The sound awoke the doves; and they listened to what they still thought
a glorious bird. The little old man sat with his feeble hands together,
and his head raised; it was the first time for years that he had ever
sat _so_; the young man played, and there was a heavenly joy in his
soul; he knew not whether he was in heaven or earth; all his pain was
gone. It was a blissful moment; the next, and all was still in the
chamber--wonderfully still. The lamp continued burning, a soft breeze
blew in from the half-opened window, and just stirred the little old
man's Carmelite frock, and lifted the young man's dark locks, but they
neither of them moved.
"That glorious bird has done his singing for this morning," said the old
doves; "he will now sleep--let us set off; all our friends and neighbors
are off already; we have a long journey before us." The parent doves
spread their wings; they and their elder ones were away, but the younger
stayed as if entranced in the nest; he could think of nothing but the
glorious bird that had just been singing: his family wheeled round the
cypress, and then returned for him; they bade him come, for it was late.
The sun was rising above the sea, and all the doves of Carmel were ready
for flight.
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