robert falconer- 第42部分

his　hand　failed　to　alight；　sure　as　a　lark　on　its　nest；　upon　the

brass　handle　of　the　door　that　admitted　him　to　his　paradise。　　It

missed　it　now；　and　fell　on　something　damp；　and　rough；　and　repellent

instead。　　Horrible；　but　true　suspicion！　　While　he　was　at　school　that

day；　his　grandmother；　moved　by　what　doubt　or　by　what　certainty　she

never　revealed；　had　had　the　doorway　walled　up。　　He　felt　the　place

all　over。　　It　was　to　his　hands　the　living　tomb　of　his　mother's　vicar

on　earth。



He　returned　to　his　book；　pale　as　death；　but　said　never　a　word。　　The

next　day　the　stones　were　plastered　over。



Thus　the　door　of　bliss　vanished　from　the　earth。　　And　neither　the　boy

nor　his　grandmother　ever　said　that　it　had　been。









PART　II。HIS　YOUTH。







CHAPTER　I。



ROBERT　KNOCKSAND　THE　DOOR　IS　NOT　OPENED。



The　remainder　of　that　winter　was　dreary　indeed。　　Every　time　Robert

went　up　the　stair　to　his　garret；　he　passed　the　door　of　a　tomb。　　With

that　gray　mortar　Mary　St。　John　was　walled　up；　like　the　nun　he　had

read　of　in　the　Marmion　she　had　lent　him。　　He　might　have　rung　the

bell　at　the　street　door；　and　been　admitted　into　the　temple　of　his

goddess；　but　a　certain　vague　terror　of　his　grannie；　combined　with

equally　vague　qualms　of　conscience　for　having　deceived　her；　and　the

approach　in　the　far　distance　of　a　ghastly　suspicion　that　violins；

pianos；　moonlight；　and　lovely　women　were　distasteful　to　the

over…ruling　Fate；　and　obnoxious　to　the　vengeance　stored　in　the　gray

cloud　of　his　providence；　drove　him　from　the　awful　entrance　of　the

temple　of　his　Isis。



Nor　did　Miss　St。　John　dare　to　make　any　advances　to　the　dreadful　old

lady。　　She　would　wait。　　For　Mrs。　Forsyth；　she　cared　nothing　about

the　whole　affair。　　It　only　gave　her　fresh　opportunity　for　smiling

condescensions　about　'poor　Mrs。　Falconer。'　　So　Paradise　was　over　and

gone。



But　though　the　loss　of　Miss　St。　John　and　the　piano　was　the　last

blow；　his　sorrow　did　not　rest　there；　but　returned　to　brood　over　his

bonny　lady。　　She　was　scattered　to　the　winds。　　Would　any　of　her　ashes

ever　rise　in　the　corn；　and　moan　in　the　ripening　wind　of　autumn？

Might　not　some　atoms　of　the　bonny　leddy　creep　into　the　pines　on　the

hill；　whose　'soft　and　soul…like　sounds'　had　taught　him　to　play　the

Flowers　of　the　Forest　on　those　strings　which；　like　the　nerves　of　an

amputated　limb；　yet　thrilled　through　his　being？　　Or　might　not　some

particle　find　its　way　by　winds　and　waters　to　sycamore　forest　of

Italy；　there　creep　up　through　the　channels　of　its　life　to　some

finely…rounded　curve　of　noble　tree；　on　the　side　that　ever　looks

sunwards；　and　be　chosen　once　again　by　the　violin…hunter；　to　be

wrought　into　a　new　and　fame…gathering　instrument？



Could　it　be　that　his　bonny　lady　had　learned　her　wondrous　music　in

those　forests；　from　the　shine　of　the　sun；　and　the　sighing　of　the

winds　through　the　sycamores　and　pines？　　For　Robert　knew　that　the

broad…leaved　sycamore；　and　the　sharp；　needle…leaved　pine；　had　each

its　share　in　the　violin。　　Only　as　the　wild　innocence　of　human

nature；　uncorrupted　by　wrong；　untaught　by　suffering；　is　to　that

nature　struggling　out　of　darkness　into　light；　such　and　so　different

is　the　living　wood；　with　its　sweetest　tones　of　obedient　impulse；

answering　only　to　the　wind　which　bloweth　where　it　listeth；　to　that

