Suddenly the idea of my presumption struck me.

I stopped, and timidly sought thine eyes.
"'Well, and when you found that the nightingale refused to sing ?'-- "'Ah!' I said, 'what to thee this history of the heart of a child ?' "'Viola,' didst thou answer, with that voice, so inexpressibly calm and earnest!--'Viola, the darkness of a child's heart is often but the shadow of a star.

Speak on! And thy nightingale, when they caught and caged it, refused to sing ?' "'And I placed the cage yonder, amidst the vine-leaves, and took up my lute, and spoke to it on the strings; for I thought that all music was its native language, and it would understand that I sought to comfort it.' "'Yes,' saidst thou.

'And at last it answered thee, but not with song,--in a sharp, brief cry; so mournful, that thy hands let fall the lute, and the tears gushed from thine eyes.

So softly didst thou unbar the cage, and the nightingale flew into yonder thicket; and thou heardst the foliage rustle, and, looking through the moonlight, thine eyes saw that it had found its mate.