robert falconer- 第116部分

solitary　musings　in　the　garret；　he　saidand　long　before　he　reached

this　part；　he　had　relapsed　into　his　mother　tongue：



'Come　and　luik　at　the　place；　father。　　I　want　to　see　't　again；

mysel'。'



He　rose。　　His　father　yielded　and　followed　him。　　Robert　got　a　candle

in　the　kitchen；　and　the　two　big　men　climbed　the　little　narrow　stair

and　stood　in　the　little　sky　of　the　house；　where　their　heads　almost

touched　the　ceiling。



'I　sat　upo'　the　flure　there；'　said　Robert；　'an'　thoucht　and　thoucht

what　I　wad　du　to　get　ye；　father；　and　what　I　wad　du　wi'　ye　whan　I　had

gotten　ye。　　I　wad　greit　whiles；　'cause　ither　laddies　had　a　father

an'　I　had　nane。　　An'　there's　whaur　I　fand　mamma's　box　wi'　the　letter

in　't　and　her　ain　picter：　grannie　gae　me　that　ane　o'　you。　　An'

there's　whaur　I　used　to　kneel　doon　an'　pray　to　God。　An'　he's　heard

my　prayers；　and　grannie's　prayers；　and　here　ye　are　wi'　me　at　last。

Instead　o'　thinkin'　aboot　ye；　I　hae　yer　ain　sel'。　　Come；　father；　I

want　to　say　a　word　o'　thanks　to　God；　for　hearin'　my　prayer。'



He　took　the　old　man's　hand；　led　him　to　the　bedside；　and　kneeled　with

him　there。



My　reader　can　hardly　avoid　thinking　it　was　a　poor　sad　triumph　that

Robert　had　after　all。　　How　the　dreams　of　the　boy　had　dwindled　in

settling　down　into　the　reality！　　He　had　his　father；　it　was　true；　but

what　a　father！　　And　how　little　he　had　him！



But　this　was　not　the　end；　and　Robert　always　believed　that　the　end

must　be　the　greater　in　proportion　to　the　distance　it　was　removed；　to

give　time　for　its　true　fulfilment。　　And　when　he　prayed　aloud　beside

his　father；　I　doubt　not　that　his　thanksgiving　and　his　hope　were

equal。



The　prayer　over；　he　took　his　father's　hand　and　led　him　down　again　to

the　little　parlour；　and　they　took　their　seats　again　by　the　fire；　and

Robert　began　again　and　went　on　with　his　story；　not　omitting　the

parts　belonging　to　Mary　St。　John　and　Eric　Ericson。



When　he　came　to　tell　how　he　had　encountered　him　in　the　deserted

factory：



'Luik　here；　father；　here's　the　mark　o'　the　cut；'　he　said；　parting

the　thick　hair　on　the　top　of　his　head。



His　father　hid　his　face　in　his　hands。



'It　wasna　muckle　o'　a　blow　that　ye　gied　me；　father；'　he　went　on；

'but　I　fell　against　the　grate；　and　that　was　what　did　it。　　And　I

never　tellt　onybody；　nae　even　Miss　St。　John；　wha　plaistered　it　up；

hoo　I　had　gotten　't。　　And　I　didna　mean　to　say　onything　aboot　it；　but

I　wantit　to　tell　ye　a　queer　dream；　sic　a　queer　dream　it　garred　me

dream　the　same　nicht。'



As　he　told　the　dream；　his　father　suddenly　grew　attentive；　and　before

he　had　finished；　looked　almost　scared；　but　he　said　nothing。　　When　he

came　to　relate　his　grandmother's　behaviour　after　having　discovered

that　the　papers　relating　to　the　factory　were　gone；　he　hid　his　face

in　his　hands　once　more。　　He　told　him　how　grannie　had　mourned　and

wept　over　him；　from　the　time　when　he　heard　her　praying　aloud　as　he

crept　through　her　room　at　night　to　their　last　talk　together　after

Dr。　Anderson's　death。　　He　set　forth；　as　he　could；　in　the　simplest

language；　the　agony　of　her　soul　over　her　lost　son。　　He　told　him　then

about　Ericson；　and　Dr。　Anderson；　and　how　good　they　had　been　to　him；

and　at　last　of　Dr。　Anderson's　request　that　he　would　do　something　for

him　in　India。



'Will　ye　gang　wi'　me；　father？'　he　asked。



'I'll　never　leave　ye　again；　Robert；　my　boy；'　he　answered。　'I　have

been　a　bad　man；　and　a　bad　father；　and　now　I　gie　mysel'　up　to　you　to

mak　the　best　o'　me　ye　can。　　I　daurna　leave　ye；　Robert。'