wood；　chosen；　separated；　individualized；　tortured　into　strange；

almost　vital　shape；　after　a　law　to　us　nearly　unknown；　strung　with

strings　from　animal　organizations；　and　put　into　the　hands　of　man　to

utter　the　feelings　of　a　soul　that　has　passed　through　a　like　history。

This　Robert　could　not　yet　think；　and　had　to　grow　able　to　think　it

by　being　himself　made　an　instrument　of　God's　music。



What　he　could　think　was　that　the　glorious　mystery　of　his　bonny　leddy

was　gone　for　everand　alas！　she　had　no　soul。　　Here　was　an　eternal

sorrow。　　He　could　never　meet　her　again。　　His　affections；　which　must

live　for　ever；　were　set　upon　that　which　had　passed　away。　　But　the

child　that　weeps　because　his　mutilated　doll　will　not　rise　from　the

dead；　shall　yet　find　relief　from　his　sorrow；　a　true　relief；　both

human　and　divine。　　He　shall　know　that　that　which　in　the　doll　made

him　love　the　doll；　has　not　passed　away。　　And　Robert　must　yet　be

comforted　for　the　loss　of　his　bonny　leddy。　　If　she　had　had　a　soul；

nothing　but　her　own　self　could　ever　satisfy　him。　　As　she　had　no

soul；　another　body　might　take　her　place；　nor　occasion　reproach　of

inconstancy。



But；　in　the　meantime；　the　shears　of　Fate　having　cut　the　string　of

the　sky…soaring　kite　of　his　imagination；　had　left　him　with　the　stick

in　his　hand。　　And　thus　the　rest　of　that　winter　was　dreary　enough。

The　glow　was　out　of　his　heart；　the　glow　was　out　of　the　world。　　The

bleak；　kindless　wind　was　hissing　through　those　pines　that　clothed

the　hill　above　Bodyfauld；　and　over　the　dead　garden；　where　in　the

summer　time　the　rose　had　looked　down　so　lovingly　on　the　heartsease。

If　he　had　stood　once　more　at　gloaming　in　that　barley…stubble；　not

even　the　wail　of　Flodden…field　would　have　found　him　there；　but　a

keen　sense　of　personal　misery　and　hopeless　cold。　　Was　the　summer　a

lie？



Not　so。　　The　winter　restrains；　that　the　summer　may　have　the　needful

time　to　do　its　work　well；　for　the　winter　is　but　the　sleep　of　summer。



Now　in　the　winter　of　his　discontent；　and　in　Nature　finding　no　help；

Robert　was　driven　inwardsinto　his　garret；　into　his　soul。　　There；

the　door　of　his　paradise　being　walled　up；　he　began；　vaguely；

blindly；　to　knock　against　other　doorssometimes　against　stone…walls

and　rocks；　taking　them　for　doorsas　travel…worn；　and　hence

brain…sick　men　have　done　in　a　desert　of　mountains。　　A　door；　out　or

in；　he　must　find；　or　perish。



It　fell；　too；　that　Miss　St。　John　went　to　visit　some　friends　who

lived　in　a　coast　town　twenty　miles　off；　and　a　season　of　heavy　snow

followed　by　frost　setting　in；　she　was　absent　for　six　weeks；　during

which　time；　without　a　single　care　to　trouble　him　from　without；

Robert　was　in　the　very　desert　of　desolation。　　His　spirits　sank

fearfully。　　He　would　pass　his　old　music…master　in　the　street　with

scarce　a　recognition；　as　if　the　bond　of　their　relation　had　been

utterly　broken；　had　vanished　in　the　smoke　of　the　martyred　violin；

and　all　their　affection　had　gone　into　the　dust…heap　of　the　past。



Dooble　Sanny's　character　did　not　improve。　　He　took　more　and　more

whisky；　his　bouts　of　drinking　alternating　as　before　with　fits　of

hopeless　repentance。　　His　work　was　more　neglected　than　ever；　and　his

wife　having　no　money　to　spend　even　upon　necessaries；　applied　in

desperation　to　her　husband's　bottle　for　comfort。　　This　comfort；　to

