robert falconer-第70章

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gestures；　his　looks；　all　thanked　him；　but　he　shrunk　from　words；　with

the　maidenly　shamefacedness　that　belongs　to　true　feeling。　　He　would

even　assume　the　authoritative；　and　send　him　away　to　his　studies；　but

Robert　knew　how　to　hold　his　own。　　The　relation　of　elder　brother　and

younger　was　already　established　between　them。　　Shargar　likewise　took

his　share　in　the　love　and　the　fellowship；　worshipping　in　that　he

believed。









CHAPTER　X。



A　FATHER　AND　A　DAUGHTER。



The　presence　at　the　street　door　of　which　Ericson's　over…acute　sense

had　been　aware　on　a　past　evening；　was　that　of　Mr。　Lindsay；　walking

home　with　bowed　back　and　bowed　head　from　the　college　library；　where


he　was　privileged　to　sit　after　hours　as　long　as　he　pleased　over

books　too　big　to　be　comfortably　carried　home　to　his　cottage。　　He　had

called　to　inquire　after　Ericson；　whose　acquaintance　he　had　made　in

the　library；　and　cultivated　until　almost　any　Friday　evening　Ericson

was　to　be　found　seated　by　Mr。　Lindsay's　parlour　fire。



As　he　entered　the　room　that　same　evening；　a　young　girl　raised

herself　from　a　low　seat　by　the　fire　to　meet　him。　　There　was　a　faint

rosy　flush　on　her　cheek；　and　she　held　a　volume　in　her　hand　as　she

approached　her　father。　　They　did　not　kiss：　kisses　were　not　a　legal

tender　in　Scotland　then：　possibly　there　has　been　a　depreciation　in

the　value　of　them　since　they　were。



'I've　been　to　ask　after　Mr。　Ericson；'　said　Mr。　Lindsay。



'And　how　is　he？'　asked　the　girl。



'Very　poorly　indeed；'　answered　her　father。



'I　am　sorry。　　You'll　miss　him；　papa。'



'Yes；　my　dear。　　Tell　Jenny　to　bring　my　lamp。'



'Won't　you　have　your　tea　first；　papa？'



'Oh　yes；　if　it's　ready。'



'The　kettle　has　been　boiling　for　a　long　time；　but　I　wouldn't　make

the　tea　till　you　came　in。'



Mr。　Lindsay　was　an　hour　later　than　usual；　but　Mysie　was　quite

unaware　of　that：　she　had　been　absorbed　in　her　book；　too　much

absorbed　even　to　ring　for　better　light　than　the　fire　afforded。　　When

her　father　went　to　put　off　his　long；　bifurcated　greatcoat；　she

returned　to　her　seat　by　the　fire；　and　forgot　to　make　the　tea。　　It

was　a　warm；　snug　room；　full　of　dark；　old…fashioned；　spider…legged

furniture；　low…pitched；　with　a　bay…window；　open　like　an　ear　to　the

cries　of　the　German　Ocean　at　night；　and　like　an　eye　during　the　day

to　look　out　upon　its　wide　expanse。　　This　ear　or　eye　was　now

curtained　with　dark　crimson；　and　the　room；　in　the　firelight；　with

the　young　girl　for　a　soul　to　it；　affected　one　like　an　ancient　book

in　which　he　reads　his　own　latest　thought。



Mysie　was　nothing　over　the　middle　heightdelicately…fashioned；　at

once　slender　and　round；　with　extremities　neat　as　buds。　　Her

complexion　was　fair；　and　her　face　pale；　except　when　a　flush；　like

that　of　a　white　rose；　overspread　it。　　Her　cheek　was　lovelily　curved；

and　her　face　rather　short。　　But　at　first　one　could　see　nothing　for

her　eyes。　　They　were　the　largest　eyes；　and　their　motion　reminded　one

of　those　of　Sordello　in　the　Purgatorio：



　　　　　E　nel　muover　degli　occhi　onesta　e　tarda：



they　seemed　too　large　to　move　otherwise　than　with　a　slow　turning

like　that　of　the　heavens。　　At　first　they　looked　black；　but　if　one

ventured　inquiry；　which　was　as　dangerous　as　to　gaze　from　the

battlements　of　Elsinore；　he　found　them　a　not　very　dark　brown。　　In

her　face；　however；　especially　when　flushed；　they　had　all　the　effect

of　what　Milton　describes　as



　　　　　Quel　sereno　fulgor　d'amabil　nero。



A　wise　observer　would　have　been　a　little　troubled　in　regarding　her

mouth。　　The　sadness　of　a　morbid　sensibility　hovered　about　itthe

sign　of　an　imagination　wrought　upon　from　the　centre　of　self。　　Her

lips　were　neither　thin　nor　compressedthey　closed　lightly；　and　were

richly　curved；　but　there　was　a　mobility　almost　tremulous　about　the

upper　lip　that　gave　sign　of　the　possibility　of　such　an　oscillation

of　feeling　as　might　cause　the　whole　fabric　of　her　nature　to　rock

dangerously。



The　moment　her　father　re…entered；　she　started　from　her　stool　on　the

rug；　and　proceeded　to　make　the　tea。　　Her　father　took　no　notice　of

her　neglect；　but　drew　a　chair　to　the　table；　helped　himself　to　a

piece　of　oat…cake；　hastily　loaded　it　with　as　much　butter　as　it　could

well　carry；　and　while　eating　it　forgot　it　and　everything　else　in　the

absorption　of　a　volume　he　had　brought　in　with　him　from　his　study；　in

which　he　was　tracing　out　some　genealogical　thread　of　which　he

fancied　he　had　got　a　hold。　　Mysie　was　very　active　now；　and　lost　the

expression　of　far…off…ness　which　had　hitherto　characterized　her

countenance；　till；　having　poured　out　the　tea；　she　too　plunged　at

once　into　her　novel；　and；　like　her　father；　forgot　everything　and

everybody　near　her。



Mr。　Lindsay　was　a　mild；　gentle　man；　whose　face　and　hair　seemed　to

have　grown　gray　together。　　He　was　very　tall；　and　stooped　much。　　He

had　a　mouth　of　much　sensibility；　and　clear　blue　eyes；　whose　light

was　rarely　shed　upon　any　one　within　reach　except　his　daughterthey

were　so　constantly　bent　downwards；　either　on　the　road　as　he　walked；

or　on　his　book　as　he　sat。　　He　had　been　educated　for　the　church；　but

had　never　risen　above　the　position　of　a　parish　school…master。　　He

had　little　or　no　impulse　to　utterance；　was　shy；　genial；　and；　save　in

reading；　indolent。　　Ten　years　before　this　point　of　my　history　he　had

been　taken　up　by　an　active　lawyer　in　Edinburgh；　from　information

accidentally　supplied　by　Mr。　Lindsay　himself；　as　the　next　heir　to　a

property　to　which　claim　was　laid　by　the　head　of　a　county　family　of

wealth。　　Probabilities　were　altogether　in　his　favour；　when　he　gave

up　the　contest　upon　the　offer　of　a　comfortable　annuity　from　the

disputant。　　To　leave　his　schooling　and　his　possible　estate　together；

and　sit　down　comfortably　by　his　own　fireside；　with　the　means　of

buying　books；　and　within　reach　of　a　good　old　librarythat　of　King's

College　by　preferencewas　to　him　the　sum　of　all　that　was　desirable。

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