But all of a sudden a low and deep sound began to make itself heard. It was like a whisper, hoarse, yet roughly melodious, issuing out of the very heart of the else omnipresent stillness; and gradually gathering volume, until it roared on the ear like the far-heard music of a cataract. Lady Kildhurm, roused from the reverie into which she had fallen, lifted her head and listened in surprise, and the children postponed their fisticuffs and listened also. What caused the sound? No wind had arisen; there hung the banner, idle as before; yonder stretched the sea in glassy immobility. A dark cloud, however, had crept before the face of the sun; and as the mother raised her glance, she perceived a strange commotion in the Oak. Its huge limbs swayed to and fro, and the thickly clustered leaves hurtled hither and thither, as though under the stress of a mighty breeze. It was from the Oak, then, and only from the Oak, that the multitudinous murmur came. Amidst the autumnal hush of that peaceful afternoon it was uplifting its voice in a many-toned tumult of harmony; and as the sound gained resonance, it seemed to the now pale-cheeked woman as if a voice, indistinct at first, was gradually shaping itself to intelligible utterance, approaching through numberless repetitions nearer and nearer to articulate speech. Yes, after fifty years, the genius of the tree was full-born and awake, and striving with ten thousand tongues to give expression to his will. As the cry rose higher, he shook his swarthy arms towards the sea; and thereupon a long tidal wave, which had noiselessly been advancing shore-wards across the smooth expanse, burst in mellow thunder along the resounding shore. Slowly the echoes died away, and slowly, likewise, the wild voice of the tree subsided and was still. Everywhere the calm of the October day reigned as before--everywhere save in the mother's frightened heart. The cloud, moreover, still lingered before the sun. Little Sir Maurice, who had observed this portent attentively throughout, now took hold of his mother's dress and looked up in her face. 'Didst thou hear, mother?' he demanded. 'The Oak said "Maurice! Maurice! Maurice!" over and over again. Why does it call me? Does it want me to go anywhere, or do anything? Tell me, mother!' 'Hush, child, thou talkest foolishly! can trees talk?' returned Lady Kildhurm, trying to hide her uneasiness beneath an assumed asperity. The next moment she bent down and kissed the boy with yearning tenderness on cheek and brow. Then she glanced fearfully at the unmoving masses of sombre foliage. 'Pray God he be not called from me!' she said half aloud. 'But how strange a thing! Pooh! it was my fancy!--nay, for he heard it also!--and then that great wave, like an answer from the sea! But--pshaw! I am more foolish than my children. It was but some sudden wind-gust. I will think of it no more. Maurice, and thou, Rupert, come now into the house. The air is not so warm as an hour since.'