lame, I should merit burial in the maw of carrion crows, if I
laid this task upon thee." She gave him the cup, and he turned
to go to the spring.

I listened to this dialogue in silence. The words uttered by
the person without, affected me as somewhat singular, but what
chiefly rendered them remarkable, was the tone that accompanied
them. It was wholly new. My brother's voice and Pleyel's were
musical and energetic. I had fondly imagined, that, in this
respect, they were surpassed by none. Now my mistake was
detected. I cannot pretend to communicate the impression that
was made upon me by these accents, or to depict the degree in
which force and sweetness were blended in them. They were
articulated with a distinctness that was unexampled in my
experience. But this was not all. The voice was not only
mellifluent and clear, but the emphasis was so just, and the
modulation so impassioned, that it seemed as if an heart of
stone could not fail of being moved by it. It imparted to me an
emotion altogether involuntary and incontroulable. When he
uttered the words "for charity's sweet sake," I dropped the
cloth that I held in my hand, my heart overflowed with sympathy,
and my eyes with unbidden tears.

This description will appear to you trifling or incredible.
The importance of these circumstances will be manifested in the
sequel. The manner in which I was affected on this occasion,
was, to my own apprehension, a subject of astonishment. The
tones were indeed such as I never heard before; but that they
should, in an instant, as it were, dissolve me in tears, will
not easily be believed by others, and can scarcely be