"Hark!" said Father Collins, holding a curved hand to his ear. "You hear the music...?"
"'Why, in the leafy greenwood lone
Sit you, rustic Pan, and drone
On a dulcet resonant reed?'"
He paused, peering across to the stone figure as for an answer. All stood listening, waiting, only wind and water breaking the silence. The bats were now flitting; overhead hung the saffron arch of fading sunset. In a deep ringing voice, very gruff and very low, Father Collins gave the answer:
"'So that yonder cows may feed
Up the dewy mountain passes,
Gathering the feathered grasses.'
"That's Pan's work," he said, laughing pleasantly, "Pan and all his splendid hierarchy. Always at work, though invisibly, with music, colour, beauty!..."
It was scraps like this that stood out in Fillery's memory, adding to his conviction that Paul had enlisted even this strange priest in his deep-laid plan....