Familiar, delicious, angel-throated bird! How I blessed thee in that dark hour of despair! How I praised God for thine innocent existence! How I sprung up and laughed and wept for joy, as, all unconscious of me, thou didst shake out a shower of pearly warblings on the breast of the soothed air! Heavenly messenger of consolation!--even now I think of thee with tenderness--for thy sweet sake all birds possess me as their worshiper; humanity has grown hideous in my sight, but the singing-life of the woods and hills--how pure, how fresh!--the nearest thing to happiness on this side heaven! A rush of strength and courage invigorated me.

A new idea entered my brain.

I determined to follow the voice of the nightingale.

It sung on sweetly, encouragingly--and I began afresh my journeyings through the darkness.

I fancied that the bird was perched on one of the trees outside the entrance of the vault, and that if I tried to get within closer hearing of its voice, I should most likely be thus guided to the very staircase I had been so painfully seeking.