ud.

"God of infinite mercy!" I cried. "Saviour of the world! By the souls
of the sacred dead whom Thou hast in Thy holy keeping, have pity upon
me! Oh, my mother! if indeed thine earthly remains are near me--think
of me, sweet angel in that heaven where thy spirit dwells at
rest--plead for me and save me, or let me die now and be tortured no
more!"

I uttered these words aloud, and the sound of my wailing voice ringing
through the somber arches of the vault was strange and full of
fantastic terror to my own ears. I knew that were my agony much further
prolonged I should go mad. And I dared not picture to myself the
frightful things which a maniac might be capable of, shut up in such a
place of death and darkness, with moldering corpses for companions! I
remained on my knees, my face buried in my hands. I forced myself into
comparative calmness, and strove to preserve the equilibrium of my
distracted mind. Hush! What exquisite far-off floating voice of cheer
was that? I raised my head and listened, entranced!

"Jug, jug, Jug! lodola, lodola! trill-lil-lil! sweet, sweet, sweet!"

It was a nightingale. 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. I stumbled along
slowly. I felt feeble, and my limbs shook under me. This time nothing
impeded my progress; the nightingale's liquid notes floated nearer and
nearer, and hope, almost exhausted, sprung up again in my heart. I was
scarcely conscious of my own movements. I seemed to