ughed, and eyed each other's dresses, and gossiped about
each other's husbands and servants: only Rose Salterne kept apart, and
longed to get into a corner and laugh or cry, she knew not which.

"Our pretty Rose seems sad," said Lady Grenville, coming up to her.
"Cheer up, child! we want you to come and sing to us."

Rose answered she knew not what, and obeyed mechanically.

She took the lute, and sat down on a bench beneath the house, while the
rest grouped themselves round her.

"What shall I sing?"

"Let us have your old song, 'Earl Haldan's Daughter.'"

Rose shrank from it. It was a loud and dashing ballad, which chimed in
but little with her thoughts; and Frank had praised it too, in happier
days long since gone by. She thought of him, and of others, and of her
pride and carelessness; and the song seemed ominous to her: and yet for
that very reason she dared not refuse to sing it, for fear of suspicion
where no one suspected; and so she began per force--

I.

"It was Earl Haldan's daughter, She look'd across the sea; She look'd
across the water, And long and loud laugh'd she; 'The locks of six
princesses Must be my marriage-fee, So hey bonny boat, and ho bonny
boat! Who comes a wooing me?'

II.

"It was Earl Haldan's daughter, She walk'd along the sand; When she was
aware of a knight so fair, Come sailing to the land. His sails were all
of velvet, His mast of beaten gold, And 'hey bonny boat, and ho bonny
boat, Who saileth here so bold?'

III.

"'The locks of five princesses I won beyond the sea; I shore their
golden tresses, To fringe a cloak for thee. One handful yet is wanting,
But one of all the tale; So hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat! Furl up
thy velvet sail!'

IV.

"He leapt into the water, That rover young and bold; He gript Earl
Haldan's daughter, He shore her locks of gold; 'Go weep, go weep, proud
maiden, The tale is full to-day. Now hey bonny boat, and ho bonny boat!
Sail Westward-ho, and away!'"

As she ceased, a measured voice, with a foreign accent, thrilled through
her.

"In the East, they say the nightingale sings to the rose; Devon, more
happy, has nightingale and rose in one."

"We have no nightingales in Devon, Don Guzman," said Lady Grenville;
"but our little forest thrushes sing, as you hear, sweetly enough to
content any ear. But what brings you away from the gentlemen so early?"

"These letters," said he, "which have just been put into my hand; and
as they call