The stars twinkled in the skies; the Square was quiet and deserted; I
listened with delight to the song of the Lady fair, as it mingled with
the ripple of the fountain. All at once I perceived a white figure
approach from the opposite side of the Square and go directly
toward the little garden door. I peered eagerly through the dazzling
moonlight--it was the queer painter in his white cloak. He drew forth
a key quickly, unlocked the door, and, before I knew it, was within
the garden.
I had from the first entertained a special dislike of this painter on
account of his nonsensical talk. But now I fell into a rage with him.
"The low fellow is certainly intoxicated again," I thought; "he has
got the key from the maid, and intends to surprise, and perhaps to
assault, the Lady fair." And I rushed precipitately through the low
door, which was still open, into the garden.
When I entered, all was quiet and lonely. The folding-doors of the
summer-house were open, and a ray of lamplight issuing from it played
upon the grass and flowers near. Even from a distance I could see the
interior. In a magnificent apartment, hung with green and partially
illumined by a lamp with a white shade, the lovely Lady fair with
her guitar was reclining on a silken lounge, never dreaming, in her
innocence, of the danger without.
I had not much time, however, to look, for I perceived the white
figure among the shrubbery, stealthily approaching the summer-house
from the opposite side, while the song floating on the air from the
house was so melancholy that it went to my very soul.
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