behind an angle of the passage I could see without being myself in sight.
In the meantime the sound of the footsteps had ceased, and with it, as a strange coincident, Ellen's voice. I waited and soon the song began again, and the boards creaked under a stealthy tread; I leaned forward and, in the dim, uncertain light which glimmered through the creaks of the cabin doors, I recognized Fabian.
It was my unhappy friend! What instinct could have led him to this place? Had he then discovered the young woman's retreat before me? I did not know what to think. Fabian slowly advanced along the passage, listening, following the voice, as if it was a thread drawing him unconsciously on, and in spite of himself. It seemed to me that the song grew fainter as he approached, and that the thread thus held was about to break. Fabian went quite near to the cabin doors and then stopped.
How those sad accents must have rent his heart! and how his whole being must have thrilled as he caught some tone in the voice, which reminded him of the past! But how was it, ignorant as he was of Harry Drake being on board, that he had any suspicion of Ellen's presence? No, it was impossible; he had only been attracted by the plaintive accents which insensibly responded to the great grief weighing down his spirit.
Fabian was still listening. What was he going to do?
