asked, was it a mere nervous impression—a delusion? I could not conceive or believe it: it was more like an inspiration. The wondrous shock of feeling had come like the earthquake which shook the foundations of Paul and Silas's prison: it had opened the doors of the soul's cell, and loosed its bands—it had wakened it out of its sleep, whence it sprang trembling, listening, aghast; then vibrated thrice a cry on my startled ear, and in my quaking heart, and through my spirit; which neither feared nor shook, but exulted as if in joy over the success of one effort it had been privileged to make, independent of the cumbrous body.
"Ere many days," I said, as I terminated my musings, "I will know something of him whose voice seemed last night to summon me. Letters have proved of no avail—personal inquiry shall replace them."
At breakfast, I announced to Diana and Mary that I was going a journey, and should be absent at least four days.
"Alone, Jane?" they asked.
"Yes; it was to see, or hear news of, a friend about whom I had for some time been uneasy."
They might have said, as I have no doubt they thought, that they had believed me to be without any friends save them: for, indeed, I
