“I will try the spell which drove the evil spirit from the mind of the King of Israel,” thought the sad and terrified wife; “music hath often power to soothe the darkness of the soul;” and she tuned her lute, and brought forth the softest of its tones. At length her charm was successful; Lord Greville slept; and while she watched with all the intense anxiety of alarmed affection, the unquiet slumbers which distorted one of the finest countenances that sculptor or painter ever conceived, she affected to occupy herself with her instrument lest he should awake, and be displeased to find her attention fixed on himself. With the sweetest notes of a “voice ever soft and low, an excelling thing in woman,” she murmured the following song, which was recorded in her family to have been composed by her elder brother, on parting from a lady to whom he was attached, previous to embarkment on the expedition in which he fell, and to which it alludes: Parte la nave Spiegan le vele Vento crudele Mi fa partir. Addio Teresa, Teresa, addio! Piacendo a Dio Ti rivedrò. Non pianger bella, Non pianger, No!-- Chè al mio ritorno Ti sposerò. Il Capitano Mi chiama a bordo; Io faccio il sordo Per non partir! Addio Teresa, Teresa, Addio! Piacendo a Dio Ti rivedrò. Non pianger bella, Non pianger, No!-- Chè al mio ritorno Ti sposerò. Vado a levante Vado a ponente Se trovo gente Ti scriverò. Addio Teresa, Teresa, Addio; Piacendo a Dio Ti rivedrò. Non pianger bella, Non pianger, No!-- Chè al mio ritorno Ti sposerò. Helen had reached the concluding cadence of her soft and melancholy song, when raising her eyes from the strings to her still sleeping husband, she beheld with panic-struck and breathless amazement, a female figure, standing opposite resting her hand on the back of his chair--silent, and motionless, and with fixed and glassy eyes gazing mournfully on herself. She saw--yes!--distinctly saw, as described by little Hugh, “a Lady in rich attire, but pale, very pale;” and in the stillness and gloom of the apartment and the hour, “'Twas frightful there to see A lady richly clad as she, Beautiful exceedingly.” The paleness of that pensive face did not lessen its loveliness, and the hair which hung in bright curls on her shoulders and gorgeous apparel, was white and glossy as silver. Helen gazed for a moment spell-bound; for she beheld in that countenance without the possibility of doubt, the resemblance of the deceased Lady Greville, whose portrait, in a similar dress, hung in the picture gallery at Silsea Castle. She shuddered; for the eyes of the spectre remained steadfastly fixed upon her; and its lips moved as if about to address her--“Mother of God--protect me!” exclaimed Helen convulsively, and she fell insensible on the floor. CHAPTER II.