Great wafts of scent rose from it, for the lilacs were scarcely over and the may was in full blossom.

Out from the shade of it came suddenly a voice like a nightingale.
It was singing the old song 'Cherry Ripe', a common enough thing which I had chiefly known from barrel-organs.

But heard in the scented moonlight it seemed to hold all the lingering magic of an elder England and of this hallowed countryside.

I stepped inside the garden bounds and saw the head of the girl Mary.
She was conscious of my presence, for she turned towards me.
'I was coming to look for you,' she said, 'now that the house is quiet.
I have something to say to you, General Hannay.' She knew my name and must be somehow in the business.

The thought entranced me.
'Thank God I can speak to you freely,' I cried.