for boulders in it. With the birds she bent over to drink, when she heard far off haunting strains of music.
She looked for the flash of whirring wings. But it couldn't be that. Harsh voices too often went with the brilliant plumage. Besides, the sounds were like those of human voices singing—or spirits, if there were such inhabiting the island.
Frightened yet impelled by devouring curiosity, she stepped from stone to stone to the other brink of the brook, then wandered through the colourful maze of the wild-wood, on up the mountainside and towards the voices.
At last she hit into what must have once been a path cut through the thinning woods, but it was rankly overgrown and there were no traces of footsteps.
The path wound towards the sea and into a bright open space, once a rich garden, now a beautiful tangle, commanding a view over the descending phalanxes of trees to the waters, east, west, and south.
The north side was barricaded by a cliff-like section of the mountain, whose summit towered a quarter of a mile above.
Against the cliff and half-concealed by the deep green foliage of trees, their branches seeming consciously to protect and soften its ruin, was a great house, facing directly South. Its roof, dulled by Time from bright red to the hue of rust, had fallen in at different places. But many of the slender pillars supporting the upper and lower verandahs, and the gracefully carved balconies, were still intact. In the windows, tattered remnants of curtains fluttered back and forth, stirred by the disconsolate wind.
