“In the fields with their flocks abiding.” A commotion of men's voices broke out singing in ragged unison.

Anna Brangwen had started up, listening, when the music began.

She was afraid.

“It's the wake,” he whispered.

She remained tense, her heart beating heavily, possessed with strange, strong fear. Then there came the burst of men's singing, rather uneven. She strained still, listening.

“It's Dad,” she said, in a low voice. They were silent, listening.

“And my father,” he said.

She listened still. But she was sure. She sank down again into bed, into his arms.