a
soft, mellow voice, so low that people outside the room could hardly
have heard. It seemed as if there must really be an "Annie Laurie" in
his life. Surely a man could not sing like that, and look like that in
singing, unless he called up the face of some woman he loved. I wondered
if he thought of Mrs. West, who is so very pretty, and rather like the
description of "Annie Laurie." His eyes looked far away as he sang,
through the wall--oh, yes, I'm sure they could see through the wall at
that moment--perhaps as far as "Maxwellton Braes"; perhaps still
farther, searching for Mrs. West wherever she might be.

I don't know how it would make one feel if such a man with such a voice
looked into one's eyes and sang a song of love. I'm afraid it might make
one rather foolish. But it was only at the wall that Sir S. stared until
he began a very different song--the lament of a Highlander who would
nevermore see his island home nor the love of his youth. It was a
heart-breaking song; and though his voice was pitched so low it was
almost like singing in a whisper, there was a strange, vibrating power
in it, as there is in the strings of a violin touched but lightly by the
bow. Sir S. transferred his attention from the wall to me as he sang
this sad old ballad, and I could not look away, because there was the
same compelling power in his eyes as in his voice. No doubt it was only
of the song he thought, not of me at all, really; yet I could not shake
off the haunting impression of the look, and it made me dream of him all
night. I saw him standing beside me in the strange, pale twilight of
Sweetheart Abbey. And in his hand was a box of ebony, inlaid with
silver, which he held out. But when I took the box it was locked, and he
had no key. "Only the key of the rainbow will open this box," he said.
And then I woke up, feeling somehow as if the dream were of importance,
and I must try to find out why.

VII

Next morning when I saw Sir S. I felt confused and vaguely ashamed, as
if something had happened. But, of course, nothing had happened, nothing
at all. I kept on reminding myself of that until I was at ease again.
And his manner helped me to realize how silly I was, for almost he
seemed to go out of his way to put on the commonplace air I had
disliked. It was as if he wrapped himself up in a big, rough coat,
smelling of tobacco smoke, and rather old and shabby, with the collar
well turned up.

We started early, long b