Two years of sorrow had passed since the fatal battle of the Boyne, and the heart of the maiden was very sore, very lonely, very hungry for the one love that made her life.
"Beatrice!" called from the room, and she entered.
"Come and sing to me, little one; for I have been dreaming sad dreams of the old home." And so she sat on her cushion at his feet, and sang in her soft alto:
"It was a' for our rightful king,
We left fair Scotia's strand;
It was a' for our rightful king,
We e'er saw Irish land,
We e'er saw Irish land!
"The sodger frae the war returns,
The sailor frae the main;
But I hae' parted frae my love,
Never to meet again,
Never to meet again.
"When day is done, and night is come,
And a' things wrapt in sleep;
I think o' one who's far away,
The lee lang night, an' weep,
The lee lang night, an' weep."
"Will Sir Ralph Mohun welcome the son of an old friend?"
The old man turned hastily, and Philip Stratherne stood before him.
"The time was, Sir Philip, when I should have grasped your hand with all the feeling which my love for the boy inspired. Now, you are under the roof of what is left me, and therefore I am silent."
There was a stately courtesy in all this which embarrassed and wounded the young man.
"This, certainly, is not my former welcome; but the times have changed the manners, Sir Ralph, and we must accept the change."