"Go below now, Hamish," said Macleod in a gentle voice and the old man slowly and reluctantly obeyed.
But the night had not drawn to day when Macleod again went forward, and said, in a strange, excited whisper,—
"Hamish, Hamish, are you awake now?"
Instantly the old man appeared; he had not turned into his berth at all.
"Hamish, Hamish, do you hear the sound?" Macleod said, in the same wild way; "do you not hear the sound?"
"What sound, Sir Keith?" said he; for indeed there was nothing but the lapping of the water along the side of the yacht and a murmur of ripples along the shore.
"Do you not hear it, Hamish? It is a sound as of a brass-band!—a brass-band playing music—as if it was in a theatre. Can you not hear it, Hamish?"
"Oh, God help us! God help us!" Hamish cried.
"You do not hear it, Hamish?" he said. "Ah, it is some mistake. I beg your pardon for calling you, Hamish: now you will go below again."
"Oh no, Sir Keith," said Hamish. "Will I not stay on deck now till the morning? It is a fine sleep I have had; oh yes, I had a fine sleep. And how is one to know when the equinoctials may not come on?"