Hearken!--is not that he approaching!" And it was actually he.

The tall elegant figure was descending the moonlight rocks with a light, elastic tread, dressed from head to foot in a black atlas mantle.

Szilard saw him drawing nearer and nearer, step by step, to the mill behind a pillar of whose verandah he himself was concealed expectant.
At the very moment when he perceived this figure, his former terror gave way before a strange, resolute fury which now filled his heart, a feeling familiar only to those whose blood is set boiling whenever they are suddenly confronted by a pressing danger.

He feared the man no longer, he burned to encounter him.
Blind Juon stood beside him and pressed his hand.

They both of them began to listen intently, nature itself was as still as if the wind also would listen.