" And she rose quickly from the tea-table,
and as she tied on her bonnet, began to sing,--
"'God bless the sheep upon the fells!
Oh, do you hear the tinkling bells
Of sheep that wander on the fells?
The tinkling bells the silence fills,
Sings cheerily the soul that wills;
God bless the shepherd on the hills!
God bless the sheep! Their tinkling bells
Make music over all the fells;
By _force_ and _gill_ and _tarn_ it swells,
And this is what their music tells:
God bless the sheep upon the fells.'"
The melody was wild and simple, a little plaintive also; and Charlotte
sang it with a low, sweet monotony that recalled, one knew not how or
why, the cool fragrance of the hillside, and the scent of wild flowers
by running water.
Then she went slowly home, Ducie walking to the pine-wood with her.
There was a vague unrest and fear at her heart, she knew not why; for
who can tell whence spring their thoughts, or what mover first starts
them from their secret lodging-place? A sadness she could not fight
down took possession of her; and it annoyed her the more, because she
found every one pleasantly excited over a box of presents that had just
arrived from India for Sophia. She knew that her depression would be
interpreted by some as envy and jealousy, and she resented the false
position it put her in; and yet she found it impossible to affect the
enthusiasm which was expected from her over the Cashmere shawl and
scarfs, the Indian fans and jewelry, the carved ivory trinkets, the
boxes full of Eastern scents,--sandalwood and calamus, nard and attar of
roses, and pungent gums that made the old "Seat" feel like a little bit
of Asia.
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