le. A sound seemed to pass them in
the air; a strange sound, something between a sigh and a moan. It
swelled for a moment, then died away among the trees beyond the
verandah. Miss Sophronia clutched Margaret's arm. "You--you made that
noise?" she whispered. "Say it was you, Margaret!"

"Indeed, it was not I, Cousin Sophronia!" said Margaret. "It must have
been a sudden gust of wind. It is gone now; it must surely have been
the wind. Shall I bring you a wrap? Do you feel chilly?"

Miss Sophronia still held her arm. "No, no! Don't go!" she said. "I--I
feel rather nervous to-night, I think. Nerves! Yes, no one knows what I
suffer. If you had any idea what my nights are-- You may be right, my
dear, about the wind. It is a misfortune, I always say, to have such
exquisite sensibility. The expression is not my own, my love, it is
Doctor Soper's. Shall we go into the house, and light the lamps? So much
more cheerful, I always think, than this dreary twilight."

Margaret hesitated a moment. The evening was very warm, and once in the
house, her cousin would be sure to shut all the windows and draw the
curtains. Still, she must not be selfish--

"If I join you in a few minutes, Cousin Sophronia?" she said. "The
children--I suppose it is time for them to come in. I will just go down
to the summer-house and see--"

The sentence remained unfinished; for at that moment, almost close
beside them, arose the strange moaning sound once more. This time Miss
Sophronia shrieked aloud. "Come!" she cried, dragging Margaret towards
the house. "Come in this moment! It is the Voice! The Voice of Fernley.
I will not stay here; I will not go in alone. Come with me, Margaret!"

She was trembling from head to foot, and even Margaret, who was not
timid about such matters, felt slightly disturbed. Was this some trick
of the children? She must go and hunt them up, naughty little things.
Ah! What was that, moving in the dusk? It was almost entirely dark now,
but something was certainly coming up the gravel walk, something that
glimmered white against the black box-hedges. Miss Sophronia uttered
another piercing shriek, and would have fled, but Margaret detained her.
"Who is that?" said the girl. "Basil, is that you? Where are the other
children?"

The white figure advanced; it was tall and slender, and seemed to have
no head. Miss Sophronia moaned, and cowered down at Margaret's side.

"I beg pardon!" said a deep, cheerful voice. "I hope nothing