'Pray　to　God　to　tak　care　o'　ye；　father。　　He'll　do　a'thing　for　ye；

gin　ye'll　only　lat　him。'



'I　will；　Robert。'



'I　was　mysel'　dreidfu'　miserable　for　a　while；'　Robert　resumed；　'for

I　cudna　see　or　hear　God　at　a'；　but　God　heard　me；　and　loot　me　ken

that　he　was　there　an'　that　a'　was　richt。　　It　was　jist　like　whan　a

bairnie　waukens　up　an'　cries　oot；　thinkin'　it　's　its　lane；　an'

through　the　mirk　comes　the　word　o'　the　mither　o'　't；　sayin'；　〃I'm

here；　cratur：　dinna　greit。〃　　And　I　cam　to　believe　'at　he　wad　mak　you

a　good　man　at　last。　　O　father；　it's　been　my　dream　waukin'　an'

sleepin'　to　hae　you　back　to　me　an'　grannie；　an'　mamma；　an'　the

Father　o'　's　a'；　an'　Jesus　Christ　that's　done　a'thing　for　's。　　An'

noo　ye　maun　pray　to　God；　father。　　Ye　will　pray　to　God　to　haud　a　grip

o'　yewillna　ye；　father？'



'I　will；　I　will；　Robert。　　But　I've　been　an　awfu'　sinner。　　I　believe

I　was　the　death　o'　yer　mother；　laddie。'



Some　closet　of　memory　was　opened；　a　spring　of　old　tenderness　gushed

up　in　his　heart；　at　some　window　of　the　past　the　face　of　his　dead

wife　looked　out：　the　old　man　broke　into　a　great　cry；　and　sobbed　and

wept　bitterly。　　Robert　said　no　more；　but　wept　with　him。



Henceforward　the　father　clung　to　his　son　like　a　child。　　The　heart　of

Falconer　turned　to　his　Father　in　heaven　with　speechless

thanksgiving。　　The　ideal　of　his　dreams　was　beginning　to　dawn；　and

his　life　was　new…born。



For　a　few　days　Robert　took　Andrew　about　to　see　those　of　his　old

friends　who　were　left；　and　the　kindness　with　which　they　all　received

him；　moved　Andrew's　heart　not　a　little。　　Every　one　who　saw　him

seemed　to　feel　that　he　or　she　had　a　share　in　the　redeeming　duty　of

the　son。　　Robert　was　in　their　eyes　like　a　heavenly　messenger；　whom

they　were　bound　to　aid；　for　here　was　the　possessed　of　demons　clothed

and　in　his　right　mind。　　Therefore　they　overwhelmed　both　father　and

son　with　kindness。　　Especially　at　John　Lammie's　was　he　received　with

a　perfection　of　hospitality；　as　if　that　had　been　the　father's　house

to　which　he　had　returned　from　his　prodigal　wanderings。



The　good　old　farmer　begged　that　they　would　stay　with　him　for　a　few

days。



'I　hae　sae　mony　wee　things　to　luik　efter　at　Rothieden；　afore　we

gang；'　said　Robert。



'Weel；　lea'　yer　father　here。　　We　s'　tak　guid　care　o'　'im；　I　promise

ye。'



'There's　only　ae　difficulty。　　I　believe　ye　are　my　father's　frien'；

Mr。　Lammie；　as　ye　hae　been　mine；　and　God　bless　ye；　sae　I'll　jist

tell　you　the　trowth；　what　for　I　canna　lea'　him。　　I'm　no　sure　eneuch

yet　that　he　could　withstan'　temptation。　　It's　the　drink　ye　ken。

It's　months　sin'　he's　tasted　it；　butye　ken　weel　eneuchthe

temptation's　awfu'。　　Sin'　ever　I　got　him　back；　I　haena　tasted　ae

mou'fu'　o'　onything　that　cud　be　ca'd　strong　drink　mysel'；　an'　as

lang　's　he　lives；　not　ae　drap　shall　cross　my　lipsno　to　save　my

life。'



'Robert；'　said　Mr。　Lammie；　giving　him　his　hand　with　solemnity；　'I

sweir　by　God　that　he　shanna　see；　smell；　taste；　nor　touch　drink　in

this　hoose。　　There's　but　twa　boatles　o'　whusky；　i'　the　shape　o'

drink；　i'　the　hoose；　an'　gin　ye　say　'at　he　sall　bide；　I'll　gang　and

mak　them　an'　the　midden　weel　acquant。'



