He pressed her little hand tightly; he felt her trembling; and then, all at once, in the dusky room, the sweet, low, quivering notes began, at first faint and husky, but gaining strength and volume as they went on. Oh, such a heart-piercing, exquisite air! The words were unintelligible, for she was singing a well-known Irish lament, which, rendered into English, was something like:-- Wail, wail, ye, for the mighty one! Wail, wail, ye, for the dead! Quench the hearth and hold the breath, with ashes strew the head! How tenderly we loved him! how deeply we deplore! Holy Saviour, but to think, we shall never see him more! Wail, wail him through the island! Weep, weep for our pride! Ye know that on the battle-field our gallant chief has died. Weep the Victor of Benn Burb! Weep him, young men and old! Weep for him, ye women! your beautiful lies cold. Soft as a woman’s was your voice, O’Neil; bright was your eye. Oh, why did ye leave us, Owen? Why did you die? Your troubles are over; you’re at rest with God on high. But we’re forlorn and sad, Owen. Why did you die? As she concluded with a low sob of supreme dramatic effect, Lord Mulgrave drew a deep breath, and, carrying the little cold hand to his lips, said, “My dear child, do you know that _my_ name is Owen? Your singing is no mere accomplishment; it is a great gift.” “Did she sing?” she asked faintly. “Yes. It was the same voice”; and he sighed as he released her fingers. “Does Lady Mulgrave sing?” she continued, in a bolder key. “No”--and he gave a slight start--“but, Tito, her daughter, is fond of music; she is nearly your age, or a little older. You will be, I hope, capital companions for one another; she’s a bit of a rattle, but a good-hearted girl.” “Is she pretty?” she asked. “Not exactly; but rather attractive and piquante.” “I never heard that word before; I suppose it means something nice?” “Yes. You will see for yourself. She and Dudley are great friends; he is my heir, you know, and your cousin; we see a good deal of him.” “And what is he like?” “Oh, fairly good-looking, but a lazy beggar. He did well in South Africa, but got enteric, and was laid on his back for so long I believe he fancies he is still there. You have put his nose a bit out of joint, for some of the estates will now go to you.” “Is it to me? Sure I’m not fit to own land. Once they wanted to make up a match for me with a strong farmer; his people were eager for it, on account of the fifty pounds.” “But you said no?” “Bedad, I did--a great fat man, with a bald face, and a pearl on one of his eyes.” She meant cataract. Lord Mulgrave gave a short laugh; then he said, “So, Joseline, you’ve never had a lover?” “Is it me? Why I had a couple of dozen or more making shapes at me!” Her father sat up stiffly in his chair, apprehension in his attitude; the expression of his face was disturbed.