do　him　justice；　he　never　grudged　her；　and　sometimes　before　midday

they　would　both　be　drunka　condition　expedited　by　the　lack　of　food。

When　they　began　to　recover；　they　would　quarrel　fiercely；　and　at

last　they　became　a　nuisance　to　the　whole　street。　　Little　did　the

whisky…hating　old　lady　know　to　what　god　she　had　really　offered　up

that　violinif　the　consequences　of　the　holocaust　can　be　admitted　as

indicating　the　power　which　had　accepted　it。



But　now　began　to　appear　in　Robert　the　first　signs　of　a　practical

outcome　of　such　truth　as　his　grandmother　had　taught　him；　operating

upon　the　necessities　of　a　simple　and　earnest　nature。　　Reality；

however　lapt　in　vanity；　or　even　in　falsehood；　cannot　lose　its　power。

It　isthe　other　is　not。　　She　had　taught　him　to　look　upthat　there

was　a　God。　He　would　put　it　to　the　test。　　Not　that　he　doubted　it　yet：

he　only　doubted　whether　there　was　a　hearing　God。　But　was　not　that

worse？　　It　was；　I　think。　　For　it　is　of　far　more　consequence　what

kind　of　a　God；　than　whether　a　God　or　no。　　Let　not　my　reader　suppose

I　think　it　possible　there　could　be　other　than　a　perfect

Godperfecteven　to　the　vision　of　his　creatures；　the　faith　that

supplies　the　lack　of　vision　being　yet　faithful　to　that　vision。　　I

speak　from　Robert's　point　of　outlook。　　But；　indeed；　whether　better

or　worse　is　no　great　matter；　so　long　as　he　would　see　it　or　what

there　was。　　He　had　no　comfort；　and；　without　reasoning　about　it；　he

felt　that　life　ought　to　have　comfortfrom　which　point　he　began　to

conclude　that　the　only　thing　left　was　to　try　whether　the　God　in　whom

his　grandmother　believed　might　not　help　him。　　If　the　God　would　but

hear　him；　it　was　all　he　had　yet　learned　to　require　of　his　Godhood。

And　that　must　ever　be　the　first　thing　to　require。　　More　demands

would　come；　and　greater　answers　he　would　find。　　But　nowif　God

would　but　hear　him！　　If　he　spoke　to　him　but　one　kind　word；　it　would

be　the　very　soul　of　comfort；　he　could　no　more　be　lonely。　　A　fountain

of　glad　imaginations　gushed　up　in　his　heart　at　the　thought。　　What

if；　from　the　cold　winter　of　his　life；　he　had　but　to　open　the　door　of

his　garret…room；　and；　kneeling　by　the　bare　bedstead；　enter　into　the

summer　of　God's　presence！　　What　if　God　spoke　to　him　face　to　face！

He　had　so　spoken　to　Moses。　　He　sought　him　from　no　fear　of　the

future；　but　from　present　desolation；　and　if　God　came　near　to　him；　it

would　not　be　with　storm　and　tempest；　but　with　the　voice　of　a　friend。

And　surely；　if　there　was　a　God　at　all；　that　is；　not　a　power　greater

than　man；　but　a　power　by　whose　power　man　was；　he　must　hear　the　voice

of　the　creature　whom　he　had　made；　a　voice　that　came　crying　out　of

the　very　need　which　he　had　created。　　Younger　people　than　Robert　are

capable　of　such　divine　metaphysics。　　Hence　he　continued　to　disappear

from　his　grandmother's　parlour　at　much　the　same　hour　as　before。　　In

the　cold；　desolate　garret；　he　knelt　and　cried　out　into　that　which

lay　beyond　the　thought　that　cried；　the　unknowable　infinite；　after

the　God　that　may　be　known　as　surely　as　a　little　child　knows　his

mysterious　mother。　　And　from　behind　him；　the　pale…blue；　star…crowded

sky　shone　upon　his　head；　through　the　window　that　looked　upwards

only。



Mrs。　Falconer　saw　that　he　still　went　away　as　he　had　been　wont；　and

instituted　observations；　the　result　of　which　was　the　knowledge　that