For a few seconds there was a silence--a silence so complete that Gorman could hear the rustle of a dress as Nina moved from her place, and seated herself on the battlement of the terrace. He then could catch the low murmuring sounds of her voice, as she hummed an air to herself, and at length traced it to be the song she had sung that same evening in the drawing-room. The notes came gradually more and more distinct, the tones swelled out into greater fulness, and at last, with one long-sustained cadence of thrilling passion, she cried, ‘_Non mi amava--non mi amava!_’ with an expression of heart-breaking sorrow, the last syllables seeming to linger on the lips as if a hope was deserting them for ever. ‘_Oh, non mi amava!_’ cried she, and her voice trembled as though the avowal of her despair was the last effort of her strength. Slowly and faintly the sounds died away, while Gorman, leaning out to the utmost to catch the dying notes, strained his hearing to drink them in. All was still, and then suddenly, with a wild roulade that sounded at first like the passage of a musical scale, she burst out into a fit of laughter, crying ‘_Non mi amava,_’ through the sounds, in a half-frantic mockery. ‘_No, no, non mi amava,_’ laughed she out, as she walked back into the room. The window was now closed with a heavy bang, and all was silent in the house. ‘And these are the affections we break our hearts for!’ cried Gorman, as he threw himself on his bed, and covered his face with both his hands. CHAPTER XLIV THE HEAD CONSTABLE The Inspector, or, to use the irreverent designation of the neighbourhood, the Head Peeler, who had carried away Walpole’s luggage and papers, no sooner discovered the grave mistake he had committed, than he hastened to restore them, and was waiting personally at Kilgobbin Castle to apologise for the blunder, long before any of the family had come downstairs. His indiscretion might cost him his place, and Captain Curtis, who had to maintain a wife and family, three saddle-horses, and a green uniform with more gold on it than a field-marshal’s, felt duly anxious and uneasy for what he had done. ‘Who is that gone down the road?’ asked he, as he stood at the window, while a woman was setting the room in order. ‘Sure it’s Miss Kate taking the dogs out. Isn’t she always the first up of a morning?’ Though the captain had little personal acquaintance with Miss Kearney, he knew her well by reputation, and knew therefore that he might safely approach her to ask a favour. He overtook her at once, and in a few words made known the difficulty in which he found himself. ‘Is it not after all a mere passing mistake, which once apologised for is forgotten altogether?’ asked she. ‘Mr. Walpole is surely not a person to bear any malice for such an incident?’