Belinda, with a modest self-possession quite her own, promptly answered for this Spectre in a low, clear voice:
The lights extinguished; by the hearth I leant,
Half weary with a listless discontent.
The flickering giant shadows, gathering near.
Closed round me with a dim and silent fear;
All dull, all dark; save when the leaping flame,
Glancing, lit up The Picture's ancient frame.