He had fallen asleep over his _Relations of Equity to Common Law_, to be awakened late by clear and curious music outside the house. His study and his bedroom leading off it were on the ground floor. His study window lay open to the lawn. He stepped out, walked a few paces, and there at the angle of the building by the curve of the entrance drive stood the musician. He was an ordinary young man in a soft felt hat, and he played a flageolet which gleamed silver in the starlight. Cosmo Paradyne stood bemused and fascinated, for never had he heard such wonder from a flageolet. It was like the song of birds; the song of trees, of streams, of woods; the song of laughter, of dainty frolic, of elfin devilry. Now it broke into trills of a joy so exquisite that he caught his breath; now into phrases of longing that gripped his heart. And it was all based on a _motif_ which he had not heard before, of which he had not dreamed of hearing, simple as the music of the wind, yet subtle as though it harped upon the rays of a star. The young man ceased suddenly, advanced, took off his hat and held it out for alms. ‘I’m glad you don’t mind my playing,’ said he. ‘Many people turn me away. Last night I had a dog set on me, to my extreme discomfort.’ ‘But you’re a musician. An extraordinary musician,’ said Paradyne. The young man laughed frankly. ‘I rather think I am,’ said he. And he edged his hat an inch or two nearer. To bestow upon this amazing minstrel the largess of a shilling were impossible. He fumbled in his case and dropped a pound note into the hat. ‘I thank you, sir, for your bounty,’ said the young man, pocketing the note. He put on his hat with a flourish and prepared to turn. ‘Excuse me,’ said Paradyne, ‘I happen to be an amateur clarinettist, and I thought I knew as much as any man living of the music written for wind-instruments; but the thing you were playing just now I can’t recognize.’ [Illustration: THE YOUNG MAN CEASED SUDDENLY] ‘I’m sure you can’t,’ replied the young man pleasantly. ‘It is my own composition, and it has never even been set down on paper; much less published for amateurs--saving your presence--to make a hash of. Again, sir, a million thanks. Good night.’ [Illustration] He swept a bow and marched off. Paradyne went into the house, with the music ringing through his brain. The next morning to chambers. It was all perfectly clear. Griffiths had brought his elderly client, Miss Phillibert, to consultation. Wait a bit. He sat on the caravan steps again. Something rather funny had happened. Yes. In the middle of it he had started to whistle and had been brought back to his senses only by the staggered expression on the faces of solicitor and client. He had been whistling this damned tune.