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Show he was now returning. almost of awe crept over her, and she began to wonder. When a woman begins to wonder there is no limit to her mental journeyings. Lady Wyverne had travelled very far when a strange sound startled her and arrested her attention. It was a voice singing, or rather murmuring, an uncouth tune, a soft, whining, almost babyish voice. From whom did it come? She could see no one except the young Spahi, and it did not occur to her at first that the voice could proceed from a man's mouth. She listened, leaning over the balustrade. The voice went on singing until it seemed to her as if it had become one with the night, almost as if it were the voice of the night in this rocky solitude at the edge of the sands. The tune was u~ly, she thought, but it interested her. Had she spoken of it, she would probably have said that it was "so weird." She had never before heard anything at all resembling it. By degrees the singing began to affect her almost painfully, to play upon her nerves, to make her restless and uneasy. She took her arms from the rail of the veranda. Who was the singer ? She tried to locate the sound, and presently it seemed to her that it came from the spot where the Spahi was standing. Was it really he who was singing? Was it a-a serenade? She smiled. Her swift vanity was awake. When she moved the Spahi moved too. He walked softly across / '·· the little court, lifted his head towards / '/ theverandaandshowedLadyWyverne his dark face with the lips He was the singer, and now, insolently, he sent the song to her. Ever since she had |