ng for driftwood while I slept. No more talk about
undesirable things had passed between us, and I think his only remarks had
to do with the gradual destruction of the island, which he declared was not
fully a third smaller than when we first landed.

The pot had just begun to bubble when I heard his voice calling to me from
the bank, where he had wandered away without my noticing. I ran up.

"Come and listen," he said, "and see what you make of it." He held his hand
cupwise to his ear, as so often before.

"Now do you hear anything?" he asked, watching me curiously.

We stood there, listening attentively together. At first I heard only the
deep note of the water and the hissings rising from its turbulent surface.
The willows, for once, were motionless and silent. Then a sound began to
reach my ears faintly, a peculiar sound--something like the humming of a
distant gong. It seemed to come across to us in the darkness from the waste
of swamps and willows opposite. It was repeated at regular intervals, but
it was certainly neither the sound of a bell nor the hooting of a distant
steamer. I can liken it to nothing so much as to the sound of an immense
gong, suspended far up in the sky, repeating incessantly its muffled
metallic note, soft and musical, as it was repeatedly struck. My heart
quickened as I listened.

"I've heard it all day," said my companion. "While you slept this afternoon
it came all round the island. I hunted it down, but could never get near
enough to see--to localize it correctly. Sometimes it was overhead, and
sometimes it seemed under the water. Once or twice, too, I could have sworn
it was not outside at all, but within myself--you know--the way a sound in
the fourth dimension is supposed to come."

I was too much puzzled to pay much attention to his words. I listened
carefully, striving to associate it with any known familiar sound I could
think of, but without success. It changed in the direction, too, coming
nearer, and then sinking utterly away into remote distance. I cannot say
that it was ominous in quality, because to me it seemed distinctly musical,
yet I must admit it set going a distressing feeling that made me wish I had
never heard it.

"The wind blowing in those sand-funnels," I said determined to find an
explanation, "or the bushes rubbing together after the storm perhaps."

"It comes off the whole swamp," my friend answered. "It comes from
everywhere at once." He ignored my expl