"It was something I never heard before," replied Doro, in a low voice; "it was not like anything else—not even the mocking-bird, for, though it went on and on, the same strain floated back into it again and again; and the mocking-bird, you know, has a light and fickle soul. Aunt, I can not tell you what it was like, but it seemed to tell me a new story of a new world."
"How many beats had it to the measure?" asked Miss Elisabetha, after a pause.
"I do not know," replied the boy dreamily.
"You do not know! All music is written in some set time, Theodore. At least, you can tell me about the words. Were they French?"
"No."
"Nor English?"
"No."
"What then?"
"I know not; angel-words, perhaps.
"Did she speak to you?"