He listened to the end of this grand inspiration of the master. The effect of this sweet melody, in the stillness of the starlit night, was indescribable. He remained a long time under the influences of its enchantment. At last the voice ceased, and all was silent.
When Wilson came to relieve the geographer, he found him wrapt in a profound reverie. Paganel said nothing to the sailor, but, reserving his account of the incident for Glenarvan the next day, he crept into the tent.
In the morning the whole party were awakened by unexpected bayings. Glenarvan at once arose. Two magnificent pointers were gamboling along the edge of a small wood; but at the approach of the travelers they disappeared among the trees, barking loudly.
"There must be a station in this desert," said Glenarvan, "and hunters, since those are hunting-dogs."
Paganel was just about to relate his experiences of the past night, when two men appeared, in hunting costume, mounted on fine horses. They naturally stopped at sight of the little party, encamped in gypsy-like fashion, and seemed to be wondering what the presence of armed men in this place meant, when they perceived the ladies, who were alighting from the cart.
They immediately dismounted, and advanced towards them, hat in hand. Glenarvan went to meet them, and introduced himself and party, giving the name and rank of each member. The young men bowed, and one of them, the elder, said:
"My lord, will your ladies, your companions, and yourself do us the honor to accompany us to our house?"
"May I ask, gentlemen, whom I have the honor of addressing?" inquired Glenarvan.
"Michael and Alexander Patterson, proprietors of Hottam Station. You are already on the grounds of the establishment, and have but a quarter of a mile to go."
"Gentlemen," replied Glenarvan, "I should be unwilling to slight a hospitality so graciously offered----"
"My lord," interrupted Michael Patterson, "by accepting you will confer a favor upon two poor colonists, who will be only too happy to extend to you the honors of the desert."
"Sir," said Paganel, addressing Michael Patterson, "should I be too inquisitive were I to ask if it was you who sang that divine air of Mozart last night?"