robert falconer-第51章

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of　her　soft　finger　tips　to　do　something　or　other　withRobert　did

not　know　what；　and　let　them　go。



About　eight　o'clock　that　same　evening；　his　heart　beating　like　a

captured　bird's；　he　crept　from　grannie's　parlour；　past　the　kitchen；

and　up　the　low　stair　to　the　mysterious　door。　　He　had　been　trying　for

an　hour　to　summon　up　courage　to　rise；　feeling　as　if　his　grandmother

must　suspect　where　he　was　going。　　Arrived　at　the　barrier；　twice　his

courage　failed　him；　twice　he　turned　and　sped　back　to　the　parlour。　　A

third　time　he　made　the　essay；　a　third　time　stood　at　the　wondrous

doorso　long　as　blank　as　a　wall　to　his　careless　eyes；　now　like　the

door　of　the　magic　Sesame　that　led　to　the　treasure…cave　of　Ali　Baba。

He　laid　his　hand　on　the　knob；　withdrew　it；　thought　he　heard　some　one

in　the　transe；　rushed　up　the　garret　stair；　and　stood　listening；

hastened　down；　and　with　a　sudden　influx　of　determination　opened　the

door；　saw　that　the　trap　was　raised；　closed　the　door　behind　him；　and

standing　with　his　head　on　the　level　of　the　floor；　gazed　into　the

paradise　of　Miss　St。　John's　room。　　To　have　one　peep　into　such　a　room

was　a　kind　of　salvation　to　the　half…starved　nature　of　the　boy。　　All

before　him　was　elegance；　richness；　mystery。　　Womanhood　radiated　from

everything。　　A　fire　blazed　in　the　chimney。　　A　rug　of　long　white　wool

lay　before　it。　　A　little　way　off　stood　the　piano。　　Ornaments

sparkled　and　shone　upon　the　dressing…table。　　The　door　of　a　wardrobe

had　swung　a　little　open；　and　discovered　the　sombre　shimmer　of　a

black　silk　dress。　　Something　gorgeously　red；　a　China　crape　shawl；

hung　glowing　beyond　it。　　He　dared　not　gaze　any　longer。　　He　had

already　been　guilty　of　an　immodesty。　　He　hastened　to　ascend；　and

seated　himself　at　the　piano。



Let　my　reader　aid　me　for　a　moment　with　his　imaginationreflecting

what　it　was　to　a　boy　like　Robert；　and　in　Robert's　misery；　to　open　a

door　in　his　own　meagre　dwelling　and　gaze　into　such　a　roomfree　to

him。　　If　he　will　aid　me　so；　then　let　him　aid　himself　by　thinking

that　the　house　of　his　own　soul　has　such　a　door　into　the　infinite

beauty；　whether　he　has　yet　found　it　or　not。



'Just　think；'　Robert　said　to　himself；　'o'　me　in　sic　a　place！　　It's　a

pailace。　　It's　a　fairy　pailace。　　And　that　angel　o'　a　leddy　bides

here；　and　sleeps　there！　　I　wonner　gin　she　ever　dreams　aboot　onything

as　bonny　's　hersel'！'



Then　his　thoughts　took　another　turn。



'I　wonner　gin　the　room　was　onything　like　this　whan　my　mamma　sleepit

in　't？　　I　cudna　hae　been　born　in　sic　a　gran'　place。　　But　my　mamma

micht　hae　weel　lien　here。'



The　face　of　the　miniature；　and　the　sad　words　written　below　the　hymn；

came　back　upon　him；　and　he　bowed　his　head　upon　his　hands。　　He　was

sitting　thus　when　Miss　St。　John　came　behind　him；　and　heard　him

murmur　the　one　word　Mamma！　　She　laid　her　hand　on　his　shoulder。　　He

started　and　rose。



'I　beg　yer　pardon；　mem。　　I　hae　no　business　to　be　here；　excep'　to

play。　　But　I　cudna　help　thinkin'　aboot　my　mother；　for　I　was　born　in

this　room；　mem。　　Will　I　gang　awa'　again？'



He　turned　towards　the　door。



'No；　no；'　said　Miss　St。　John。　'I　only　came　to　see　if　you　were　here。

I　cannot　stop　now；　but　to…morrow　you　must　tell　me　about　your

mother。　　Sit　down；　and　don't　lose　any　more　time。　　Your　grandmother

will　miss　you。　　And　then　what　would　come　of　it？'



Thus　was　this　rough　diamond　of　a　Scotch　boy；　rude　in　speech；　but

full　of　delicate　thought；　gathered　under　the　modelling　influences　of

the　finished；　refined；　tender；　sweet…tongued；　and　sweet…thoughted

Englishwoman；　who；　if　she　had　been　less　of　a　woman；　would　have　been

repelled　by　his　uncouthness；　if　she　had　been　less　of　a　lady；　would

have　mistaken　his　commonness　for　vulgarity。　　But　she　was　just；　like

the　type　of　womankind；　a　virgin…mother。　　She　saw　the　nobility　of　his

nature　through　its　homely　garments；　and　had　been；　indeed；　sent　to

carry　on　the　work　from　which　his　mother　had　been　too　early　taken

away。



'There's　jist　ae　thing　mem；　that　vexes　me　a　wee；　an'　I　dinna　ken

what　to　think　aboot　it；'　said　Robert；　as　Miss　St。　John　was　leaving

the　room。　'Maybe　ye　cud　bide　ae　minute　till　I　tell　ye。'



