He followed her. Almost to their feet the long waves made harsh music upon the shingle.
"Poor man," she said softly. "Listen, have you never heard this when the north wind blows?"
And again she sang that wonderful song. When her voice died away he shook his head.
"No, I have never heard that," he said. "It is very beautiful. I have never heard the music, and I do not know what language it is."
She smiled.
"It is the song of Ulric, the Dane," she told him. "Many a time he has sung it to me as we stood on the prow of his ship, and the spray broke over our heads and leaped high into the sunshine. He sang it to me when the cold sleet stung our cheeks, and the wind came rushing about us, and we heard no longer the swirl of the oars. He sang it to me in the darkness, while we stole into the harbor, and below his men sharpened their swords and fitted their spear-heads."
"Who was Ulric?" he asked tentatively.
"Ulric was my lover," she answered. "Every night, when the tide comes in, he calls to me, but I do not know where he is. I do not think that I shall ever see him any more."
"Tell me about him," he begged.
Her eyes shone.