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Holding back a branch of pine, he watched the
movements of the girl at her wheel with absorbed fascination.
Suddenly her sweet lips parted, and she sang a weird, wild melody, that
seemed, like a running torrent, to have fallen from the crests of the
mountains, bringing with it echoes from the furthest summits, mingled
with soft wailings of a mournful wind.
Her voice was pure as the ring of fine crystal--deep, liquid, and
tender, with a restrained passion in it that stirred Errington's heart
and filled it with a strange unrest and feverish yearning,--emotions
which were new to him, and which, while he realized their existence,
moved him to a sort of ashamed impatience. He would have willingly left
his post of observation now, if only for the sake of shaking off his
unwonted sensations; and he took a step or two backwards for that
purpose, when Lorimer, in his turn, laid a detaining hand on his
shoulder.
"For Heaven's sake, let us hear the song through!" he said in subdued
tones.


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