robert falconer- 第46部分

establish　a　comfortable　relation　between　them；　'you　will　tell　me

another　time。'



'I　doobt　no；　mem；'　answered　Robert；　with　what　most　people　would

think　an　excess　of　honesty。



But　Miss　St。　John　made　a　better　conjecture　as　to　his　apparent

closeness。



'At　all　events；'　she　said；　'don't　mind　what　your　grannie　may　think；

so　long　as　you　have　no　wish　to　make　her　think　it。　　Good…night。'



Had　she　been　indeed　an　angel　from　heaven；　Robert　could　not　have

worshipped　her　more。　　And　why　should　he？　　Was　she　less　God's

messenger　that　she　had　beautiful　arms　instead　of　less　beautiful

wings？



He　practised　his　scales　till　his　unaccustomed　fingers　were　stiff；

then　shut　the　piano　with　reverence；　and　departed；　carefully　peeping

into　the　disenchanted　region　without　the　gates　to　see　that　no　enemy

lay　in　wait　for　him　as　he　passed　beyond　them。　　He　closed　the　door

gently；　and　in　one　moment　the　rich　lovely　room　and　the　beautiful

lady　were　behind　him；　and　before　him　the　bare　stair　between　two

white…washed　walls；　and　the　long　flagged　transe　that　led　to　his

silent　grandmother　seated　in　her　arm…chair；　gazing　into　the　red

coalsfor　somehow　grannie's　fire　always　glowed；　and　never

blazedwith　her　round…toed　shoes　pointed　at　them　from　the　top　of

her　little　wooden　stool。　　He　traversed　the　stair　and　the　transe；

entered　the　parlour；　and　sat　down　to　his　open　book　as　though　nothing

had　happened。　　But　his　grandmother　saw　the　light　in　his　face；　and

did　think　he　had　just　come　from　his　prayers。　　And　she　blessed　God

that　he　had　put　it　into　her　heart　to　burn　the　fiddle。



The　next　night　Robert　took　with　him　the　miniature　of　his　mother；　and

showed　it　to　Miss　St。　John；　who　saw　at　once　that；　whatever　might　be

his　present　surroundings；　his　mother　must　have　been　a　lady。　　A

certain　fancied　resemblance　in　it　to　her　own　mother　likewise　drew

her　heart　to　the　boy。　　Then　Robert　took　from　his　pocket　the　gold

thimble；　and　said；



'This　thimmel　was　my　mamma's。　　Will　ye　tak　it；　mem；　for　ye　ken　it's

o'　nae　use　to　me。'



Miss　St。　John　hesitated　for　a　moment。



'I　will　keep　it　for　you；　if　you　like；'　she　said；　for　she　could　not

bear　to　refuse　it。



'Na；　mem；　I　want　ye　to　keep　it　to　yersel'；　for　I'm　sure　my　mamma　wad

hae　likit　you　to　hae　't　better　nor　ony　ither　body。'



'Well；　I　will　use　it　sometimes　for　your　sake。　　But　mind；　I　will　not

take　it　from　you；　I　will　only　keep　it　for　you。'



