"It is like the humming of a spinning-wheel," he remarked; "it is very weird and uncanny." "So people always say," she returned.

"It is the goat-sucker, you know; they are very fond of feeding on that sort of beetle called the gnat-chafer; in fact, it is their favourite food.

It has another name, the fern-owl." "So I have heard;" and then, as a rich strong voice broke suddenly on his startled ears, he leant back in his hammock chair and composed himself to listen.
It was a wonderful voice, so sweet and true and full of expression; there was such tenderness and depth in it, that it seemed in some mysterious way to touch the very recesses of the heart, and to play on the whole gamut of human feeling.

Malcolm found himself thinking of his lonely childhood, and of his father, then he recalled his youthful aspirations and his old ideals.

"The thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts," he said to himself, "and the wind's will is a boy's will;" and then, as the last lingering notes died away, he flung his cigarette aside and rose abruptly from his seat.
"You have given us a great treat," he said in a low voice as Elizabeth stepped through the window.