
His exclamation was stopped short by the horse giving a plunge, which, if Mr. Wendell had not sat well in his saddle would have thrown him. Captain Fayerweather’s countenance discovered marks of alarm and distress as he drew nearer, and while he spoke to Mr. Wendell, the horse snorted and again plunged fearfully, and at length reared, and stood nearly upright; but his master sat firm as if glued to the saddle, while he listened to George’s hurried account of where the deed was. As Captain Fayerweather finished, he turned away quickly, and the animal again put his fore-feet to the ground. As Captain Fayerweather turned the corner, Mr. Wendell called after him, and then finding all endeavors to make the horse follow him, vain, he dismounted and gave the bridle into the hands of a man whom he knew, and who at this juncture came up. He then turned the corner too, but George was gone. His communication, however, in spite of the restiveness of the horse, had reached the ears of Mr. Wendell, and now absorbed all his faculties, as he hastened home with a rapid pace.