“That’s a pretty old song, isn’t it?” she said. “Somebody taught it me —who was it? Somebody—a long while ago. But I know another—I know another. You’ll like it; you are a clergyman, you know.” And she began again:
“Says the parson one day as I cursed a Jew,
Now do you not know that that is a sin?
Of you sailors I fear there are but a few
That St. Peter to heaven will ever let in.
“Says I, Mr. Parson, to tell you my mind,
Few sailors to knock were ever yet seen;
Those who travel by land may steer against wind
But we shape a course for Fiddler’s Green.”
Suddenly she stopped, and her mind wandered off to the scene of two days previous with Arthur by the lake, and she began to quote the words wrung from the bitterness of his heart.
“‘You miserable woman, do you know what you are? Shame upon you! Were you not married yesterday?’ It is quite true, Arthur—oh, yes, quite true! Say what you like of me, Arthur—I deserve it all; but oh! Arthur, I love you so. Don’t be hard upon me—I love you so, dear! Kill me if you like, dear, but don’t talk to me so. I shall go mad—I shall go mad!” and she broke into a flood of weeping.
“Poor dear, she has been going on like that, off and on, all night. It clean broke my heart to see it, and that’s the holy truth,” and Pigott looked very much as though she were going to cry herself.
By this time Angela had ceased weeping, and was brooding sullenly, with her face buried in the pillow.
“There is absolutely nothing to be done,” said the doctor. “We can only trust to her fine constitution and youth to pull her through. She has received a series of dreadful mental shocks, and it is very doubtful if she will ever get over them. It is a pity to think that such a splendid creature may become permanently insane, is it not? You must be very careful, Pigott, that she does not do herself an injury; she is just in the state that she may throw herself out of the window or cut her throat. And now I must be going; I will call in again to-night.”
Mr. Fraser accompanied him down to the gate, where he had left his trap. Before they got out of the front door, Angela had roused herself again, and they could hear her beginning to quote Homer, and then breaking out into snatches of her sailor-songs.
“‘High aloft amongst the rigging
Sings the loud exulting gale.’
“That’s like me. I sing too,” and then followed peal upon peal of mad laughter.