robert falconer-第41章

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entangled　in　the　topmost　branches　of　a　hawthorn　tree；　and　its　head

beating　the　ground　at　its　foot。　　It　was　at　once　agreed　that　they

would　not　fly　it　again　till　they　got　some　stronger　string。



Having　heard　the　adventure；　Mr。　Lammie　produced　a　shilling　from　the

pocket　of　his　corduroys；　and　gave　it　to　Robert　to　spend　upon　the

needful　string。　　He　resolved　to　go　to　the　town　the　next　morning　and

make　a　grand　purchase　of　the　same。　　During　the　afternoon　he　roamed

about　the　farm　with　his　hands　in　his　pockets；　revolving　if　not　many

memories；　yet　many　questions；　while　Shargar　followed　like　a　pup　at

the　heels　of　Miss　Lammie；　to　whom；　during　his　former　visit；　he　had

become　greatly　attached。



In　the　evening；　resolved　to　make　a　confidant　of　Mr。　Lammie；　and

indeed　to　cast　himself　upon　the　kindness　of　the　household　generally；

Robert　went　up　to　his　room　to　release　his　violin　from　its　prison　of

brown　paper。　　What　was　his　dismay　to　findnot　his　bonny　leddy；　but

her　poor　cousin；　the　soutar's　auld　wife！　　It　was　too　bad。　　Dooble

Sanny　indeed！



He　first　stared；　then　went　into　a　rage；　and　then　came　out　of　it　to

go　into　a　resolution。　　He　replaced　the　unwelcome　fiddle　in　the

parcel；　and　came　down…stairs　gloomy　and　still　wrathful；　but　silent。

The　evening　passed　over；　and　the　inhabitants　of　the　farmhouse　went

early　to　bed。　　Robert　tossed　about　fuming　on　his。　　He　had　not

undressed。



About　eleven　o'clock；　after　all　had　been　still　for　more　than　an

hour；　he　took　his　shoes　in　one　hand　and　the　brown　parcel　in　the

other；　and　descending　the　stairs　like　a　thief；　undid　the　quiet

wooden　bar　that　secured　the　door；　and　let　himself　out。　　All　was

darkness；　for　the　moon　was　not　yet　up；　and　he　felt　a　strange

sensation　of　ghostliness　in　himselfawake　and　out　of　doors；　when　he

ought　to　be　asleep　and　unconscious　in　bed。　　He　had　never　been　out　so

late　before；　and　felt　as　if　walking　in　the　region　of　the　dead；

existing　when　and　where　he　had　no　business　to　exist。　　For　it　was　the

time　Nature　kept　for　her　own　quiet；　and　having　once　put　her　children

to　bedhidden　them　away　with　the　world　wiped　out　of　themenclosed

them　in　her　ebony　box；　as　George　Herbert　saysshe　did　not　expect　to

have　her　hours　of　undress　and　meditation　intruded　upon　by　a

venturesome　school…boy。　　Yet　she　let　him　pass。　　He　put　on　his　shoes

and　hurried　to　the　road。　　He　heard　a　horse　stamp　in　the　stable；　and

saw　a　cat　dart　across　the　corn…yard　as　he　went　through。　　Those　were

all　the　signs　of　life　about　the　place。



It　was　a　cloudy　night　and　still。　　Nothing　was　to　be　heard　but　his

own　footsteps。　　The　cattle　in　the　fields　were　all　asleep。　　The　larch

and　spruce　trees　on　the　top　of　the　hill　by　the　foot　of　which　his

road　wound　were　still　as　clouds。　　He　could　just　see　the　sky　through

their　stems。　　It　was　washed　with　the　faintest　of　light；　for　the

moon；　far　below；　was　yet　climbing　towards　the　horizon。　　A　star　or

two　sparkled　where　the　clouds　broke；　but　so　little　light　was　there；

that；　until　he　had　passed　the　moorland　on　the　hill；　he　could　not　get

the　horror　of　moss…holes；　and　deep　springs　covered　with　treacherous

green；　out　of　his　head。　　But　he　never　thought　of　turning。　　When　the

fears　of　the　way　at　length　fell　back　and　allowed　his　own　thoughts　to

rise；　the　sense　of　a　presence；　or　of　something　that　might　grow　to　a

presence；　was　the　first　to　awake　in　him。　　The　stillness　seemed　to　be

thinking　all　around　his　head。　　But　the　way　grew　so　dark；　where　it

lay　through　a　corner　of　the　pine…wood；　that　he　had　to　feel　the　edge

of　the　road　with　his　foot　to　make　sure　that　he　was　keeping　upon　it；

and　the　sense　of　the　silence　vanished。　　Then　he　passed　a　farm；　and

the　motions　of　horses　came　through　the　dark；　and　a　doubtful　crow

from　a　young　inexperienced　cock；　who　did　not　yet　know　the　moon　from

the　sun。　　Then　a　sleepy　low　in　his　ear　startled　him；　and　made　him

quicken　his　pace　involuntarily。



By　the　time　he　reached　Rothieden　all　the　lights　were　out；　and　this

