Eric lay on his back, his cap drawn over his eyes, his cloak rolled up under his head, a pleasant drowsiness filling his being after the efforts he had made.
Suddenly he sat up with a start, wide awake now, all his senses alert. He had heard something which sounded like the deep tones of a bell, coming from afar off, but distinctly, like a dismal and yet persistent voice, calling ... calling.
He looked around him full of excitement, keenly interested, and ready for any new adventure.
He rose to his feet and stood, his hand to his ear, listening.
For a moment there was silence, and then again distinctly the sound of a deep-toned bell—and this time he distinguished that the sound came from the rocks that bounded the farther side of the little bay.
Eric felt he must follow that sound; it drew him towards it; he could not resist those deep tones calling, calling.... A voice full of warning or invitation?...
He could not make out which, neither did he worry his mind about it,—was he not a bird of the air free and joyful, always a song on his lips, loving the sun that shone down upon him, the air that caressed his cheeks, and the good firm earth on which he stood?
The notes of the bell were now louder, now softer; but their tone could not be resisted, and the beautiful youth felt he must follow; so he began moving towards the spot whence the sound seemed to be coming.
Soon he stood before a high cliff over which long creeping plants were growing, hanging flexible branches covered over and over with some coral-coloured berry, more like long chains of bright beads than a living plant.
This was the only rock on which anything grew, and the shoots took root apparently out of the dark hard stone high above his head. He lifted some of the long trailing branches in both his hands, and as he did so the sound of the bell was distinctly heard, as if quite near.