Its sweet refrain fell like the rain
Of summer-time.
Of summer-time when roses bloomed,
And bright above
A rainbow spanned my fairy-land
Of hope and love!
Of hope and love! O linnet, cease
Thy mocking theme!
I ne'er picked up the golden cup
In all my dream!
In all my dream I missed the prize
Should have been mine;
And dreams won't die! though fain would I,
And make no sign!'"
The lamps burned brightly, shedding a cheerful light upon the
landscapes and figures woven into the tapestry behind which was
concealed the black door that was to admit La Corriveau.
It was oppressively still. Caroline listened with mouth and ears
for some sound of approaching footsteps until her heart beat like
the swift stroke of a hammer, as it sent the blood throbbing through
her temples with a rush that almost overpowered her.
She was alone, and lonely beyond expression. Down in these thick
foundations no sound penetrated to break the terrible monotony of
the silence around her, except the dull, solemn voice of the bell
striking the hour of midnight.
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