"Are you sure?" said the mother-bird. "What can we do to help her?" "I do not know," replied the mate, "except it is to sing his praise. Perhaps she may listen, and understand one day how good he is." So all the spring, the little happy creatures chirped and sang, until the nestlings were fledged, and the whole family flew away. But their songs had penetrated deep into the priestess' heart. And one night, when the Enemy was absent, and the wild beasts prowling far away, she threw herself on the earth before her desecrated altar, and lamented and wept. But for the first time her lamentations, instead of solitary, hopeless wailings, echoing back from the ruined walls, became a broken cry for help. "Thou, if thou art indeed so good—if thou art indeed near, come and help me," she sobbed; "repair my ruins, and save me." And for the first time, as she wept and implored, she felt the weight of her fetters binding hand and foot, and, clasping her chained hands, she cried more earnestly, "Come and set me free!" And before the day dawned, a voice came softly through the silence— "I will come." But with the morning light, how bitter was the sight which burst on her aching eyes! All had been as desolate long before; but she had never seen it as she saw it now. Noisome beasts, which prowled fearlessly around her; skulls and ghastly skeletons of their murdered prey strewn about; on the ground the broken, rusted harp; on her hands the heavy chain; and, worse than all, the door she had opened to the Enemy ever open, and inviting his approach. Too surely he came. He mocked her hope until it appeared baseless as a dream; and nothing seemed real, but the ruin to which he scornfully directed her gaze, and the chain which now, for the first time without concealment, he held up triumphantly, dragging her by it to every corner of the polluted and ruined temple, to show her how complete and hopeless the ruin was. Then drawing the links tighter than before, so that they galled and wounded her wrists, he led her to the image of herself, which he had adorned, and painted, and so often flattered. He dragged off the tinsel ornaments, and effaced the delusive colouring, and left her, at last, face to face with the defaced and broken idol, saying— "This is the worship you yourself have chosen. Pursue it still. There is no other for you." She could not bear to gaze on it; and as he went, she fell prostrate on the altar steps, and hid her face on the stones. Yet still, though with but a feeble hope, she sobbed out— "If thou art good—if thou canst help me, come,—oh, come, and set me free!" Weariness at last brought sleep, and in her dreams she saw a lovely vision of the temple as it once had been. White columns gleamed, sweet and solemn music sounded, and she herself ministered in white robes at the altar, before a Radiant Form, on which she could scarcely for a moment gaze.