robert falconer- 第44部分

debased　nature　that　drew　forth　the　plaint。　　Comrades　in　misery；　why

should　they　part？　　What　right　had　he　to　forsake　an　old　friend　and

benefactor　because　he　himself　was　unhappy？　　He　would　go　and　see　him

the　very　next　night。　　And　he　would　make　friends　once　more　with　the

much　'suffering　instrument'　he　had　so　wrongfully　despised。









CHAPTER　II。



THE　STROKE。



The　following　night；　he　left　his　books　on　the　table；　and　the　house

itself　behind　him；　and　sped　like　a　grayhound　to　Dooble　Sanny's　shop；

lifted　the　latch；　and　entered。



By　the　light　of　a　single　dip　set　on　a　chair；　he　saw　the　shoemaker

seated　on　his　stool；　one　hand　lying　on　the　lap　of　his　leathern

apron；　his　other　hand　hanging　down　by　his　side；　and　the　fiddle　on

the　ground　at　his　feet。　　His　wife　stood　behind　him；　wiping　her　eyes

with　her　blue　apron。　　Through　all　its　accumulated　dirt；　the　face　of

the　soutar　looked　ghastly；　and　they　were　eyes　of　despair　that　he

lifted　to　the　face　of　the　youth　as　he　stood　holding　the　latch　in　his

hand。　　Mrs。　Alexander　moved　towards　Robert；　drew　him　in；　and　gently

closed　the　door　behind　him；　resuming　her　station　like　a　sculptured

mourner　behind　her　motionless　husband。



'What　on　airth's　the　maitter　wi'　ye；　Sandy？'　said　Robert。



'Eh；　Robert！'　returned　the　shoemaker；　and　a　tone　of　affection　tinged

the　mournfulness　with　which　he　uttered　the　strange　words'eh；

Robert！　the　Almichty　will　gang　his　ain　gait；　and　I'm　in　his　grup

noo。'



'He's　had　a　stroke；'　said　his　wife；　without　removing　her　apron　from

her　eyes。



'I　hae　gotten　my　pecks　（blows）；'　resumed　the　soutar；　in　a　despairing

voice；　which　gave　yet　more　effect　to　the　fantastic　eccentricity　of

conscience　which　from　the　midst　of　so　many　grave　faults　chose　such　a

one　as　especially　bringing　the　divine　displeasure　upon　him：　'I　hae

gotten　my　pecks　for　cryin'　doon　my　ain　auld　wife　to　set　up　your

bonny　leddy。　　The　tane's　gane　a'　to　aise　an'　stew　（ashes　and　dust）；

an'　frae　the　tither；'　he　went　on；　looking　down　on　the　violin　at　his

feet　as　if　it　had　been　something　dead　in　its　youth'an'　frae　the

tither　I　canna　draw　a　cheep；　for　my　richt　han'　has　forgotten　her

cunnin'　Man；　Robert；　I　canna　lift　it　frae　my　side。'



'Ye　maun　gang　to　yer　bed；'　said　Robert；　greatly　concerned。



'Ow；　ay；　I　maun　gang　to　my　bed；　and　syne　to　the　kirkyaird；　and　syne

to　hell；　I　ken　that　weel　eneuch。　　Robert；　I　lea　my　fiddle　to　you。

Be　guid　to　the　auld　wife；　manbetter　nor　I　hae　been。　　An　auld

wife's　better　nor　nae　fiddle。'



