For reply, Lesbia inquired with curiosity,—
‘I say, have you a steam mill, or factory, or anything of that sort in this neighbourhood?’
‘Steam mill or factory!’ exclaimed Mr Whyte. ‘No. Not unless one has sprung up during the night. Why?’
Because, as I rode along coming back, I heard distinctly a curious sort of vibrating hum which at first I thought might be the buzz of a hornet close to my ear, but that illusion didn’t last long; I then supposed it must be that slow, monotonous musical grind, which is sometimes, you know, the effect to the ear of very large machinery clattering at a distance. But since you say there is none hereabouts, I can’t divine what the noise was, nor where it came from; it seemed to come from all sides at once and to stick to me all the way here. Anyhow, it was by giving my attention to that I got thrown over. So much is certain.’
Mrs Whyte opened her eyes very wide at Lesbia, and an uneasy expression came over her face; but her husband burst out laughing.
‘Bless your heart, my dear girl,’ he said, ‘that’s the surf. If you lived at Bude all the year round, as we do, you’d hear that often enough. It’s a particular set of the wind does it.’
‘But, Mr Whyte, there’s no surf this morning,’ Lesbia objected. ‘The sea’s as smooth as glass, and, what’s more, the tide’s far out. It’s only just beginning to flow now.’
‘H’m, that’s true, but I don’t see what else can account for your humming sound, unless it was a sort of singing in the ears, a sound that had its source no farther off than your own head. Meanwhile, you can’t breakfast on what the wild waves are saying. Here, I put down your cocoa, and your herrings, and eggs, and muffins, and all into the fender, for I thought you’d hardly do it by nine, in any case. It was
