Maloney exclaimed, under his breath. "Joan!" replied John Silence. *       *       *       *       *

We all went to bed early. The day had been unusually warm, and after
sunset a curious hush descended on the island. Nothing was audible but
that faint, ghostly singing which is inseparable from a pinewood even on
the stillest day--a low, searching sound, as though the wind had hair
and trailed it o'er the world. With the sudden cooling of the atmosphere a sea fog began to form. It
appeared in isolated patches over the water, and then these patches slid
together and a white wall advanced upon us. Not a breath of air stirred;
the firs stood like flat metal outlines; the sea became as oil. The
whole scene lay as though held motionless by some huge weight in the
air; and the flames from our fire--the largest we had ever made--rose
upwards, straight as a church steeple. As I followed the rest of our party tent-wards, having kicked the embers
of the fire into safety, the advance guard of the fog was creeping
slowly among the trees, like white arms feeling their way. Mingled with
the smoke was the odour of moss and soil and bark, and the peculiar
flavour of the Baltic, half salt, half brackish, like the smell of an
estuary at low water. It is difficult to say why it seemed to me that this deep stillness
masked an intense activity; perhaps in every mood lies the suggestion of
its opposite, so that I became aware of the contrast of furious energy,
for it was like moving through the deep pause before a thunderstorm, and
I trod gently lest by breaking a twig or moving a stone I might set the
whole scene into some sort of tumultuous movement. Actually, no doubt,
it was nothing more than a result of overstrung nerves. There was no more question of undressing and going to bed than there was
of undressing and going to bathe. Some sense in me was alert and
expectant. I sat in my tent and waited. And at the end of half an hour
or so my waiting was justified, for the canvas suddenly shivered, and
some one tripped over the ropes that held it to the earth. John Silence
came in. The effect of his quiet entry was singular and prophetic: it was just as
though the energy lying behind all this stillness had pressed forward to
the edge of action. This, no doubt, was merely the quickening of my own
mind, and had no other justification; for the presence of John Silence
always suggested the near possibility of vigorous action, and as a
matter of fact, he came in with nothing more than a nod and a
significant gesture. He sat down on a corner of my ground-sheet, and I pushed the blanket
over so that he could cover his legs. He drew the flap of the tent after
him and settled down, but hardly had he done so when the canvas shook a
second time, and in blundered Maloney. "Sitting in the dark?" he said self-consciously, pushing his head
inside, and hanging up his lantern on the ridge-pole nail. "I just
looked in for a smoke. I suppose--"

He glanced round, caught the eye of Dr. Silence, and stopped. He put his
pipe back into his pocket and began to hum softly--that underbreath
humming of a nondescript melody I knew so well and had come to hate. Dr. Silence leaned forward, opened the lantern and blew the light out. "Speak low," he said, "and don't strike matches. Listen for sounds and
movements about the Camp, and be ready to follow me at a moment's
notice." There was light enough to distinguish our faces easily, and I
saw Maloney glance again hurriedly at both of us. "Is the Camp asleep?" the doctor asked presently, whispering. "Sangree is," replied the clergyman, in a voice equally low. "I can't
answer for the women; I think they're sitting up." "That's for the best." And then he added: "I wish the fog would thin a
bit and let the moon through; later--we may want it." "It is lifting now, I think," Maloney whispered back. "It's over the
tops of the trees already." I cannot say what it was in this commonplace exchange of remarks that
thrilled. Probably Maloney's swift acquiescence in the doctor's mood had
something to do with it; for his quick obedience certainly impressed me
a good deal. But, even without that slight evidence, it was clear that
each recognised the gravity of the occasion, and understood that sleep
was impossible and sentry duty was the order of the night. "Report to me," repeated John Silence once again, "the least sound, and
do nothing precipitately." He shifted across to the mouth of the tent and raised the flap,
fastening it against the pole so that he could see out. Maloney stopped
humming and began to force the breath through his teeth with a kind of
faint hissing, treating us to a medley of church hymns and popular songs
of the day. Then the tent trembled as though some one had touched it. "That's the wind rising," whispered the clergyman, and pulled the flap
open as far as it would go. A waft of cold damp air entered and made us
shiver, and with it came a sound of the sea as the first wave washed its
way softly along the shores. "It's got round to the north," he added, and following his voice came a
long-drawn whisper that rose from the whole island as the trees sent
forth a sighing response. "The fog'll move a bit now. I can make out a
lane across the sea already." "Hush!" said Dr. Silence, for Maloney's voice had risen above a whisper,
and we settled down again to another long period of watching and
waiting, broken only by the occasional rubbing of shoulders against the
canvas as we shifted our positions, and the increasing noise of waves on
the outer coast-line of the island. And over all whirred the murmur of
wind sweeping the tops of the trees like a great harp, and the faint
tapping on the tent as drops fell from the branches with a sharp pinging
sound. We had sat for something over an hour in this way, and Maloney and I
were finding it increasingly hard to keep awake, when suddenly Dr. Silence rose to his feet and peered out. The next minute he was gone. Relieved of the dominating presence, the clergyman thrust his face close
into mine. "I don't much care for this waiting game," he whispered, "but
Silence wouldn't hear of my sitting up with the others; he said it would
prevent anything happening if I did." "He knows," I answered shortly. "No doubt in the world about that," he whispered back; "it's this
'Double' business, as he calls it, or else it's obsession as the Bible
describes it. But it's bad, whichever it is, and I've got my Winchester
outside ready cocked, and I brought this too." He shoved a pocket Bible
under my nose. At one time in his life it had been his inseparable
companion. "One's useless and the other's dangerous," I replied under my breath,
conscious of a keen desire to laugh, and leaving him to choose. "Safety
lies in following our leader--"

"I'm not thinking of myself," he interrupted sharply; "only, if anything
happens to Joan to-night I'm going to shoot first--and pray afterwards!"