I caught the great ring.

All my effort could not have moved the huge slab; but it opened the door of the cottage, and I threw myself once more, pale and speechless, on the couch beside the ancient dame.

She sang once more: Thou dreamest: on a rock thou art, High o'er the broken wave; Thou fallest with a fearful start But not into thy grave; For, waking in the morning's light, Thou smilest at the vanished night So wilt thou sink, all pale and dumb, Into the fainting gloom; But ere the coming terrors come, Thou wak'st--where is the tomb?
Thou wak'st--the dead ones smile above, With hovering arms of sleepless love.
She paused; then sang again: We weep for gladness, weep for grief; The tears they are the same; We sigh for longing, and relief; The sighs have but one name, And mingled in the dying strife, Are moans that are not sad The pangs of death are throbs of life, Its sighs are sometimes glad.
The face is very strange and white: It is Earth's only spot That feebly flickers back the light The living seeth not.
I fell asleep, and slept a dreamless sleep, for I know not how long.

When I awoke, I found that my hostess had moved from where she had been sitting, and now sat between me and the fourth door.
I guessed that her design was to prevent my entering there.

I sprang from the couch, and darted past her to the door.