Groping my way further, I stumbled over the heavy stone that covered the entrance of the vault: and, in stumbling, descried upon the stone the mark, glowing in red fire. 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. I opened it at once and went out. All I remember is a cry of distress from the woman: “Don’t go there, my child! Don’t go there!” But I was gone. I knew nothing more; or, if I did, I had forgot it all when I awoke to consciousness, lying on the floor of the cottage, with my head in the lap of the woman, who was weeping over me, and stroking my hair with both hands, talking to me as a mother might talk to a sick and sleeping, or a dead child. As soon as I looked up and saw her, she smiled through her tears; smiled with withered face and young eyes, till her countenance was irradiated with the light of the smile. Then she bathed my head and face and hands in an icy cold, colourless liquid, which smelt a little of damp earth. Immediately I was able to sit up. She rose and put some food before me. When I had eaten, she said: “Listen to me, my child. You must leave me directly!” “Leave you!” I said. “I am so happy with you. I never was so happy in my life.” “But you must go,” she rejoined sadly. “Listen! What do you hear?” “I hear the sound as of a great throbbing of water.”