"He's too far up.

He must get to the top, and when he finds nothing but wind and leaves he may go sane again.
Hark at him above there; you can just hear him talking to himself." "Perhaps he's talking to us," I said.
"No," said Rupert, "he'd shout if he was.

I've never known him to talk to himself before; I'm afraid he really is bad tonight; it's a known sign of the brain going." "Yes," I said sadly, and listened.

Basil's voice certainly was sounding above us, and not by any means in the rich and riotous tones in which he had hailed us before.

He was speaking quietly, and laughing every now and then, up there among the leaves and stars.
After a silence mingled with this murmur, Rupert Grant suddenly said, "My God!" with a violent voice.
"What's the matter--are you hurt ?" I cried, alarmed.
"No.