'Weel；　weel；　mem；　gin　ye'll　keep　it　till　I　speir　for　't；　that'll　du

weel　eneuch；'　answered　Robert；　with　a　smile。



He　laboured　diligently；　and　his　progress　corresponded　to　his　labour。

It　was　more　than　intellect　that　guided　him：　Falconer　had　genius　for

whatever　he　cared　for。



Meantime　the　love　he　bore　his　teacher；　and　the　influence　of　her

beauty；　began　to　mould　him；　in　his　kind　and　degree；　after　her

likeness；　so　that　he　grew　nice　in　his　person　and　dress；　and　smoothed

the　roughness　and　moderated　the　broadness　of　his　speech　with　the

amenities　of　the　English　which　she　made　so　sweet　upon　her　tongue。

He　became　still　more　obedient　to　his　grandmother；　and　more　diligent

at　school；　gathered　to　himself　golden　opinions　without　knowing　it；

and　was　gradually　developing　into　a　rustic　gentleman。



Nor　did　the　piano　absorb　all　his　faculties。　　Every　divine　influence

tends　to　the　rounded　perfection　of　the　whole。　　His　love　of　Nature

grew　more　rapidly。　　Hitherto　it　was　only　in　summer　that　he　had　felt

the　presence　of　a　power　in　her　and　yet　above　her：　in　winter；　now；

the　sky　was　true　and　deep；　though　the　world　was　waste　and　sad；　and

the　tones　of　the　wind　that　roared　at　night　about　the　goddess…haunted

house；　and　moaned　in　the　chimneys　of　the　lowly　dwelling　that　nestled

against　it；　woke　harmonies　within　him　which　already　he　tried　to

spell　out　falteringly。　　Miss　St。　John　began　to　find　that　he　put

expressions　of　his　own　into　the　simple　things　she　gave　him　to　play；

and　even　dreamed　a　little　at　his　own　will　when　alone　with　the

passive　instrument。　　Little　did　Mrs。　Falconer　think　into　what　a

seventh　heaven　of　accursed　music　she　had　driven　her　boy。



But　not　yet　did　he　tell　his　friend；　much　as　he　loved　and　much　as　he

trusted　her；　the　little　he　knew　of　his　mother's　sorrows　and　his

father's　sins；　or　whose　the　hand　that　had　struck　him　when　she　found

him　lying　in　the　waste　factory。



For　a　time　almost　all　his　trouble　about　God　went　from　him。　　Nor　do　I

think　that　this　was　only　because　he　rarely　thought　of　him　at　all：

God　gave　him　of　himself　in　Miss　St。　John。　But　words　dropped　now　and

then　from　off　the　shelves　where　his　old　difficulties　lay；　and　they

fell　like　seeds　upon　the　heart　of　Miss　St。　John；　took　root；　and　rose

in　thoughts：　in　the　heart　of　a　true　woman　the　talk　of　a　child　even

will　take　life。



One　evening　Robert　rose　from　the　table；　not　unwatched　of　his

grandmother；　and　sped　swiftly　and　silently　through　the　dark；　as　was

his　custom；　to　enter　the　chamber　of　enchantment。　　Never　before　had

his　hand　failed　to　alight；　sure　as　a　lark　on　its　nest；　upon　the

brass　handle　of　the　door　that　admitted　him　to　his　paradise。　　It

missed　it　now；　and　fell　on　something　damp；　and　rough；　and　repellent

instead。　　Horrible；　but　true　suspicion！　　While　he　was　at　school　that

day；　his　grandmother；　moved　by　what　doubt　or　by　what　certainty　she

never　revealed；　had　had　the　doorway　walled　up。　　He　felt　the　place

all　over。　　It　was　to　his　hands　the　living　tomb　of　his　mother's　vicar

on　earth。



He　returned　to　his　book；　pale　as　death；　but　said　never　a　word。　　The

next　day　the　stones　were　plastered　over。



Thus　the　door　of　bliss　vanished　from　the　earth。　　And　neither　the　boy

nor　his　grandmother　ever　said　that　it　had　been。









PART　II。HIS　YOUTH。







CHAPTER　I。



ROBERT　KNOCKSAND　THE　DOOR　IS　NOT　OPENED。



The　remainder　of　that　winter　was　dreary　indeed。　　Every　time　Robert

went　up　the　stair　to　his　garret；　he　passed　the　door　of　a　tomb。　　With

that　gray　mortar　Mary　St。　John　was　walled　up；　like　the　nun　he　had

read　of　in　the　Marmion　she　had　lent　him。　　He　might　have　rung　the

bell　at　the　street　door；　and　been　admitted　into　the　temple　of　his

goddess；　but　a　certain　vague　terror　of　his　grannie；　combined　with

equally　vague　qualms　of　conscience　for　having　deceived　her；　and　the

approach　in　the　far　distance　of　a　ghastly　suspicion　that　violins；

pianos；　moonlight；　and　lovely　women　were　distasteful　to　the

over…ruling　Fate；　and　obnoxious　to　the　vengeance　stored　in　the　gray

cloud　of　his　providence；　drove　him　from　the　awful　entrance　of　the

temple　of　his　Isis。



Nor　did　Miss　St。　John　dare　to　make　any　advances　to　the　dreadful　old

lady。　　She　would　wait。　　For　Mrs。　Forsyth；　she　cared　nothing　about

the　whole　affair。　　It　only　gave　her　fresh　opportunity　for　smiling

condescensions　about　'poor　Mrs。　Falconer。'　　So　Paradise　was　over　and

gone。



But　though　the　loss　of　Miss　St。　John　and　the　piano　was　the　last

blow；　his　sorrow　did　not　rest　there；　but　returned　to　brood　over　his

bonny　lady。　　She　was　scattered　to　the　winds。　　Would　any　of　her　ashes

ever　rise　in　the　corn；　and　moan　in　the　ripening　wind　of　autumn？

Might　not　some　atoms　of　the　bonny　leddy　creep　into　the　pines　on　the

hill；　whose　'soft　and　soul…like　sounds'　had　taught　him　to　play　the

Flowers　of　the　Forest　on　those　strings　which；　like　the　nerves　of　an

amputated　limb；　yet　thrilled　through　his　being？　　Or　might　not　some

particle　find　its　way　by　winds　and　waters　to　sycamore　forest　of

Italy；　there　creep　up　through　the　channels　of　its　life　to　some

finely…rounded　curve　of　noble　tree；　on　the　side　that　ever　looks

sunwards；　and　be　chosen　once　again　by　the　violin…hunter；　to　be

wrought　into　a　new　and　fame…gathering　instrument？



Could　it　be　that　his　bonny　lady　had　learned　her　wondrous　music　in

those　forests；　from　the　shine　of　the　sun；　and　the　sighing　of　the

winds　through　the　sycamores　and　pines？　　For　Robert　knew　that　the

broad…leaved　sycamore；　and　the　sharp；　needle…leaved　pine；　had　each

its　share　in　the　violin。　　Only　as　the　wild　innocence　of　human

nature；　uncorrupted　by　wrong；　untaught　by　suffering；　is　to　that

nature　struggling　out　of　darkness　into　light；　such　and　so　different

is　the　living　wood；　with　its　sweetest　tones　of　obedient　impulse；

answering　only　to　the　wind　which　bloweth　where　it　listeth；　to　that

wood；　chosen；　separated；　individualized；　tortured　into　strange；

almost　vital　shape；　after　a　law　to　us　nearly　unknown；　strung　with

strings　from　animal　organizations；　and　put　into　the　hands　of　man　to

utter　the　feelings　of　a　soul　that　has　passed　through　a　like　history。

This　Robert　could　not　yet　think；　and　had　to　grow　able　to　think　it

by　being　himself　made　an　instrument　of　God's　music。



What　he　could　think　was　that　the　glorious　mystery　of　his　bonny　leddy

was　gone　for　everand　alas！　she　had　no　soul。　　Here　was　an　eternal

sorrow。　　He　could　never　meet　her　again。　　His　affections；　which　must

live　for　ever；　were　set　upon　that　which　had　passed　away。　　But　the

child　that　weeps　because　his　mutilated　d