Eilidh was singing low to herself, and Isla was watching her. I could not look long at him, because of the welling upward of the tears that were in my heart. I know not why they were there.
At last, after a pause wherein each sat intent listening to the disarray without, Eilidh’s sweet thrilling voice slid through the silence—
“Over the hills and far away,”
That is the tune I heard one day.
Oh that I too might hear the cruel
Honey-sweet folk of the Hills of Ruel.
I saw a shadow go into Isla’s eyes. So I stirred and spoke to my cousin.
“You, Isla, who were born on the Hills of Ruel, should sure have seen something of the honey-sweet folk, as they are called in Eilidh’s song.”
He did not answer straightway, and I saw Eilidh furtively glance at him.
“I will tell you a story,” he said at last simply.