With Cytherea it was otherwise.  Unused to the place and circumstances, she continued wakeful, ill at ease, and mentally distressed.  She withdrew herself from her companion’s embrace, turned to the other side, and endeavoured to relieve her busy brain by looking at the window-blind, and noticing the light of the rising moon—­now in her last quarter—­creep round upon it:  it was the light of an old waning moon which had but a few days longer to live.

The sight led her to think again of what had happened under the rays of the same month’s moon, a little before its full, the ecstatic evening scene with Edward:  the kiss, and the shortness of those happy moments—­maiden imagination bringing about the apotheosis of a status quo which had had several unpleasantnesses in its earthly reality.

But sounds were in the ascendant that night.  Her ears became aware of a strange and gloomy murmur.

She recognized it:  it was the gushing of the waterfall, faint and low, brought from its source to the unwonted distance of the House by a faint breeze which made it distinct and recognizable by reason of the utter absence of all disturbing sounds.  The groom’s melancholy representation lent to the sound a more dismal effect than it would have had of its own nature.  She began to fancy what the waterfall must be like at that hour, under the trees in the ghostly moonlight.  Black at the head, and over the surface of the deep cold hole into which it fell; white and frothy at the fall; black and white, like a pall and its border; sad everywhere.

She was in the mood for sounds of every kind now, and strained her ears to catch the faintest, in wayward enmity to her quiet of mind.  Another soon came.

The second was quite different from the first—­a kind of intermittent whistle it seemed primarily:  no, a creak, a metallic creak, ever and anon, like a plough, or a rusty wheelbarrow, or at least a wheel of some kind.  Yes, it was, a wheel—­the water-wheel in the shrubbery by the old manor-house, which the coachman had said would drive him mad.

She determined not to think any more of these gloomy things; but now that she had once noticed the sound there was no sealing her ears to it.  She could not help timing its creaks, and putting on a dread expectancy just before the end of each half-minute that brought them.  To imagine the inside of the engine-house, whence these noises proceeded, was now a necessity.  No window, but crevices in the door, through which, probably, the moonbeams streamed in the most attenuated and skeleton-like rays, striking sharply upon portions of wet rusty cranks and chains; a glistening wheel, turning incessantly, labouring in the dark like a captive starving in a dungeon; and instead of a floor below, gurgling water, which on account of the darkness could only be heard; water which laboured up dark pipes almost to where she lay.

She shivered.  Now she was determined to go to sleep; there could be nothing else left to be heard or to imagine—­it was horrid that her imagination should be so restless.  Yet just for an instant before going to sleep she would think this—­suppose another sound should come—­just suppose it should!  Before the thought had well passed through her brain, a third sound came.