and deeper, as if it had a dearer source to her heart than ordinary gallantry, and raising herself on one arm from her incumbent position, she leant forward to catch the sound with a greater and more unerring certainty.
After a prelude of some moments, a clear and sweet voice accompanied the instrument, and the words of the song were as follows:—
Clifford's Serenade.
"There is a world where every night
My spirit meets and walks with thine;
And hopes—I dare not tell thee—light
Like stars of Love—that world of mine!
Sleep!—to the waking world my heart
Hath now, methinks, a stranger grown—
Ah, sleep! that I may feel thou art
Within one world that is my own!
As the music died away, Lucy sank back once more, and the drawing which she held was pressed (with cheeks glowing, though unseen, at the act) to her lips. And though the character of her lover was uncleared, though she herself had come to no distinct resolution, even to inform
