Yet all the while the same sad and gentle cry wandered and was lost in air, the chant of an invisible soul which seemed in want of me, and had perhaps awakened me.
The thought came upon me that it was the soul of my mother calling to me--my mother, whose voice was soft and very musical.
"I am caring for thee," said the voice.

"I am caring for thee; I can see thee," it said, "I can see thee.

I love thee! I love thee!" "Reveal thyself!" I called back.

"Oh, mother, reveal thyself!" And I strove feverishly to catch sight of her, following the voice as it swept around in circles; and seeing nothing, I burst into tears.
Suddenly I was seized roughly by the ear.
"What are you doing here, you young rascal?
Are you mad?
The wind is blowing right on to my bed.

Five hundred lines!" The usher, in nightdress and slippers, was rolling his angry eyes on me.
"Yes, sir; certainly, sir! But don't you hear her ?" "Who is it ?" "My mother." He looked to see whether I were awake; cocked his head to one side and listened; then shut the window angrily and went off shrugging his shoulders.
"It's only the plovers flying about the moon," said he.