very far away, Euan — yet, if one could hear so far I would swear that I heard the conch-horn of your rifles!”

“Did I not tell you she knew it well?” said Lana with her pallid smile, as we opened the massive guard-door, squeezed through the covered way, and came out along the rifle-platform among our noisy soldiers.

“Listen!” murmured Lois, close at my elbow. “There! It comes again! Do you not hear it, Euan! That low, long, sustained and heart-thrilling undertone droning in the air through all this tumult!”

And presently I heard the sound — the wondrous melancholy, yet seductive music of our conch-horn. Its magic call set my every pulse a-throbbing. All the alluring mystery and solitude, all the