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 Lavender would only allow herself to be superseded for a few minutes.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. “You are very sensitive,” she said to Sheila, coming into the conservatory. “I am very stupid,” Sheila said with her face burning. “But it is a long time since I will see the Highlands--and Mr. Ingram was talking of the places I know--and--and--so--” “I understand well enough,” said Mrs. Lorraine tenderly, as if Sheila was a mere child in her hands. “But you must not get your eyes red. You have to sing some of those Highland songs for us, when the gentlemen come in. Come up to my room and I will make your eyes all right. Oh, do not be afraid! I shall not bring you down like Lady Leveret. Did you ever see anything like that woman’s face to-night? It reminds me of the window of an oil and color shop. I wonder she does not catch flies with her cheeks.”