"_Now_ do you hear anything?" he asked, watching me curiously.

We stood there, listening attentively together. At first I heard only
the deep note of the water and the hissings rising from its turbulent
surface. The willows, for once, were motionless and silent. Then a sound
began to reach my ears faintly, a peculiar sound--something like the
humming of a distant gong. It seemed to come across to us in the
darkness from the waste of swamps and willows opposite. It was repeated
at regular intervals, but it was certainly neither the sound of a bell
nor the hooting of a distant steamer. I can liken it to nothing so much
as to the sound of an immense gong, suspended far up in the sky,
repeating incessantly its muffled metallic note, soft and musical, as
it was repeatedly struck. My heart quickened as I listened.

"I've heard it all day," said my companion. "While you slept this
afternoon it came all round the island. I hunted it down, but could
never get near enough to see--to localize it correctly. Sometimes it was
overhead, and sometimes it seemed under the water. Once or twice, too, I
could have sworn it was not outside at all, but _within myself_--you
know--the way a sound in the fourth dimension is supposed to come."

I was too much puzzled to pay much attention to his words. I listened
carefully, striving to associate it with any known familiar sound I
could think of, but without success. It changed in direction, too,
coming nearer, and then sinking utterly away into remote distance. I
cannot say that it was ominous in quality, because to me it seemed
distinctly musical, yet I must admit it set going a distressing feeling
that made me wish I had never heard it.