Suddenly in the distance there came a faint sound, the opening of a door; and a breath of night-air, pure and cold, blew in across the stillness.  In a moment there followed a light, elastic step, and Piers came into view at the other end of the hall.  He moved swiftly as though he trod air.  His head was thrown back, his face rapt and intent as though he saw a vision.  He did not see the lonely figure sitting there before the hearth, but turned aside ere he neared it and entered an unlighted room, shutting himself gently in.

Again the silence descended, but only for a few seconds.  Then softly it was dispelled, as through it there stole the tender, passionate-sweet harmonies of a Chopin nocturne.

At the first note Sir Beverley started, almost winced as at the sudden piercing of a nerve.  Then as the music continued, he leaned rigidly back again and became as still as before.

Very softly the music thrilled through the silence.  It might have come from somewhere very far away.  There was something almost unearthly about it, a depth and a mystery that seemed to spread as it were invisible wings, filling the place with dim echoes of the Divine.

It died away at last into a silence like the hush of prayer.  And then the still figure of the old man before the fire became suddenly vitalized.  He sat up abruptly and seized with impatience a small hand-bell from the table beside him.

David made his discreet appearance with the coffee almost at the first tinkle.

“Coffee!” his master flung at him.  “And fetch Master Piers!”

David set down the tray at his master’s elbow, and turned to obey the second behest.  But the door of the drawing-room opened ere he reached it, and Piers came out.  His dark eyes were shining.  He whistled softly as he came.

David stood respectfully on one side, and Piers passed him like a man in a dream.  He came to his grandfather, and threw himself on to the settle by his side in silence.

“Well?” said Sir Beverley.  “You took that chattering monkey back, I suppose?”

Piers started and seemed to awake.  “Oh yes, I got her safely home.  We had to dodge the Reverend Stephen.  But it was all right.  She and the boy got in without being caught.”

He stirred his coffee thoughtfully, and fell silent again.

“You’d better go to bed,” said Sir Beverley abruptly.

Piers looked up, meeting the hard grey eyes with the memory of his dream still lingering in his own.

Slowly the dream melted.  He began to smile.  “I think I’d better,” he said.  “I’m infernally sleepy, and it’s getting late.”  He drank off his coffee and rose.  “You must be pretty tired yourself, sir,” he remarked.  “Time you trotted to bed too.”

He moved round to the back of the settle and paused, looking down at the thick white hair with a curious expression of hesitancy in his eyes.

“Oh, go on!  Go on!” said Sir Beverley irritably.  “What are you waiting for?”