They sounded for a time, and then were silent.

And the evening stillness became pensive, stretched itself out in long shadows, and then grew dark;--and suddenly night, coming to meet it, all atremble with the rustle of sadly brushed-up leaves, heaved a last sigh and was still.
There was a bustle, a jostle, a rattle of other voices, as though some one had untied a bag of lively resonant voices, and they were falling out on the ground, by one and two, and whole heaps.

It was the disciples talking.

And drowning them all, reverberating from the trees and walls, and tripping up over itself, thundered the determined, powerful voice of Peter--he was swearing that never would he desert his Master.
"Lord," said he, half in anger, half in grief: "Lord! I am ready to go with Thee to prison and to death." And quietly, like the soft echo of retiring footsteps, came the inexorable answer: "I tell thee, Peter, the cock will not crow this day before thou dost deny Me thrice.".