the song, though she knew them well enough, sent a pang to her
heart as she glanced at them. She touched the first notes of the
accompaniment, and she looked at the words again:

Over the sea, in Thule of old,
Reigned a king who was true-hearted,
Who, in remembrance of one departed--

A mist came over her eyes. Was she the one who had departed, leaving
the old king in his desolate house by the sea, where he could only
think of her as he sat in his solitary chamber, with the night-winds
howling round the shore outside? When her birthday had come round
she knew that he must have silently drank to her, though not out of a
beaker of gold. And now, when mere friends and acquaintances were free
to speed away to the North, and get a welcome from the folks in Borva,
and listen to the Atlantic waves dashing lightly in among the rocks,
her hope of getting thither had almost died out. Among such people as
landed on Stornoway quay from the big Clansman her father would seek
one face, and seek it in vain. And Duncan and Scarlett, and even John
the Piper--all the well-remembered folks who lived far away across the
Minch--they would ask why Miss Sheila was never coming back.

Mrs. Lorraine had been standing aside from the piano. Noticing that
Sheila had played the introduction to the song twice over in an
undetermined manner, she came forward a step or two and pretended to
be looking at the music. Tears were running down Sheila's face. Mrs.
Lorraine put her hand on the girl's shoulder, and sheltered her from
observation, and said aloud, "You have it in a different key, have
you not? Pray don't sing it. Sing something else. Do you know any of
Gounod's sacred songs? Let me see if we can find anything for you in