"And for bonny Annie Laurie,
I'd lay me down and die."
Then they sank away, and left the silence still throbbing, as the hearts of the listeners throbbed.
"I thought it was an angel," cried Hugh, "when I first heard him, Mr. Saul. But it isn't. It is the ostrich gentleman, and he has to play up in the attic generally, because his uncle is a poor person who doesn't know how to like music. I am so sorry for his uncle, aren't you?"
"Yes," said Colonel Ferrers gruffly. "Yes, I am. Very sorry."
A pause followed. Then Hugh asked cautiously: "How do you feel now, Mr. Saul? Do you feel as if the evil spirit were going away?"
"I've got him," said the Colonel, in whose eyes the fire of anger was giving place to something suspiciously like a twinkle. "I've got him—bottled up. Now, youngster, who told you all that?"
"All what?" asked Hugh, whose thoughts were beginning to wander as he gazed around the garden. "About the poor person who doesn't know how to—"
"No, no," said the Colonel hastily, "not that. About Saul and David, and all that. Who put you up to it? Hey?"
His keen eyes gazed intently into the clear blue ones of the child. Hugh stared at him a moment, then answered gently, with a note of indulgence, as if he were speaking to a much younger child: "It is in the Bible. It is a pity that you do not know it. But perhaps there are no pictures in your Bible. There was a big one where I lived, all full of pictures, so I learned to read that way. And I always liked the Saul pictures," he added, his eyes kindling, "because David was beautiful, you know, and of a ruddy countenance; and King Saul was all hunched up against the tent-post, with his eyes glaring just as yours were when you roared, only he was uglier. You are not at all ugly now, but then you looked as if you were going to burst. If a person should burst—"
Colonel Ferrers rose, and paced up and down the path, going a few steps each way, and glancing frequently at the boy from under his bushy eyebrows. Hugh fell into a short reverie, and woke to say cheerfully:—