9. IX.
It was late that night before Albert came to the
chamber, and yet she had not slept. A strange,
sweet strain of music, wild, yet fine, came to her
ears at midnight, and soon after she heard it, he
appeared.
His looks were sad as when she left him — and
he did not seem pleased to find her watchful.
“Thou hast not slept, Anastasia?”
“No — I waited for thee, Albert. I can hope
for no sleep when thou art absent.”
“But sometimes I would have thee sleep, simply
because I am absent. Ah, my beloved, would that
I might sleep, and sleep for ever, when I can no
longer be with thee.”
“That music — that sweet music, Albert —
whence did it come?”
“Wilt thou not sleep now, my beloved? — I
am with thee,” was the evasive reply; and Anastasia
understood the gentle form of chiding which
he had adopted. She obeyed the suggestion —
she tried to sleep, and did sleep, but her slumbers
were greatly broken — she knew not why; and
whenever she awakened it was to hear whispering
voices and sudden gusts of music, that seemed to
be passing around the apartment with a rush of
wings.
