CHAPTER III.
Eric knew not how long he slept, but as in a dream he heard a sweet voice singing these words:—
“Rest thee, boy, rest thee, boy, lonely and weary,
Thy little heart breaking from losing the way;
Thy father has not left thee friendless though dreary,
When learning through suffering to fear and obey,”
Eric opened his eyes, but moved not a limb, as if under some strange fascination. It was early morning. High overhead a lark was also “singing like an angel in the clouds.” The mysterious voice went on in the same beautiful and soothing strain,—
“Oh, sweet is the lark as she sings o’er her nest,
And warbles unseen in the clear morning light;
But sweeter by far is the song in the breast