She supposed that it must be some of the plantation hands prowling about outside; but she wondered at her brother-in-law allowing them to behave in such a tiresome way when people were wanting to sleep.
"Ha-ha! ha-ha!" jeered the voice outside, as if mocking at her annoyance. Then followed a chorus of chuckles, and Miss Chase sat up in bed, and strained her ears to catch the joke, if possible. But no words reached her. There was a little pause as if some one might be speaking, and then another burst of delighted chuckles, so very funny that they were quite infectious, and Miss Chase smiled in spite of herself.
"Ha-ha! ha-ha! ha-ha-ha-ha!" laughed the voices. Now certainly there were more than one.
"This is too ridiculous," thought Miss Chase, beginning to chuckle softly to herself. "What can they be saying or doing out there?"
At last the hilarity became so boisterous that her curiosity got the better of her, and slipping on a wrapper she opened the window and crept out on to the veranda.
To her surprise there was no one to be seen—not a soul was about either on the veranda or below, though she leant right over, and strained her eyes to catch a glimpse of these queer people.
It was comparatively deliciously cool outside, the grayness before dawn a pleasant contrast to the tropical glare that was positively hurtful to the new-comer's eyes. Going to the corner of the veranda, she gazed away and away towards the now deep gray sea, lying like a bath of mist beyond the dense black of the trees in the valley.
"What a queer, unreal world it seems," she was thinking, "and yet to little Peter this is all reality, and England nothing but a dream."
"Ha-ha!" said a voice from immediately below, so loudly as to sound almost insulting.
Miss Chase jumped, looked about in astonishment—and saw no one.