still, all the doors closed; I looked for the neat green mat; it lay duly in its place.
"Signal of hope!" I said, and advanced. "But I will be a little calmer: I am not going to rush in, and get up a scene directly." Forcibly staying my eager step, I paused on the mat.
"What an absolute hush! Is she in? Is anybody in?" I demanded to myself. A little tinkle, as of cinders falling from a grate, replied; a movement—a fire was gently stirred; and the slight rustle of life continuing, a step paced equably backwards and forwards, backwards and forwards, in the apartment. Fascinated, I stood, more fixedly fascinated when a voice rewarded the attention of my strained ear—so low, so self-addressed, I never fancied the speaker otherwise than alone; solitude might speak thus in a desert, or in the hall of a forsaken house.
"'And ne'er but once, my son,' he said,
Was yon dark cavern trod;
In persecution's iron days,
When the land was left by God.
