It is far past midnight now, and I have not slept or wished for slumber.

Constantly since darkness came on I have been watching Georgiana’s window for the light of her candle, but there has been no kindly glimmer yet.  The only radiance shed upon the gloom outside comes from the heavens.  Great cage-shaped white clouds are swung up to the firmament, and within these pale, gentle, imprisoned lightnings flutter feebly to escape, fall back, rise, and try again and again, and fail.

. . . A little after dark this evening I carried the red-bird over to Georgiana. . . .

I have seen her so little of late that I did not know she had been away from home for days.  But she expected to-night, or, at furthest, to-morrow morning.  I left the bird with the servant at the door, who could hardly believe what he saw.  As I passed out of my front gate on my way there, the boy who returns about that time from the pasture for his cows joined me as I hurried along, attracted by the fluttering of the bird in the cage.

“Is it the red-bird? I tried to ketch him once,” he said, with entire forgiveness of me, as having served him right, “but I caught something else.  I’ll never forget that whipping.  Oh, but wouldn’t I like to have him!  Mr. Moss, you wouldn’t mind my trying to ketch one of them little bits o’ brown fellows, would you, that hops around under them pine-trees?  They ain’t no account to nobody.  Oh my! but wouldn’t I like to have him!  May I bring my trap some time, and will you help me to ketch one o’ them little bits o’ brown ones?  You can beat me ketchin’ ’em!”

Several times to-night I have gone across and listened under Georgiana’s window.  The servant must have set the cage in her room, for, as I listened, I am sure I heard the red-bird beating his head and breast against the wires.  Awhile ago I went again, and did not hear him.  I waited a long time. . . . He may be quieted. . . .

Ah, if any one had said to me that I would ever do what I have done, with what full, deep joy could I have throttled the lie in his throat!  I put the trap under one of the trees where I have been used to feed him.  When it fell he was not greatly frightened.  He clutched the side of it, and looked out at me.  My own mind supplied his words:  “Help!  I’m caught!  Take me out!  You promised!” When I transferred him to the cage, for a moment his confidence lasted still.  He mounted the perch, shook his plumage, and spoke out bravely and cheerily.  Then all at once came on the terror.

The dawn came on this morning with its old splendor.  The birds in my yard, as of old, poured forth their songs.  But those loud, long, clear, melodious, deep-hearted, passionate, best-loved notes!  As the chorus swelled from shadowy shrubs and vines to the sparking tree-tops I listened for some sound from Georgiana’s room, but over there I saw only the soft, slow flapping of the white curtains like signals of distress.