But, when the emotion was at its profoundest depth, the voice rose out
of it, yet so gradually that a gloom seemed to pervade it, far upward
from the abyss, and not entirely to fall away as it ascended into a
higher and purer region. At last, the auditors would have fancied that
the melody, with its rich sweetness all there, and much of its sorrow
gone, was floating around the very summit of the tower.
"Donatello," said the sculptor, when there was silence again, "had that
voice no message for your ear?"
"I dare not receive it," said Donatello; "the anguish of which it spoke
abides with me: the hope dies away with the breath that brought it
hither. It is not good for me to hear that voice."
The sculptor sighed, and left the poor penitent keeping his vigil on the
tower.