Andrew　was　pleased　at　the　proposal。　　Robert　too　was　pleased　that　his

father　should　be　free　of　him　for　a　while。　　It　was　arranged　for　three

days。　　Half…an…hour　after；　Robert　came　upon　Mr。　Lammie　emptying　the

two　bottles　of　whisky　into　the　dunghill　in　the　farmyard。



He　returned　with　glad　heart　to　Rothieden。　　It　did　not　take　him　long

to　arrange　his　grandmother's　little　affairs。　　He　had　already　made　up

his　mind　about　her　house　and　furniture。　　He　rang　the　bell　one

morning　for　Betty。



'Hae　ye　ony　siller　laid　up；　Betty？'



'Ay。　I　hae　feifteen　poun'　i'　the　savin's　bank。'



'An'　what　do　ye　think　o'　doin'？'



'I'll　get　a　bit　roomy；　an'　tak　in　washin'。



'Weel；　I'll　tell　ye　what　I　wad　like　ye　to　do。　　Ye　ken　Mistress

Elshender？'



'Fine　that。　　An'　a　verra　dacent　body　she　is。'



'Weel；　gin　ye　like；　ye　can　haud　this　hoose；　an'　a'　'at's　in't；　jist

as　it　is；　till　the　day　o'　yer　deith。　　And　ye'll　aye　keep　it　in

order；　an'　the　ga'le…room　ready　for　me　at　ony　time　I　may　happen　to

come　in　upo'　ye　in　want　o'　a　nicht's　quarters。　　But　I　wad　like　ye；

gin　ye　hae　nae　objections；　to　tak　Mistress　Elshender　to　bide　wi'　ye。

She's　turnin'　some　frail　noo；　and　I'm　unner　great　obligation　to　her

Sandy；　ye　ken。'



'Ay；　weel　that。　　He　learnt　ye　to　fiddle；　RobertI　hoombly　beg　your

pardon；　sir；　Mister　Robert。'



'Nae　offence；　Betty；　I　assure　ye。　　Ye　hae　been　aye　gude　to　me；　and　I

thank　ye　hertily。'



Betty　could　not　stand　this。　　Her　apron　went　up　to　her　eyes。



'Eh；　sir；'　she　sobbed；　'ye　was　aye　a　gude　lad。'



'Excep'　whan　I　spak　o'　Muckledrum；　Betty。'



She　laughed　and　sobbed　together。



'Weel；　ye'll　tak　Mistress　Elshender　in；　winna　ye？'



'I'll　do　that；　sir。　　And　I'll　try　to　do　my　best　wi'　her。'



'She　can　help　ye；　ye　ken；　wi'　yer　washin'；　an'　sic　like。'



'She's　a　hard…workin'　wuman；　sir。　　She　wad　do　that　weel。'



'And　whan　ye're　in　ony　want　o'　siller；　jist　write　to　me。　　An'　gin

onything　suld　happen　to　me；　ye　ken；　write　to　Mr。　Gordon；　a　frien'　o'

mine。　　There's　his　address　in　Lonnon。'



'Eh；　sir；　but　ye　are　kin'。　　God　bless　ye　for　a'。'



She　could　bear　no　more；　and　left　the　room　crying。



Everything　settled　at　Rothieden；　he　returned　to　Bodyfauld。　　The　most

welcome　greeting　he　had　ever　received　in　his　life；　lay　in　the　shine

of　his　father's　eyes　when　he　entered　the　room　where　he　sat　with　Miss

Lammie。　　The　next　day　they　left　for　London。









CHAPTER　XX。



THE　VANISHING。



They　came　to　see　me　the　very　evening　of　their　arrival。　　As　to

Andrew's　progress　there　could　be　no　longer　any　doubt。　　All　that　was

necessary　for　conviction　on　the　point　was　to　have　seen　him　before

and　to　see　him　now。　　The　very　grasp　of　his　hand　was　changed。　　But

not　yet　would　Robert　leave　him　alone。



It　will　naturally　occur　to　my　reader　that　his　goodness　was　not　much

yet。　　It　was　not。　　It　may　have　been　greater　than　we　could　be　sure

of；　though。　　But　if　any　one　object　that　such　a　conversion；　even　if

it　were　perfected；　was　poor；　inasmuch　as　the　man's　free　will　was

intromitted　with；　I　answer：　'The　development　of　the　free　will　was

the　one　object。　　Hitherto　it　was　not　free。'　　I　ask　the　man　who　says

so：　'Where　would　your　free　will　have　been　if　at　some　period　of　your

life　you　cou