“Yes! yes! and that, too!” I added, excitedly. “Some one is cast away in this place. Come, we must find him!”

“Oh, and quickly!” urged Edith; but the singing had begun again and we hesitated, to listen.

“There is a calm for those who weep,

A rest for weary pilgrims found.

They softly lie and sweetly sleep,

Low in the ground.”

“The storm that wrecks the winter’s sky

No more disturbs their sweet repose

Than summer evening’s latest sigh

That shuts the rose.