They ploughed through the thicket, recrossed the grass avenue, and scrambled down the hillside to the banks of the stream.
Then for the first time Dickson observed that his companion's face was very white, and that sweat stood on his temples.

Heritage lay down and lapped up water like a dog.

Then he turned a wild eye on the other.
"I am going back," he said.

"That is the voice of the girl I saw in Rome, and it is singing her song!".