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Chapter 3

           IlittlethoughtthetimewouldcomewhenIshouldlookbacktothetimespentinthatsmallmeanroomasthebestperiodofmylife—whenIshouldregardthebitterpovertyIthenendured,asthesternbutholyangelmeanttoguidemetothehighestandnoblestattainment—whenIshouldpraydesperatelywithwildtearstobeasIwasthen,ratherthanasIamnow!IsitwellorillforusIwonder,thatthefutureishiddenfromourknowledge?Shouldwesteerourwaysclearerfromevilifweknewitsresult?Itisadoubtfulquestion—atanyratemyignoranceforthemomentwasindeedbliss.IwentjoyfullyoutofthedrearyhousewhereIhadlivedsolongamongdisappointmentsanddifficulties,turningmybackuponitwithsuchasenseofreliefascouldneverbeexpressedinwords—andthelastthingIheardasIpassedintothestreetwithmycompanion,wasaplaintivelong-drawnwailofminormelody,whichseemedtobesentaftermelikeapartingcry,bytheunknownandinvisibleplayeroftheviolin.

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