all　its　unspeakable　strangeness。　I　recalled　the　voice　I　had　heard；　again　I　questioned　whence　it　came；　as　vainly　as　before：　it　seemed　in　me—not　in　the　external　world。　I　asked　was　it　a　mere　nervous　impression—a　delusion？　I　could　not　conceive　or　believe：　it　was　more　like　an　inspiration。　The　wondrous　shock　of　feeling　had　e　like　the　earthquake　which　shook　the　foundations　of　Paul　and　Silas’s　prison；　it　had　opened　the　doors　of　the　soul’s　cell　and　loosed　its　bands—it　had　wakened　it　out　of　its　sleep；　whence　it　sprang　trembling；　listening；　aghast；　then　vibrated　thrice　a　cry　on　my　startled　ear；　and　in　my　quaking　heart　and　through　my　spirit；　which　neither　feared　nor　shook；　but　exulted　as　if　in　joy　over　the　success　of　one　effort　it　had　been　privileged　to　make；　independent　of　the　cumbrous　body。

“Ere　many　days；”　I　said；　as　I　terminated　my　musings；　“I　will　know　something　of　him　whose　voice　seemed　last　night　to　summon　me。　Letters　have　proved　of　no　avail—personal　inquiry　shall　replace　them。”

At　breakfast　I　announced　to　Diana　and　Mary　that　I　was　going　a　journey；　and　should　be　absent　at　least　four　days。

“Alone；　Jane？”　they　asked。

“Yes；　it　was　to　see　or　hear　news　of　a　friend　about　whom　I　had　for　some　time　been　uneasy。”

They　might　have　said；　as　I　have　no　doubt　they　thought；　that　they　had　believed　me　to　be　without　any　friends　save　them：　for；　indeed；　I　had　often　said　so；　but；　with　their　true　natural　delicacy；　they　abstained　from　ment；　except　that　Diana　asked　me　if