'Yes；　I　can。　　What　is　it？'



'I'm　nearhan'　sure　that　whan　I　lea'　the　parlour；　grannie　'ill　think

I'm　awa'　to　my　prayers；　and　sae　she'll　think　better　o'　me　nor　I

deserve。　　An'　I　canna　bide　that。'



'What　should　make　you　suppose　that　she　will　think　so？'



'Fowk　kens　what　ane　anither's　aboot；　ye　ken；　mem。'



'Then　she'll　know　you　are　not　at　your　prayers。'



'Na。　For　sometimes　I　div　gang　to　my　prayers　for　a　whilie　like；　but

nae　for　lang；　for　I'm　nae　like　ane　o'　them　'at　he　wad　care　to　hear

sayin'　a　lang　screed　o'　a　prayer　till　'im。　　I　hae　but　ae　thing　to

pray　aboot。'



'And　what's　that；　Robert？'



One　of　his　silences　had　seized　him。　　He　looked　confused；　and　turned

away。



'Never　mind；'　said　Miss　St。　John；　anxious　to　relieve　him；　and

establish　a　comfortable　relation　between　them；　'you　will　tell　me

another　time。'



'I　doobt　no；　mem；'　answered　Robert；　with　what　most　people　would

think　an　excess　of　honesty。



But　Miss　St。　John　made　a　better　conjecture　as　to　his　apparent

closeness。



'At　all　events；'　she　said；　'don't　mind　what　your　grannie　may　think；

so　long　as　you　have　no　wish　to　make　her　think　it。　　Good…night。'



Had　she　been　indeed　an　angel　from　heaven；　Robert　could　not　have

worshipped　her　more。　　And　why　should　he？　　Was　she　less　God's

messenger　that　she　had　beautiful　arms　instead　of　less　beautiful

wings？



He　practised　his　scales　till　his　unaccustomed　fingers　were　stiff；

then　shut　the　piano　with　reverence；　and　departed；　carefully　peeping

into　the　disenchanted　region　without　the　gates　to　see　that　no　enemy

lay　in　wait　for　him　as　he　passed　beyond　them。　　He　closed　the　door

gently；　and　in　one　moment　the　rich　lovely　room　and　the　beautiful

lady　were　behind　him；　and　before　him　the　bare　stair　between　two

white…washed　walls；　and　the　long　flagged　transe　that　led　to　his

silent　grandmother　seated　in　her　arm…chair；　gazing　into　the　red

coalsfor　somehow　grannie's　fire　always　glowed；　and　never

blazedwith　her　round…toed　shoes　pointed　at　them　from　the　top　of

her　little　wooden　stool。　　He　traversed　the　stair　and　the　transe；

entered　the　parlour；　and　sat　down　to　his　open　book　as　though　nothing

had　happened。　　But　his　grandmother　saw　the　light　in　his　face；　and

did　think　he　had　just　come　from　his　prayers。　　And　she　blessed　God

that　he　had　put　it　into　her　heart　to　burn　the　fiddle。



The　next　night　Robert　took　with　him　the　miniature　of　his　mother；　and

showed　it　to　Miss　St。　John；　who　saw　at　once　that；　whatever　might　be

his　present　surroundings；　his　mother　must　have　been　a　lady。　　A

certain　fancied　resemblance　in　it　to　her　own　mother　likewise　drew

her　heart　to　the　boy。　　Then　Robert　took　from　his　pocket　the　gold

thimble；　and　said；



'This　thimmel　was　my　mamma's。　　Will　ye　tak　it；　mem；　for　ye　ken　it's

o'　nae　use　to　me。'



Miss　St。　John　hesitated　for　a　moment。



'I　will　keep　it　for　you；　if　you　like；'　she　said；　for　she　could　not

bear　to　refuse　it。



'Na；　mem；　I　want　ye　to　keep　it　to　yersel'；　for　I'm　sure　my　mamma　wad

hae　likit　you　to　hae　't　better　nor　ony　ither　body。'



'Well；　I　will　use　it　sometimes　for　your　sake。　　But　mind；　I　will　not

take　it　from　you；　I　will　only　keep　it　for　you。'



'Weel；　weel；　mem；　gin　ye'll　keep　it　till　I　speir　for　't；　that'll　du

weel　eneuch；'　answered　Robert；　with　a　smile。



He　laboured　diligently；　and　his　progress　corresponded　to　his　labour。

It　was　more　than　intellect　that　guided　him：　Falconer　had　genius　for

whatever　he　cared　for。



Meantime　the　love　he　bore　his　teacher；　and　the　influence　of　her

beauty；　began　to　mould　him；　in　his　kind　and　degree；　after　her

likeness；　so　that　he　grew　nice　in　his　person　and　dress；　and　smoothed

the　roughness　and　moderated　the　broadness　of　his　speech　with　the

amenities　of　the　English　which　she　made　so　sweet　upon　her　tongue。

He　became　still　more　obedient　to　his　grandmo