"It's a skylark, sure enough," said Anthony, looking skywards. "But where the mischief is he?"
And they gave eyes and ears to trying to determine, searching the empyrean. Now his voice seemed to come from the west, now from the north, the south, the east; it was the most deceptive, the most elusive thing.
"Ah—there he is," Anthony cried, of a sudden, and pointed.
"Where? Where?" breathlessly asked Susanna, anxious as if life and death hung on the question.
"There—look!" said Anthony, pointing again.
High, high up in the air, directly over their heads, they could discern a tiny speck of black against the blue of the sky. They sat with their necks craned back as far as they would go, and gazed at it like people transfixed, whilst the sky pulsated to their dazzled sight.
"It is incredible," said Susanna. "A mere pin-point in that immensity, yet he fills it full with his hosannas."
But the pin-point grew bigger, the hosannas louder; the bird was descending.
"Literally it is music coming down upon us from heaven," she said.
"Yes—but when it reaches us, it will stop, we shall lose it," said Anthony. "It is music too ethereal to survive the contact of this gross planet."