They were the notes of a deep, ringing, bass voice rising from the glen beneath the castle walls--something between humming and singing--listlessly unequal and intermittent, like the melody of a man whiling away the hours over his work.

While she was wondering at this unwonted minstrelsy, there came a silence, and--could she believe her ears ?--it certainly was Una's clear low contralto--softly singing a bar or two from the window.

Then once more silence--and then again the strange manly voice, faintly chaunting from the leafy abyss.
With a strange wild feeling of suspicion and terror, Alice glided to the window.

The moon who sees so many things, and keeps all secrets, with her cold impenetrable smile, was high in the sky.

But Alice saw the red flicker of a candle from Una's window, and, she thought, the shadow of her head against the deep side wall of its recess.