Philip, silent as was his wont when puzzled, instead of rushing into speech, had said nothing. But now he asked a question. "Of course, it was not a conjuring trick," he said. "That would be futility itself. But you used to have extraordinary hypnotic power, Tom. I only ask--Was that a real nightingale?" "Quite real." Evelyn put down his glass untasted. "I am frightened," he said. "I shall go to bed." And without more words he bolted into the house. Philip called good night after him, but there was no response, and he was left alone with the Hermit. "I am not frightened," he said. "But what on earth does it all mean? Have a drink?" Tom Merivale laughed quietly. "It means exactly what I have said," he answered. "Come down to my home sometime, and you shall see. It is all quite simple and quite true. It is all as old as love and as new as love. It is also perfectly commonplace. It must be so. I have only taken the trouble to verify it." Philip's cool business qualities came to his aid, or his undoing. "You mean you can convey a message to a bird or a beast?" he asked. "Oh, yes. Why not? The idea is somehow upsetting to you. Pray don't let it upset you. Nothing that happens can ever be upsetting. It is only the things that don't happen that are such anxieties, for fear they may. But when they have happened they are never alarming." He pushed his chair back and got up. "Ah, I have learned one thing in this last year," he said, "and that is to be frightened at nothing. Fear is the one indefensible emotion. You can do nothing at all if you are afraid. You know that yourself in business. But whether you embark on business or on--what shall I call it?--nature-lore, the one thing indispensable is to go ahead. To take your stand firmly on what you know, and deduce from that. Then to test your deduction, and as soon as one will bear your weight to stand on that and deduce again, being quite sure all the time that whatever is true is right. Perhaps sometime the world in general may see, not degradation in the origin of man from animals, but the extraordinary nobility of it. And then perhaps they will go further back--back to Pagan things, to Pan, the God of nature." "To see whom meant death," remarked Philip. "Yes, or life. Death is merely an incident in life. And it seems to me now to be rather an unimportant one. One can't help it. Whereas the important events are those which are within one's control; one's powers of thought, for instance." Philip rose also. "And love," he said. "Is that in one's control?" Tom took a long breath. "Love?" he said. "It is not exactly in one's control, because it is oneself. There, the dear bird has got home." And again from the trees below the bubble of liquid melody sounded. THIRD