Suddenly a merry roulade of whistling broke the awful stillness.

Two men were coming down the road whistling "Roy's Wife of Alidivalloch" as clearly soft and sweet as flutes, accented with human gayety and mirth.
On came the merry whistlers.

Burr sprang up and grasped Madelon Hautville's arm.

"He isn't dead," he whispered, hoarsely.

"Somebody's coming.