not tolerate any such loose inaccuracy.

"It would sount the same in the taydime. The fibrations are the same."
But he more than makes up for his harsh prosaism by singing, in unison
with the singers unseen:

"Ich weiss nicht was soll es bedeuten
Dass ich so traurig bin...."

No one could ever have imagined that such heavenly sounds could come
from anything so fat and noisy. Mrs. Fenwick shuts her eyes to listen.

When she opens them again, jerked back from a temporary dream-paradise
by the Baron remarking with the voice of Stentor or Boanerges that it
is a "ferry broody lied," her husband is standing there. He has been
listening to the music. The Baron adds that his friend Mr. Harrisson
was "ferry vond of that lied."

But when the two of them have said a cordial good-night to the unwieldy
nightingale, who goes away to bed, as he has to leave early in the
morning, Fenwick is very silent, and once and again brushes his hair
about, and shakes his head in his old way. His wife sees what it is.
The music has gone as near touching the torpid memory as the wild
autumn night and the cloud-race round the moon had done in the little
front garden at home a year ago.

"A recurrence, Gerry?" she asks.

"Something of the sort, Rosey love," he says. "Something quite mad this
time. There was a steam-engine in it, of all things in the world!" But
it has been painful, evidently--a discomfort at least--as these things
always are.

Rosalind's apprehension of untimely revelations dictated a feeling
of satisfaction that the Baron was going away next day; her regret
at losing the choice of further investigation admitted one of
dissatisfaction that he had gone. The net result was unsettlement and
discomfort, which lasted through the remainder of Sonnenberg, and did
not lift altogether until the normallest of normal life came back in
a typical London four-wheeler, which dutifully obeyed the injunction
to "go slowly," not only through the arch that injunction brooded over,
but even to the end of the furlong outside the radius which commanded
an extra sixpence and got more. But what did that matter when Sally was
found watching at the gate for its advent, and received her stepfather
with an undisguised hug as soon as she found it in her heart to
relinquish her mother?

CHAPTER XX

MERE DAILY LIFE AT KRAKATOA. BUT SALLY IS QUITE FENWICK'S DAUGHTER
BY NOW. OF HER VIEWS ABOUT DR. VEREKER, AND OF TISHY'S AUNT FRANCES

W