ery pretty French song that she had chosen to please Mrs. Ross
with.

"A wee bird cam' to our ha' door"--

this was what she sang; and though, to tell the truth, she had not much
of a voice, it was exquisitely trained, and she sang with a tenderness
and expression such as he, at least, had never heard before,--

"He warbled sweet and clearly;
An' aye the o'ercome o' his sang
Was 'Wae's me for Prince Charlie!'
Oh, when I heard the bonnie bonnie bird
The tears cam' drappin' rarely;
I took my bonnet off my head,
For well I lo'ed Prince Charlie."

It could not have entered into his imagination to believe that such
pathos could exist apart from the actual sorrow of the world. The
instrument before her seemed to speak; and the low, joint cry was one of
infinite grief, and longing, and love.

"Quoth I, 'My bird, my bonnie, bonnie bird,
Is that a sang ye borrow?
Are these some words ye've learnt by heart,
Or a lilt o' dool an' sorrow?
'Oh, no, no, no,' the wee bird sang;
'I've flown sin' mornin' early;
But sic a day o' wind an' rain--
Oh, wae's me for Prince Charlie!'"

Mrs. Ross glanced archly at him when she discovered what sort of French
song it was that Miss White had chosen; but he paid no heed. His only
thought was, "_If only the mother and Janet could hear this strange
singing!_"

When she had ended, Mrs. Ross came over to him and said, "That is a
great compliment to you."

And he answered, simply, "I have never heard any singing like that."

Then young Mr. Ogilvie--whose existence, by-the-way, he had entirely and
most ungratefully forgotten--came up to the piano, and began to talk in
a very pleasant and amusing fashion to Miss White. She was turning over
the leaves of the book before her, and Macleod grew angry with this idle
interference. Why should this lily-fingered jackanapes, whom a man could
wind round a reel and throw out of window, disturb the rapt devotion of
this beautiful Saint Cecilia?

She struck a firmer chord; the bystanders withdrew a bit; and of a
sudden it seemed to him that all the spirit of all the clans was ringing
in the proud fervor of this fragile girl's voice. Whence had she got
this fierce Jacobite passion that thrilled him to the very finger-tips?

"I'll to Lochiel, and Appin, and kneel to them,
Down by Lord Murray and Roy of Kildarlie:
Brave Mackintosh, he shall fly to the field wit