But few moments elapsed, ere the
love-sick youth was again admitted into the dark interior of the seer's
dwelling.
A voice whispered in his ear--
"Not a word, hardly a breath, as thou wouldest thrive in thy pursuit.
There be spirits abroad, not of earth, nor air. Be silent and discreet."
A ray suddenly darted across the room. Again the voice was at his ear:--
"Hold thine eye to the crevice when the light enters, and mark well what
thou beholdest."
Again he saw his mistress, apparently in a vaulted chamber, lighted by a
single lamp: she sat as if anxious and disturbed, her cheek pale and
flushed by turns, whilst her eye wandered hurriedly around the room.
Some one approached; it was the seer. Rodolf heard him speak.
"Maiden, hast thou a lover?"
The sound seemed scarcely akin to that of human speech. It rose heavily
and deep, as from the charnel-house, as if the grim and cold jaws of the
grave could utter a voice,--the dreary echoes of the tomb! The seer's
lips were motionless, whilst he thus continued in the same sepulchral
tone.
"I know thou hast. 'Tis here thy love would tend." He drew a richly-set
miniature from his bosom.
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