With a mighty effort he moved, he spoke, he said:
"Come, Frank, let's get away from here!"
His voice was husky and hoarse, so that he was startled by its sound. Merriwell glanced toward him, lifting a hand with a gesture that warned to silence, while he bent his head toward the grave and listened.
For some moments both stood still, and again Browning felt that strange spell stealing upon him, as if hypnotic eyes were peering out from the shadows and looking down into his soul. He shook himself, he even looked around in search of those eyes; but he saw nothing save the dark, gloomy woods and the funereal shadows.
Frank straightened up. There was a queer look on his face.
"Did you hear it?" he asked, in a whisper.
"Of course I heard it," answered Browning, thinking he spoke of the whisper. "The words came to my ears distinctly."
"No, no; I did not mean the whisper."
"Then what did you mean? I heard no other sound."
"It is strange, for I fancied I heard it distinctly."