"We have found out recently that the tower was here when the first church was built. It may have been here, for aught we know, before white men came." "Perhaps the church was built near to it for safety," I suggested. "It has been very useful," said Sophie. "Not long ago, the first night in January, I think, Mr. Bronson came to see my husband. He lived here when he was a boy, and remembers stories told by his father of escapes, from the church to the tower, of women and children, at the approach of Indians. One stroke of the bell during service, and all obeyed the signal. Deserted was the church, and peopled the tower, when the foes came up to meet the defenders outside." "I knew my darling old structure had a history," said I. "Is there time for me to take one little look before dinner?" "No," somewhat hastily said Sophie; "and I don't wish you to go up there alone." "Don't wish me to go alone, Sophie? Why, I have spent hours there, and never a word said you." "I--believe--the--place--is--haunted," slowly replied she, "by living, human beings." "Never! Why, Sophie, think how absurd! Here's the key,--a great, strong, honest key; where could another be found to open the heavy door? Such broad, true wards it has,--look, and believe!" As if unhearing, Sophie went on,-- "I certainly heard a voice in there one day. Old Mother Hudson died, and was buried in the corner, close beside the church. My husband went away as soon as the burial was over, and I came across the graveyard alone. It was a bright winter's day, with the ground all asnow, and no footstep had broken the fleecy white that lay on my way. As I passed under the tower I heard a voice, and the words, too, Anna, as plainly as ever spoken words were heard." "What were they, Sophie?" "'But hope will not die; it has a root of life that goes down into the granite formation; human hand cannot reach it.'" "Who said it?" I asked. "That is the mystery, Anna. The words were plainly spoken; the voice was that of one who has sailed out into the region of great storms, and found that heavy calms are more oppressive." "Was it voice of man?" "Yes, deep and earnest." "Where did it come from?" "From the high window up there, I thought." "And there were no footsteps near?" "I told you, none; my own were the first that had crossed the church-yard that day." "You know, Sophie, we voice our own thoughts sometimes all unknowingly; and knowing the thought only, we might dissever the voice, and call it another's." Sophie looked up from the table upon which she had been so industriously cutting, and holding in one hand an oddly shapen sleeve, she gave a demonstrative wave at me, and said,-- "Anna, your distinctions are too absurd for reason to examine even. Have I a voice that _could command an army_, or shout out orders in a storm at sea? Have I the voice of a man?"