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276. Who could touch it in a night which, though still and serene, was too cold, and too late in the year, to invite forth any wanderer for mere pleasure. I drew yet nearer the window, and hearkened with breathless attention—the sounds paused a space, were then resumed—paused again—and again reached my ear, ever coming nearer and nearer. At length, I distinguished plainly that little Hindu air which you called my favourite–I have told you by whom it was taught me—the instrument, the tones were his own—was it earthly music, or notes passing on the wind to warn me of his death?

It was some time ere I could summon courage to step on the balcony—nothing could have emboldened me to do so but the strong conviction of my mind, that he was still alive, and that we should again meet—but that conviction did embolden me, and I ventured, though with a throbbing heart. There was a small skiff with a