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robert falconer-第32章

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was just in time for his dinner; and narrowly escaped encountering

Betty in the transe。  He had been tempted to leave the instrument;

but no one could tell what might happen; and to doubt would be to be

miserable with anxiety。



He did the same for several days without interruptionnot; however;

without observation。  When; returning from his fourth visit; he

opened the door between the gardens; he started back in dismay; for

there stood the beautiful lady。



Robert hesitated for a moment whether to fly or speak。  He was a

Lowland country boy; and therefore rude of speech; but he was three

parts a Celt; and those who know the address of the Irish or of the

Highlanders; know how much that involves as to manners and bearing。

He advanced the next instant and spoke。



'I beg yer pardon; mem。  I thoucht naebody wad see me。  I haena dune

nae ill。'



'I had not the least suspicion of it; I assure you;' returned Miss

St。 John。 'But; tell me; what makes you go through here always at

the same hour with the same parcel under your arm?'



'Ye winna tell naebodywill ye; mem; gin I tell you?'



Miss St。 John; amused; and interested besides in the contrast

between the boy's oddly noble face and good bearing on the one hand;

and on the other the drawl of his bluntly articulated speech and the

coarseness of his tone; both seeming to her in the extreme of

provincialism; promised; and Robert; entranced by all the qualities

of her voice and speech; and nothing disenchanted by the nearer view

of her lovely face; confided in her at once。



'Ye see; mem;' he said; 'I cam' upo' my grandfather's fiddle。  But

my grandmither thinks the fiddle's no gude。  And sae she tuik and

she hed it。  But I faun't it again。  An' I daurna play i' the hoose;

though my grannie's i' the country; for Betty hearin' me and tellin'

her。  And sae I gang to the auld fact'ry there。  It belangs to my

grannie; and sae does the yaird (garden)。  An' this hoose and yaird

was ance my father's; and sae he had that door throu; they tell me。

An' I thocht gin it suld be open; it wad be a fine thing for me; to

haud fowk ohn seen me。  But it was verra ill…bred to you; mem; I

ken; to come throu your yaird ohn speirt leave。  I beg yer pardon;

mem; an' I'll jist gang back; and roon' by the ro'd。  This is my

fiddle I hae aneath my airm。  We bude to pit back the case o' 't

whaur it was afore; i' my grannie's bed; to haud her ohn kent 'at

she had tint the grup o' 't。'



Certainly Miss St。 John could not have understood the half of the

words Robert used; but she understood his story notwithstanding。

Herself an enthusiast in music; her sympathies were at once engaged

for the awkward boy who was thus trying to steal an entrance into

the fairy halls of sound。  But she forbore any further allusion to

the violin for the present; and contented herself with assuring

Robert that he was heartily welcome to go through the garden as

often as he pleased。  She accompanied her words with a smile that

made Robert feel not only that she was the most beautiful of all

princesses in fairy…tales; but that she had presented him with

something beyond price in the most self…denying manner。  He took off

his cap; thanked her with much heartiness; if not with much polish;

and hastened to the gate of his grandmother's little garden。  A few

years later such an encounter might have spoiled his dinner: I have

to record no such evil result of the adventure。



With Miss St。 John; music was the highest form of human expression;

as must often be the case with those whose feeling is much in

advance of their thought; and to whom; therefore; may be called

mental sensation is the highest known condition。  Music to such is

poetry in solution; and generates that infinite atmosphere; common

to both musician and poet; which the latter fills with shining

worlds。But if my reader wishes to follow out for himself the idea

herein suggested; he must be careful to make no confusion between

those who feel musically or think poetically; and the musician or

the poet。  One who can only play the music of others; however

exquisitely; is not a musician; any more than one who can read verse

to the satisfaction; or even expound it to the enlightenment of the

poet himself; is therefore a poet。When Miss St。 John would worship

God; it was in music that she found the chariot of fire in which to

ascend heavenward。  Hence music was the divine thing in the world

for her; and to find any one loving music humbly and faithfully was

to find a brother or sister believer。  But she had been so often

disappointed in her expectations from those she took to be such;

