-the weird shout of a
night-bird from the mountain-side; the yelp of a jackal far out upon the
plain; the loud and sudden, but musical twanging note of the night
locust, whose cry can hardly be credited to a mere insect, so powerful,
so bird-like is it. Even the splash of a mud-turtle waddling into the
dam was audible.

A rushing, booming, buzzing sound swept past the open window. Mona
started again, and her face paled. It was only some big flying beetle,
blundering past the oblong of light which had half-attracted,
half-scared him; yet so overwrought were her nerves that she could
hardly repress a startled scream. Now, this sort of thing is catching,
and Grace Suffield felt that a little more of it would probably end by
unnerving herself.

"My dear Mona," she said; "this is more than nervousness. You have
caught cold somehow. Come now, you must go to bed; and I will make you
something hot."

"I can't go to bed, Grace, and I couldn't sleep if I did," she answered.
"Let's go out on the _stoep_. The air may make one feel better."

To this the other agreed, and they went forth. It was a grand and
glorious night. A faint moon hung low down in the heavens, and the
great planets gushed their rolling fires in the star-gemmed blackness.
Such a night had been that other, when only the dark willows had
overheard those whispers--deep, pulsating, passionate--welling from the
overcharged hearts and strong natures of those who uttered them.

"Look, look! That is almost bright enough for a meteor!" cried Mona as
a falling star darted down in a streak of light, seeming to strike the
distant loom of the mountain range in its rocket-like course. "There is
something weird, to my mind, about these falling stars. What are they,
and where do they go to?"

"Everything is weird to your mind to-night, dear. Come in now, and go
to bed."

"Not yet, Grace. I feel better already. I knew the air would do me
good. Look there! what is that--and that?"

Her tone now belied her former words--her limbs shook. And now both
stood listening intently.

For there floated upon the still night air a sound--an eerie, wailing,
long-drawn sound--faint, yet clear; very distant, yet plainly audible;
rising and falling; now springing to a high pitch, now sinking to a
muffled, rumbling roar--yet so faint, so distant. Far away over the
darkened waste where the great castellated pile of the Wildschutsberg
rose gloomy beneath the horned moon