was　just　what　he　wanted。



The　economy　of　Dooble　Sanny's　abode　was　this：　the　outer　door　was

always　left　on　the　latch　at　night；　because　several　families　lived　in

the　house；　the　soutar's　workshop　opened　from　the　passage；　close　to

the　outer　door；　therefore　its　door　was　locked；　but　the　key　hung　on　a

nail　just　inside　the　soutar's　bedroom。　　All　this　Robert　knew。



Arrived　at　the　house；　he　lifted　the　latch；　closed　the　door　behind

him；　took　off　his　shoes　once　more；　like　a　housebreaker；　as　indeed　he

was；　although　a　righteous　one；　and　felt　his　way　to　and　up　the　stair

to　the　bedroom。　　There　was　a　sound　of　snoring　within。　　The　door　was

a　little　ajar。　　He　reached　the　key　and　descended；　his　heart　beating

more　and　more　wildly　as　he　approached　the　realization　of　his　hopes。

Gently　as　he　could　he　turned　it　in　the　lock。　　In　a　moment　more　he

had　his　hands　on　the　spot　where　the　shoemaker　always　laid　his

violin。　　But　his　heart　sank　within　him：　there　was　no　violin　there。

A　blank　of　dismay　held　him　both　motionless　and　thoughtless；　nor　had

he　recovered　his　senses　before　he　heard　footsteps；　which　he　well

knew；　approaching　in　the　street。　　He　slunk　at　once　into　a　corner。

Elshender　entered；　feeling　his　way　carefully；　and　muttering　at　his

wife。　　He　was　tipsy；　most　likely；　but　that　had　never　yet　interfered

with　the　safety　of　his　fiddle：　Robert　heard　its　faint　echo　as　he

laid　it　gently　down。　　Nor　was　he　too　tipsy　to　lock　the　door　behind

him；　leaving　Robert　incarcerated　amongst　the　old　boots　and　leather

and　rosin。



For　one　moment　only　did　the　boy's　heart　fail　him。　　The　next　he　was

in　action；　for　a　happy　thought　had　already　struck　him。　　Hastily；

that　he　might　forestall　sleep　in　the　brain　of　the　soutar；　he　undid

his　parcel；　and　after　carefully　enveloping　his　own　violin　in　the

paper；　took　the　old　wife　of　the　soutar；　and　proceeded　to　perform

upon　her　a　trick　which　in　a　merry　moment　his　master　had　taught　him；

and　which；　not　without　some　feeling　of　irreverence；　he　had

occasionally　practised　upon　his　own　bonny　lady。



The　shoemaker's　room　was　overhead；　its　thin　floor　of　planks　was　the

ceiling　of　the　workshop。　　Ere　Dooble　Sanny　was　well　laid　by　the　side

of　his　sleeping　wife；　he　heard　a　frightful　sound　from　below；　as　of

some　one　tearing　his　beloved　violin　to　pieces。　　No　sound　of　rending

coffin…planks　or　rising　dead　would　have　been　so　horrible　in　the　ears

of　the　soutar。　　He　sprang　from　his　bed　with　a　haste　that　shook　the

crazy　tenement　to　its　foundation。



The　moment　Robert　heard　that；　he　put　the　violin　in　its　place；　and

took　his　station　by　the　door…cheek。　　The　soutar　came　tumbling　down

the　stair；　and　rushed　at　the　door；　but　found　that　he　had　to　go　back

for　the　key。　　When；　with　uncertain　hand；　he　had　opened　at　length；　he

went　straight　to　the　nest　of　his　treasure；　and　Robert　slipping　out

noiselessly；　was　in　the　next　street　before　Dooble　Sanny；　having

found　the　fiddle　uninjured；　and　not　discovering　the　substitution；

had　finished　concluding　that　the　whisky　and　his　imagination　had

played　him　a　very　discourteous　trick　between　them；　and　retired　once

more　to　bed。　　And　not　till　Robert　had　cut　his　foot　badly　with　a

piece　of　glass；　did　he　discover　that　he　had　left　his　shoes　behind

him。　　He　tied　it　up　with　his　handkerchief；　and　limped　home　the　three

miles；　too　happy　to　think　of　consequences。



Before　he　had　gone　far；　the　moon　floated　up　on　the　horizon；　large；

and　shaped　like　the　broadside　of　a　barrel。　　She　stared　at　him　in

amazement　to　see　him　out　at　such　a　time　of　the　night。　　But　he

grasped　his　violin　and　went　on。　　He　had　no　fear　now；　even　when　he

passed　again　over　the　desolate　moss；　although　he　saw　the　stagnant

pools　glimmering　about　him　in　the　moonlight。　　And　ever　after　this　he

had　a　fancy　for　roaming　at　night。　　He　reached　home　in　safety；　found

the　door　as　he　had　left　it；　and　ascended　to　his　bed；　triumphant　in

his　fiddle。



In　the　morning　bloody　prints　were　discovered　on　the　stair；　and

traced　to　the　door　of　his　room。　　Miss　Lammie　entered　in　some　alarm；