robert falconer- 第63部分

The　income　offered　him　was　such　that　he　had　no　doubt　of　laying

aside　enough　for　his　only　child；　Mysie；　but　both　were　so　ill…fitted

for　saving；　he　from　looking　into　the　past；　she　from　looking

intowhat　shall　I　call　it？　　I　can　only　think　of　negativeswhat　was

neither　past；　present；　nor　future；　neither　material　nor　eternal；

neither　imaginative　in　any　true　sense；　nor　actual　in　any　sense；　that

up　to　the　present　hour　there　was　nothing　in　the　bank；　and　only　the

money　for　impending　needs　in　the　house。　　He　could　not　be　called　a

man　of　learning；　he　was　only　a　great　bookworm；　for　his　reading　lay

all　in　the　nebulous　regions　of　history。　　Old　family　records；

wherever　he　could　lay　hold　upon　them；　were　his　favourite　dishes；

old；　musty　books；　that　looked　as　if　they　knew　something　everybody

else　had　forgotten；　made　his　eyes　gleam；　and　his　white

taper…fingered　hand　tremble　with　eagerness。　　With　such　a　book　in　his

grasp　he　saw　something　ever　beckoning　him　on；　a　dimly　precious

discovery；　a　wonderful　fact　just　the　shape　of　some　missing　fragment

in　the　mosaic　of　one　of　his　pictures　of　the　past。　　To　tell　the

truth；　however；　his　discoveries　seldom　rounded　themselves　into

pictures；　though　many　fragments　of　the　minutely　dissected　map　would

find　their　places；　whereupon　he　rejoiced　like　a　mild　giant　refreshed

with　soda…water。　　But　I　have　already　said　more　about　him　than　his

place　justifies；　therefore；　although　I　could　gladly　linger　over　the

portrait；　I　will　leave　it。　　He　had　taught　his　daughter　next　to

nothing。　　Being　his　child；　he　had　the　vague　feeling　that　she

inherited　his　wisdom；　and　that　what　he　knew　she　knew。　　So　she　sat

reading　novels；　generally　trashy　ones；　while　he　knew　no　more　of　what

was　passing　in　her　mind　than　of　what　the　Admirable　Crichton　might；

at　the　moment；　be　disputing　with　the　angels。



I　would　not　have　my　reader　suppose　that　Mysie's　mind　was　corrupted。

It　was　so　simple　and　childlike；　leaning　to　what　was　pure；　and

looking　up　to　what　was　noble；　that　anything　directly　bad　in　the

books　she　happenedfor　it　was　all　haphazardto　read；　glided　over

her　as　a　black　cloud　may　glide　over　a　landscape；　leaving　it　sunny　as

before。



I　cannot　therefore　say；　however；　that　she　was　nothing　the　worse。　　If

the　darkening　of　the　sun　keep　the　fruits　of　the　earth　from　growing；

the　earth　is　surely　the　worse；　though　it　be　blackened　by　no　deposit

of　smoke。　　And　where　good　things　do　not　grow；　the　wild　and　possibly

noxious　will　grow　more　freely。　　There　may　be　no　harm　in　the　yellow

tanziethere　is　much　beauty　in　the　red　poppy；　but　they　are　not　good

for　food。　　The　result　in　Mysie's　case　would　be　thisnot　that　she

would　call　evil　good　and　good　evil；　but　that　she　would　take　the

beautiful　for　the　true　and　the　outer　shows　of　goodness　for　goodness

itselfnot　the　worst　result；　but　bad　enough；　and　involving　an　awful

amount　of　suffering　and　possibly　of　defilement。　　He　who　thinks　to

climb　the　hill　of　happiness　thus；　will　find　himself　floundering　in

the　blackest　bog　that　lies　at　the　foot　of　its　precipices。　　I　say　he；

not　she；　advisedly。　　All　will　acknowledge　it　of　the　woman：　it　is　as

true　of　the　man；　though　he　may　get　out　easier。　　Will　he？　　I　say；

checking　myself。　　I　doubt　it　much。　　In　the　world's　eye；　yes；　but　in

God's？　　Let　the　question　remain　unanswered。



When　he　had　eaten　his　toast；　and　drunk　his　tea；　apparently　without

any　enjoyment；　Mr。　Lindsay　rose　with　his　book　in　his　hand；　and

withdrew　to　his　study。



He　had　not　long　left　the　room　when　Mysie　was　startled　by　a　loud

knock　at　the　back　door；　which　opened　on　a　lane；　leading　along　the

top　of　the　hill。　　But　she　had　almost　forgotten　it　again；　when　the

door　of　the　room　opened；　and　a　gentleman　entered　without　any

announcementfor　Jenny　had　never　heard　of　the　custom。　　When　she　saw

him；　Mysie　started　from　her　seat；　and　stood　in　visible

embarrassment。　　The　colour　went　and　came　on　her　lovely　face；　and　her

eyelids　grew　very　heavy。　　She　had　never　seen　the　visitor　before：

whether　he　had　ever　seen　her　before；　I　cannot　certainly　say。　　She

felt　herself　trembling　in　his　presence；　while　he　advanced　with

perfect　composure。　　He　was　a　man　no　longer　young；　but　in　the　full

strength　and　show　of　manhoodthe　Baron　of　Rothie。　　Since　the　time

of　my　first　description　of　him；　he　had　grown　a　moustache；　which

improved　his　countenance　greatly；　by　concealing　his　upper　lip　with

its　tusky　curves。　　On　a　girl　like　Mysie；　with　an　imagination　so

cultivated；　and　with　no　opportunity　of　comparing　its　fancies　with

reality；　such　a　man　would　make　an　instant　impression。



'I　beg　your　pardon；　MissLindsay；　I　presume？for　intruding　upon

you　so　abruptly。　　I　expected　to　see　your　fathernot　one　of　the

graces。'



