Maureen sat down to the upright Broadwood and sang that most haunting of all melodies:
"Rich and rare were the gems she wore
And a bright gold ring on her hand she bore;
But oh! her beauty was far beyond
Her sparkling gems and snow-white hand.
"'Lady! dost thou not fear to stray,
So lone and lovely thro' this bleak way,
Are Erin's sons so good or so cold
As not to be tempted by woman or gold?'
"'Sir Knight! I feel not the least alarm,
No son of Erin will offer me harm;—
For tho' they love woman and golden store,
Sir Knight! they love honour and virtue more.'
"On she went and her maiden smile
In safety carried her round the green isle;
And blest forever is she who relied
Upon Erin's honour and Erin's pride."
The girl's sweet, clear voice ceased. It died away in a soft wave of most exquisite melody; her brown eyes were full of tears. She raised them to Dominic's face; he was astonished at those rare tears. He had, oh! so seldom, seen Maureen cry.
The boy bent towards her with all the true chivalry of a true Irish knight and gentleman. "What is it, mavourneen?" he whispered.
"It is only that I am glad, oh! so glad, that my father was an Irish gentleman and soldier," she replied, in a voice as low as his.
By this time the conspirators, as they called themselves, had left the room.
"There, you saw for yourself," said Henny. "Did you ever come across such affectation?"