"Not at all, Miss MacAllister. I saw enough of glorious war to do me for a little while. The glory of it is mostly in the songs. There is little glory in the actuality. Anyway, I am enjoying myself too much as it is to take the chance of spoiling it by a change."
Miss MacAllister answered by a warning shake of the head, the severity of which was disarmed by the accompanying smile. But her mother set her lips close together, elevated her nose, and sniffed very audibly.
All unheeding, the young people chose another Scottish song, "Bonnie Charlie's Noo Awa." As the plaintive words and the wailing notes rang out,
"Mony a heart will break in twa Should you ne'er come back again,"
Mr. MacAllister slipped out of the room into the verandah which looked over the river to the tall dark peak beyond.
Then the lament of the chorus rose into a cry and died away in a sob:
"Will ye no come back again? Will ye no come back again? Better lo'ed ye canna be. Will ye no come back again?
Mrs. MacAllister rose and hurriedly followed her husband.
A late moon was rising over the great bulk of the Taitoon range, shedding its pale light on the brimming river, save where the houses of the town and the clustered junks cast long, dark shadows. Out in mid-stream the _Locust_ swam on the mirror-like surface. The call of a night bird rang plaintively across the water. Within, the voices of the singers rose again in the last stanza:
"Sweet's the lav'rock's note and lang; Liltin' wildly up the glen; But aye to me he sings ae sang, Will ye no come back again?"
In the dark shadow of the deep verandah a man and woman, both middle-aged, pressed close to each other. His arm was around her waist. Her head was on his shoulder. As he caressed and soothed her his tears fell on her face and mingled with her own. It was not of a long-dead prince they were thinking. It was of a lost son of whom they did not know whether he was living or dead.
The silver tones of the gunboat's bell rang out on the sweet night air, striking six times. Sinclair pulled out his watch with a look of incredulity:
"Eleven o'clock! Miss MacAllister, I am ashamed of myself. I had no idea it was so late. I have been enjoying myself so much that this evening has passed like a dream."