"Are you fond of music?" one of them said at last. "Yes? Oh! Beauty, dear, do come and sing to us—that sweet ballad you sing so often, you know—'By Berwen Banks'."
"Not to-night," said a soft voice from the armchair. "I am tired,
Gwen. You sing, dear."
"Well, I'll sing that, if you won't."
And she sang it; and Valmai and Cardo, "so near and yet so far," estranged and miserable, listened to every word, which fell on their memories like searing drops of molten lead.
"By Berwen's banks my love has strayed
For many a day in sun and shade;
And when she carolled loud and clear
The little birds flew down to hear.
"By Berwen's banks the storm rode high,
The swollen river rushing by;
And in its waves my love was drowned,
And on its banks my love was found.
"I'll ne'er forget that leafy shade,
I'll ne'er forget that winsome maid;
But there no more she carols free,
So Berwen's banks are sad to me!"
At the last words, during the acclamations of the family, Valmai rose, unable to bear more. There was a little cry and a soft fall by the side of the red chair, and she lay in a white, unconscious heap on the floor.
"Oh! Beauty, darling!" cried Gwen and Winifred, in a breath, while they flew towards her.
Cardo, too, had instinctively rushed towards the fallen figure. He lifted her in his strong arms as though she had been a feather-weight.