Dickson halted in his steps. The tune, whatever it was, was like a fresh
wind to blow aside his depression. The house no longer looked sepulchral.
He saw that the two men had hurried back from their patrol, had met and
exchanged some message, and made off again as if alarmed by the music.
Then he noticed his companion....

Heritage was on one knee with his face rapt and listening.
He got to his feet and appeared to be about to make for the House.
Dickson caught him by the arm and dragged him into the bushes, and
he followed unresistingly, like a man in a dream. They ploughed
through the thicket, recrossed the grass avenue, and scrambled down
the hillside to the banks of the stream.

Then for the first time Dickson observed that his companion's face
was very white, and that sweat stood on his temples. Heritage lay
down and lapped up water like a dog. Then he turned a wild eye on
the other.

"I am going back," he said. "That is the voice of the girl I saw in
Rome, and it is singing her song!"



CHAPTER IV


DOUGAL


"You'll do nothing of the kind," said Dickson. "You're coming home