"So I KNOW!" he answered, with emphasis—"And I have had a wide experience. Now don't look daggers at me!—come and sing!"
He offered me his arm, but I put it aside and walked by myself towards the deck saloon. Mr. Harland and Catherine were seated there, with all the lights turned full on, so that the radiance of the moon through the window was completely eclipsed. The piano was open. As I came in Catherine looked at me with a surprised air.
"Why, how pale you are!" she exclaimed—"One would think you had seen a ghost!"
I laughed.
"Perhaps I have! Loch Scavaig is sufficient setting for any amount of ghosts. It's such a lonely place,"—and a slight tremor ran through me as I played a few soft chords—"What shall I sing to you?"
"Something of the country we are in,"—said Mr. Harland—"Don't you know any of those old wild Gaelic airs?"
I thought a moment, and then to a low rippling accompaniment I sang the old Celtic 'Fairy's Love Song'—
"Why should I sit and sigh,
Pu'in' bracken, pu'in' bracken,
Why should I sit and sigh,
On the hill-side dreary—
When I see the plover rising,
Or the curlew wheeling,
Then I know my mortal lover
Back to me is stealing.
When the day wears away
Sad I look adown the valley,
Every sound heard around
Sets my heart a-thrilling,—
Why should I sit and sigh,
Pu'in' bracken, pu'in' bracken,
Why should I sit and sigh
All alone and weary!
Ah, but there is something wanting,
Oh but I am weary!
Come, my true and tender lover,
O'er the hills to cheer me!
Why should I sit and sigh,
Pu'in' bracken, pu'in' bracken,
Why should I sit and sigh,
All alone and weary!"