that of late she had become less sanguine。  Still there was

something about this boy that roused once more her musical hopes;

and; however she may have restrained herself from the full

indulgence of them; certain it is that the next day; when she saw

Robert pass; this time leisurely; along the top of the garden; she

put on her bonnet and shawl; and; allowing him time to reach his

den; followed him; in the hope of finding out whether or not he

could play。  I do not know what proficiency the boy had attained;

very likely not much; for a man can feel the music of his own bow;

or of his own lines; long before any one else can discover it。  He

had already made a path; not exactly worn one; but trampled one;

through the neglected grass; and Miss St。 John had no difficulty in

finding his entrance to the factory。



She felt a little eerie; as Robert would have called it; when she

passed into the waste silent place; for besides the wasteness and

the silence; motionless machines have a look of death about them; at

least when they bear such signs of disuse as those that filled these

rooms。  Hearing no violin; she waited for a while in the

ground…floor of the building; but still hearing nothing; she

ascended to the first floor。  Here; likewise; all was silence。  She

hesitated; but at length ventured up the next stair; beginning;

however; to feel a little troubled as well as eerie; the silence was

so obstinately persistent。  Was it possible that there was no violin

in that brown paper?  But that boy could not be a liar。  Passing

shelves piled…up with stores of old thread; she still went on; led

by a curiosity stronger than her gathering fear。  At last she came

to a little room; the door of which was open; and there she saw

Robert lying on the floor with his head in a pool of blood。



Now Mary St。 John was both brave and kind; and; therefore; though

not insensible to the fact that she too must be in danger where

violence had been used to a boy; she set about assisting him at

once。  His face was deathlike; but she did not think he was dead。

She drew him out into the passage; for the room was close; and did

all she could to recover him; but for some time he did not even

breathe。  At last his lips moved; and he murmured;



'Sandy; Sandy; ye've broken my bonnie leddy。'



Then he opened his eyes; and seeing a face to dream about bending in

kind consternation over him; closed them again with a smile and a

sigh; as if to prolong his dream。



The blood now came fast into his forsaken cheeks; and began to flow

again from the wound in his head。  The lady bound it up with her

handkerchief。  After a little he rose; though with difficulty; and

stared wildly about him; saying; with imperfect articulation;

'Father! father!'  Then he looked at Miss St。 John with a kind of

dazed inquiry in his eyes; tried several times to speak; and could

not。



'Can you walk at all?' asked Miss St。 John; supporting him; for she

was anxious to leave the place。



'Yes; mem; weel eneuch;' he answered。



'Come along; then。  I will help you home。'



'Na; na;' he said; as if he had just recalled something。 'Dinna min'

me。  Rin hame; mem; or he'll see ye!'



'Who will see me?'



Robert stared more wildly; put his hand to his head; and made no

reply。  She half led; half supported him down the stair; as far as

the first landing; when he cried out in a tone of anguish;



'My bonny leddy!'



'What is it?' asked Miss St。 John; thinking he meant her。



'My fiddle! my fiddle!  She 'll be a' in bits;' he answered; and

turned to go up again。



'Sit down here;' said Miss St。 John; 'and I'll fetch it。'



Though not without some tremor; she darted back to the room。  Then

she turned faint for the first time; but determinedly supporting

herself; she looked about; saw a brown…paper parcel on a shelf; took

it; and hurried out with a shudder。



Robert stood leaning against the wall。  He stretched out his hands

eagerly。



'Gie me her。  Gie me her。'



'You had better let me carry it。  You are not able。'



'Na; na; mem。  Ye dinna ken hoo easy she is to hurt。'



'Oh; yes; I do!' returned Miss St。 John; smiling; and Robert could

not withstand the smile。



'Weel; tak care o' her; as ye wad o' yer ain sel'; m
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