The first thing Con was aware of when a sort of half-consciousness returned to him, was the sound of voices. He did not recognise either of them; he was too sleepy to think where he was, or to take in the sense of what he heard, but long afterwards the words returned to him.
“Of course we shall do him no harm,” said the first voice. “That is not our way with those who come to us as he has done. All his life he has been wishing to come to us, and we might bear you a grudge for trying to stop him.”
Here the speaker burst into a curious, ringing laugh, which seemed to be re-echoed by numberless other voices in the distance.
“You made him wish it,” answered some one—it was Nance—sadly.
“We made him wish it! Ha, ha! ha, ha! Did you ever hear anything like that, my dear friends? Why did his mother tie up his sleeves with green ribbon before he was christened? Answer that. Ha, ha! ha, ha!” And then there came another succession of rollicking laughter.
“It was to be, I suppose,” said Nance. “But you won’t keep him. I brought him here to save his life, not to lose his—”
“Hush, hush; how can you be so ill-mannered?” interrupted the other. “Keep him? of course not, unless he wants to stay, the pretty dear.”
“But will you make him want to stay?” pleaded Nance.
“How could we?” said the other mockingly. “How could we influence him? He is a pupil of yours. But if you like to change your mind, you may come back instead of him. Ha, ha! ha, ha! what a joke!” And the laughter sounded as if the creatures, whoever they were, were holding their sides, and rolling about in the extremity of their glee. It faded away, gradually however, growing more and more indistinct, as if receding into the distance. And Con turned round on his side, and fell asleep more soundly than ever.