She struck the strings again and played a song full of life and spirit, of tenderness and fond memory—a bright, sparkling song—which wanted no words.
'Oh!' cried Roland, 'you are really wonderful. You are playing the "Kerry Dance."'
She laughed and layed down the violin.
'We must not have any more playing to-night. Do you really like to hear me play? You look as if you did.'
'It is wonderful,' he replied. 'I could listen all night. But if there is to be no more music, shall we look outside?'
If there were no light in the house the ship's lantern was hanging up, with one of those big ship's candles in it which are of such noble dimensions, and of generosity so unbounded in the matter of tallow. There was no moon; but the sky was clear and the sea could be seen by the light of the stars, and the revolving lights of Bishop's Rock and St. Agnes flashed across the water.
The young man shivered.
'We are in fairyland,' he said. 'It is a charmed island. Nothing is real. Armorel, your name should be Titania. How have you made me hear and believe all these things? How do you contrive your sorceries? Are you an enchantress? Confess—you cannot, in sober truth, play those tunes; the old lady is in reality only a phantom, called into visible shape by your incantations? But you are a benevolent witch—you will not turn me into a pig?'
'I do not understand. There have been no sorceries. There are no witches left on the Scilly Islands. Formerly there were many. Dorcas knows about them. I do not know what was the good of them.'
'I suppose you are quite real, after all. It is only strange and incomprehensible.'