robert falconer-第52章

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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　doll　will　not　rise　from　the

dead；　shall　yet　find　relief　from　his　sorrow；　a　true　relief；　both

human　and　divine。　　He　shall　know　that　that　which　in　the　doll　made

him　love　the　doll；　has　not　passed　away。　　And　Robert　must　yet　be

comforted　for　the　loss　of　his　bonny　leddy。　　If　she　had　had　a　soul；

nothing　but　her　own　self　could　ever　satisfy　him。　　As　she　had　no

soul；　another　body　might　take　her　place；　nor　occasion　reproach　of

inconstancy。



But；　in　the　meantime；　the　shears　of　Fate　having　cut　the　string　of

the　sky…soaring　kite　of　his　imagination；　had　left　him　with　the　stick

in　his　hand。　　And　thus　the　rest　of　that　winter　was　dreary　enough。

The　glow　was　out　of　his　heart；　the　glow　was　out　of　the　world。　　The

bleak；　kindless　wind　was　hissing　through　those　pines　that　clothed

the　hill　above　Bodyfauld；　and　over　the　dead　garden；　where　in　the

summer　time　the　rose　had　looked　down　so　lovingly　on　the　heartsease。

If　he　had　stood　once　more　at　gloaming　in　that　barley…stubble；　not

even　the　wail　of　Flodden…field　would　have　found　him　there；　but　a

keen　sense　of　personal　misery　and　hopeless　cold。　　Was　the　summer　a

lie？



Not　so。　　The　winter　restrains；　that　the　summer　may　have　the　needful

time　to　do　its　work　well；　for　the　winter　is　but　the　sleep　of　summer。



Now　in　the　winter　of　his　discontent；　and　in　Nature　finding　no　help；

Robert　was　driven　inwardsinto　his　garret；　into　his　soul。　　There；

the　door　of　his　paradise　being　walled　up；　he　began；　vaguely；

blindly；　to　knock　against　other　doorssometimes　against　stone…walls

and　rocks；　taking　them　for　doorsas　travel…worn；　and　hence

brain…sick　men　have　done　in　a　desert　of　mountains。　　A　door；　out　or

in；　he　must　find；　or　perish。



It　fell；　too；　that　Miss　St。　John　went　to　visit　some　friends　who

lived　in　a　coast　town　twenty　miles　off；　and　a　season　of　heavy　snow

followed　by　frost　setting　in；　she　was　absent　for　six　weeks；　during

which　time；　without　a　single　care　to　trouble　him　from　without；

Robert　was　in　the　very　deser