“He has a splendid head,” said Ingram. “Did you know that he is called the King of Borva up there?”
“I have heard of him being called the King of Thule,” said Mrs. Lorraine, turning with a smile to Sheila, “and of his daughter being styled a princess. Do you know the ballad of the King of Thule, in Faust, Mrs. Lavender?”
“In the opera?—yes,” said Sheila.
“Will you sing it for us after dinner?”
“If you like.”
The promise was fulfilled, in a fashion. The notion that Mr. Ingram was about to go away up to Lewis, to the people who knew her and to her father’s house, with no possible answer to the questions which would certainly be showered upon him as to why she had not come also, troubled Sheila deeply. The ladies went into the drawing-room, and Mrs. Lorraine got out the song. Sheila sat down to the piano, thinking far more of that small stone house at Borva than of the King of Thule’s castle overlooking the sea; and yet somehow the first lines of the song, though she knew them well enough, sent a pang to her heart as she glanced at them. She touched the first notes of the accompaniment, and she looked at the words again:
“Over the sea, in Thule of old,
Reigned a king who was true-hearted,
Who, in remembrance of one departed—”
A mist came over her eyes. Was she the one who had departed, leaving the old king in his desolate house by the sea, where he could only think of her as he sat in his solitary chamber, with the night winds howling around the shore outside? When her birthday had come around she knew that he must have silently drank to her, though not out of a beaker of gold. And now, when mere friends and acquaintances were free, to speed away to the North, and get a welcome from the folks in Borva, and listen to the Atlantic waves dashing lightly in among the rocks, her hope of getting thither had almost died out. Among such people as landed on Stornoway quay from the big Clansman her father would seek one face, and seek it in vain. And Duncan and Scarlett, and even John the Piper—all the well-remembered folks who lived far away across the Minch—they would ask why Miss Sheila was never coming back.
Mrs. Lorraine had been standing aside from the piano. Noticing that Sheila had played the introduction to the song twice over in an undetermined manner, she came forward a step or two and pretended to be looking at the music. Tears were running down Sheila’s face. Mrs. Lorraine put her hand on the girl’s shoulder, and sheltered her from observation, and said aloud: “You have it in a different key, have you not? Pray don’t sing it; sing something else. Do you know any of Gounod’s sacred songs? Let me see if we can find anything for you in this volume.”
They were a long time finding anything in that volume. When they did find it, behold! it was one of Mrs. Lorraine’s songs, and that young lady said if Mrs. Lavender would only allow herself to be superseded for a few minutes. And so Sheila walked, with her head down, to the conservatory, which was at the other end of the piano; and Mrs. Lorraine not only sung this French song, but sang every one of the verses; and at the end of it she had quite forgotten that Sheila had promised to sing.