At the end, Colonel Fortescue nodded his head in approval.
"I used to sing that song," he said, "when I was a youngster, but I never had a fine voice like yours.

Tune up again." Broussard tuned up again, and this time it was a sweet old sentimental ballad.

He went conscientiously through his repertory of old-fashioned ballads, not smiling in the least, Colonel Fortescue listening gravely to these songs of love.

The purple twilight was coming on fast and the ruddy glare of the fire threw a beautiful crimson light upon the snow-draped cliffs and ice-clad trees.

During the intervals between the songs, the two men listened for the sound of coming help.