and, seeing her there, some of the doves on the roof flew down and
strutted on the ground before her, coo-cooing proudly, as though
desirous of attracting her attention. One of them boldly perched on
the window-sill; she glanced at the bird musingly, and softly
stroked its opaline wings and shining head without terrifying it. It
seemed delighted to be noticed, and almost lay down under her hand
in order to be more conveniently caressed. Still gently smoothing
its feathers, she leaned further out among the clambering wealth of
blossoms, and called in a low, penetrating tone, "Father! father! is
that you?"

There was no answer; and, after waited a minute or two, she moved
and resumed her former seat, the stray doves flew back to their
customary promenade on the roof, and the drowsy whirr-whirr of the
spinning-wheel murmured again its monotonous hum upon the air.

"Come on, Phil," whispered Lorimer, determined not to be checked
this time; "I feel perfectly wretched! It's mean of us to be
skulking about here, as if we were a couple of low thieves waiting
to trap some of those birds for a pigeon-pie. Come away,--you've
seen her; that's enough."

Errington did not move. 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.