"Only a buterfleoge," Hyla answered him. "For the moment I was fearful, but it was nothing, and as light as a leaf on a linden tree."
The other two crossed themselves without answering, and strained their eyes out into the dark.
"Hist!" said Gurth suddenly. "Listen! Cannot you hear anything? Wailing voices like spirits in pain!" They shipped the poles and bent out over the boat listening intently.
Something strange was occurring some half a mile away, judging from the sound. A long musical wail came over the water at regular intervals, and it was answered by the sound of many voices.
As they watched and listened in terror, they saw a tiny speck of light on a level with the water, which appeared to be moving towards them. The voices grew louder, and then with a gasp of relief the fugitives heard the tones of men singing.
"They are the fathers from Icomb," said Hyla; "they are looking for us, and have come out in their boats."
In the still night a deep voice chanted a verse of the sixty-ninth psalm. The sonorous words of comfort rolled towards them:
"Deus in adjutiorum meum intende: Domine, ad adjuvandum me festina."
Then came the antiphon in a great volume of sound: "Confundantur et revereantur: qui quaerunt animam meam."
The single voice complained out into the night: "Avertantur retorsum, et erubescant; qui volunt mihi mala."