She　blushed　all　the　colour　of　her　blood　now。　　The　baron　was　quite

enough　like　the　hero　of　whom　she　had　just　been　reading　to　admit　of

her　imagination　jumbling　the　two。　　Her　book　fell。　　He　lifted　it　and

laid　it　on　the　table。　　She　could　not　speak　even　to　thank　him。　　Poor

Mysie　was　scarcely　more　than　sixteen。



'May　I　wait　here　till　your　father　is　informed　of　my　visit？'　he

asked。



Her　only　answer　was　to　drop　again　upon　her　low　stool。



Now　Jenny　had　left　it　to　Mysie　to　acquaint　her　father　with　the　fact

of　the　baron's　presence；　but　before　she　had　time　to　think　of　the

necessity　of　doing　something；　he　had　managed　to　draw　her　into

conversation。　　He　was　as　great　a　hypocrite　as　ever　walked　the　earth；

although　he　flattered　himself　that　he　was　none；　because　he　never

pretended　to　cultivate　that　which　he　despisednamely；　religion。

But　he　was　a　hypocrite　nevertheless；　for　the　falser　he　knew

himself；　the　more　honour　he　judged　it　to　persuade　women　of　his

truth。



It　is　unnecessary　to　record　the　slight；　graceful；　marrowless　talk

into　which　he　drew　Mysie；　and　by　which　he　both　bewildered　and

bewitched　her。　　But　at　length　she　rose；　admonished　by　her　inborn

divinity；　to　seek　her　father。　　As　she　passed　him；　the　baron　took　her

hand　and　kissed　it。　　She　might　well　tremble。　　Even　such　contact　was

terrible。　　Why？　　Because　there　was　no　love　in　it。　　When　the　sense　of

beauty　which　God　had　given　him　that　he　might　worship；　awoke　in　Lord

Rothie；　he　did　not　worship；　but　devoured；　that　he　might；　as　he

thought；　possess！　　The　poison　of　asps　was　under　those　lips。　　His

kiss　was　as　a　kiss　from　the　grave's　mouth；　for　his　throat　was　an

open　sepulchre。　　This　was　all　in　the　past；　reader。　　Baron　Rothie　was

a　foam…flake　of　the　court　of　the　Prince　Regent。　　There　are　no　such

men　now…a…days！　　It　is　a　shame　to　speak　of　such；　and　therefore　they

are　not！　　Decency　has　gone　so　far　to　abolish　virtue。　　Would　to　God

that　a　writer　could　be　decent　and　honest！　　St。　Paul　counted　it　a

shame　to　speak　of　some　things；　and　yet　he　did　speak　of　thembecause

those　to　whom　he　spoke　did　them。



Lord　Rothie　had；　in　five　minutes；　so　deeply　interested　Mr。　Lindsay

in　a　question　of　genealogy；　that　he　begged　his　lordship　to　call

again　in　a　few　days；　when　he　hoped　to　have　some　result　of　research

to　communicate。



One　of　the　antiquarian's　weaknesses；　cause　and　result　both　of　his

favourite　pursuits；　was　an　excessive　reverence　for　rank。　　Had　its

claims　been　founded　on　mediated　revelation；　he　could　not　have

honoured　it　more。　　Hence　when　he　communicated　to　his　daughter　the

name　of　their　visitor；　it　was　'with　bated　breath　and　whispering

humbleness；'　which　deepened　greatly　the　impression　made　upon　her　by

the　presence　and　conversation　of　the　baron。　　Mysie　was　in　danger。



Shargar　was　late　that　evening；　for　he　had　a　job　that　detained　him。

As　he　handed　over　his　money　to　Robert；　he　said；



'I　saw　Black　Geordie　the　nicht　again；　stan'in'　at　a　back　door；　an'

Jock　Mitchell；　upo'　Reid　Rorie；　haudin'　him。'



'Wha's　Jock　Mitchell？'　asked　Robert。



'My　brither　Sandy's　ill…faured　groom；'　answered　Shargar。　'Whatever

mischeef　Sandy's　up　till；　Jock　comes　in　i'　the　heid　or　tail　o'　't。'



'I　wonner　what　he's　up　till　noo。'



'Faith！　nae　guid。　　But　I　aye　like　waur　to　meet　Sandy　by　himsel'　upo'

that　reekit　deevil　o'　his。　　Man；　it's　awfu'　whan　Black　Geordie　turns

the　white　o'　's　ee；　an'　the　white　o'　's　teeth　upo'　ye。　　It's　a'　the

white　'at　there　is　about　'im。'



'Wasna　yer　brither　i'　the　airmy；　Shargar？'



'Ow；　'deed　ay。　　They　tell　me　he　was　at　Watterloo。　　He's　a　cornel；　or

something　like　that。'



'Wha　tellt　ye　a'　that？'



'My　mither　whiles；'　answered　Shargar。









CHAPTER　XI。



ROBERT'S　VOW。



Ericson　was　recovering　slowly。　　He　could　sit　up　in　bed　the　greater

part　of　the　day；　and　talk　about　getting　out　of　it。　　He　was　able　to

give　Robert　an　occasional　help　with　his　Greek；　and　to　listen　with

pleasure　to　his　violin。　　The　night…watching　grew　less　needful；　and

Ericson　would　have　dispensed　with　it　willingly；　but　Robert　would　not

yet　consent。



But　Ericson　had　seasons　of　great　depression；　during　which　he　could

not　away　with　music；　or　listen　to　the　words　of　the　New　Testament。

During　one　of　these　Robert　had　beg