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robert falconer-第63章

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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
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