d. Thus one of the fabled sources of existence
was left the fool, and again it seemed the proverb would be realized.

Day after day passed, and still the vital spark burned; perhaps it
wavered, but in this extremity the jester had not been entirely
neglected; but who had befriended him, assisting the spirit and the
flesh to maintain their unification, he did not learn until some time
later. Youth and a strong constitution were also a shield against the
final change, and when he began to mend, and his heart-beats grew
stronger, even the jailer, his erstwhile assailant, the most callous of
his several keepers, exhibited a stony interest in this unusual
convalescence.

The touch of a hand was the _plaisant's_ first impression of returning
consciousness, and then into his throbbing brain crept the outlines of
the prison walls and the small window that grudgingly admitted the
light. To his confused thoughts these surroundings recalled the
struggle with the free baron and the jailer. As across a dark chasm,
he saw the face of the false duke, whereon wonder and conviction had
given way to brutal rage, and, with the memory of that treacherous
blow, the fool half-started from his couch.

A low voice carried him back from the past to a vague cognizance of a
woman's form, standing at the head of the bed, and two grave, dark eyes
looking down upon him which he strove in vain to interrogate with his
own. He would have spoken, but the soothing pressure of the hand upon
his forehead restrained him, and, turning to the wall, sleep overcame
him; a slumber long, sound and restorative. Motionless the figure
remained, listening for some time to his deep breathing and then stole
away as silently as she had come.

Amid a solitude like that of a catacomb the hours ran their course; the
day grew old, and eventide replaced the waning flush in the west. The
shadows deepened into night, and the first kisses of morn again merged
into the brighter prime. Near the cell the only sound had been the
footstep of the warder, or the scampering of a rat, but now from afar
seemed to come a faint whispering, like the murmur of the ocean. It
was the voice of awakened nature; the wind and the trees; the whir of
birds' wings, or the sound of other living creatures in the forest hard
by. A song of life and buoyancy, it breathed just audibly its cheering
intonation about the prison bars, when the captive once more stirred
and gazed around him. As h