He　stooped；　lifted　the　violin　with　his　left　hand；　gave　it　to　Robert；

rose；　and　made　for　the　door。　　They　helped　him　up　the　creaking　stair；

got　him　half…undressed；　and　laid　him　in　his　bed。　　Robert　put　the

violin　on　the　top　of　a　press　within　sight　of　the　sufferer；　left　him

groaning；　and　ran　for　the　doctor。　　Having　seen　him　set　out　for　the

patient's　dwelling；　he　ran　home　to　his　grandmother。



Now　while　Robert　was　absent；　occasion　had　arisen　to　look　for　him：

unusual　occurrence；　a　visitor　had　appeared；　no　less　a　person　than

Mr。　Innes；　the　school…master。　　Shargar　had　been　banished　in

consequence　from　the　parlour；　and　had　seated　himself　outside

Robert's　room；　never　doubting　that　Robert　was　inside。　　Presently　he

heard　the　bell　ring；　and　then　Betty　came　up　the　stair；　and　said

Robert　was　wanted。　　Thereupon　Shargar　knocked　at　the　door；　and　as

there　was　neither　voice　nor　hearing；　opened　it；　and　found；　with　a

well…known　horror；　that　he　had　been　watching　an　empty　room。　　He　made

no　haste　to　communicate　the　fact。　　Robert　might　return　in　a　moment；

and　his　absence　from　the　house　not　be　discovered。　　He　sat　down　on

the　bedstead　and　waited。　　But　Betty　came　up　again；　and　before

Shargar　could　prevent　her；　walked　into　the　room　with　her　candle　in

her　hand。　　In　vain　did　Shargar　intreat　her　to　go　and　say　that　Robert

was　coming。　　Betty　would　not　risk　the　danger　of　discovery　in

connivance；　and　descended　to　open　afresh　the　fountain　of　the　old

lady's　anxiety。　　She　did　not；　however；　betray　her　disquietude　to　Mr。

Innes。



She　had　asked　the　school…master　to　visit　her；　in　order　that　she

might　consult　him　about　Robert's　future。　　Mr。　Innes　expressed　a　high

opinion　of　the　boy's　faculties　and　attainments；　and　strongly　urged

that　he　should　be　sent　to　college。　　Mrs。　Falconer　inwardly　shuddered

at　the　temptations　to　which　this　course　would　expose　him；　but　he

must　leave　home　or　be　apprentice　to　some　trade。　　She　would　have

chosen　the　latter；　I　believe；　but　for　religion　towards　the　boy's

parents；　who　would　never　have　thought　of　other　than　a　profession　for

him。　　While　the　school…master　was　dwelling　on　the　argument　that　he

was　pretty　sure　to　gain　a　good　bursary；　and　she　would　thus　be

relieved　for　four　years；　probably　for　ever；　from　further　expense　on

his　account；　Robert　entered。



'Whaur　hae　ye　been；　Robert？'　asked　Mrs。　Falconer。



'At　Dooble　Sanny's；'　answered　the　boy。



'What　hae　ye　been　at　there？'



'Helpin'　him　till　's　bed。'



'What's　come　ower　him？'



'A　stroke。'



'That's　what　comes　o'　playin'　the　fiddle。'



'I　never　heard　o'　a　stroke　comin'　frae　a　fiddle；　grannie。　　It　comes

oot　o'　a　clood　whiles。　　Gin　he　had　hauden　till　's　fiddle；　he　wad　hae

been　playin'　her　the　nicht；　in　place　o'　's　airm　lyin'　at　's　side

like　a　lang　lingel　（ligneulshoemaker's　thread）。'



'Hm！'　said　his　grandmother；　concealing　her　indignation　at　this

freedom　of　speech；　'ye　dinna　believe　in　God's　judgments！'



'Nae　upo'　fiddles；'　returned　Robert。



Mr。　Innes　sat　and　said　nothing；　with　difficulty　concealing　his

amusement　at　this　passage　of　arms。



It　was　but　within　the　last　few　days　that　Robert　had　become　capable

of　speaking　thus。　　His　nature　had　at　length　arrived　at　the　point　of

so　far　casting　off　the　incubus　of　his　grandmother's　authority　as　to

assert　some　measure　of　freedom　and　act　openly。　　His　very

hopelessness　of　a　hearing　in　heaven　had　made　him　indifferent　to

things　on　earth；　and　therefore　bolder。　　Thus；　strange　as　it　may

seem；　the　blessing　of　God　descended　on　him　in　the　despair　which

enabled　him　to　speak　out　and　free　his　soul　from　the　weight　of

concealment。　　But　it　was　not　despair　alone　that　gave　him　strength。

On　his　way　home　from　the　shoemaker's　he　had　been　thinking　what　he

could　do　for　him；　and　had　resolved；　come　of　it　what　might；　that　he

would　visit　him　every　evening；　and　try　whether　he　could　not　comfort

him　a　little　by　playing　upon　his　violin。　　So　that　it　was

loving…kindness　towards　man；　as　well　as　despair　towards　God；　that

gave　him　strength　to　resolve　that　between　him　and　his　grandmother

all　should　be　above…board　from　henceforth。



'Nae　upo'　fiddles；'　Robert　had　said。



'But　upo'　them　'at　plays　them；'　returned　his　grandmother。



'Na；　nor　upo'　them　'at　burns　them；'　retorted　Robertimpudently　it

must　be　confessed；　for　every　man　is　open　to　commit　the　fault　of

which　he　is　least　capable。



But　Mrs。　Falconer　had　too　much　regard　to　her　own　dignity　to　indulge

her　feelings。　　Possibly　too　her　sense　of　justice；　which　Falconer

always　said　was　stronger　than　that　of　any　other　woman　he　had　ever

known；　as　well　as　some　movement　of　her　conscience　interfered。　　She

was　silent；　and　Robert　rushed　into　the　breach　which　his　last

discharge　had　effected。



'An'　I　want　to　tell　ye；　grannie；　that　I　mean　to　gang　an'　play　the

fiddle　to　puir　Sanny　ilka　nicht　for　the　best　pairt　o'　an　hoor；　an'

excep'　ye　lock　the　door　an'　hide　the　key；　I　will　gang。　　The　puir

sinner　sanna　be　desertit　by　God　an'　man　baith。'



He　scarcely　knew　what　he　was　saying　before　it　was　out　of　his　mouth；

and　as　if　to　cover　it　up；　he　hurried　on。



'An'　there's　mair　in　't。Dr。　Anderson　gae　Shargar　an'　me　a

sovereign　the　piece。　　An'　Dooble　Sanny　s'　hae　them；　to　haud　him　ohn

deid　o'　hunger　an'　cauld。'



'What　for　didna　ye　tell　me　'at　Dr。　Anderson　had　gien　ye　sic　a　sicht

o'　siller？　　It　was　ill…faured　o'　yean'　him　as　weel。'



''Cause　ye　wad　hae　sent　it　back　till　'im；　an'　Shargar　and　me　we

thocht　we　wad　raither　keep　it。'



'Considerin'　'at　I'm　at　sae　muckle　expense　wi'　ye　baith；　it　wadna

hae　been　ill…contrived　to　hae　brocht　the　siller　to　me；　an'　latten　me

du　wi'　't　as　I　thocht　fit。Gang　na　awa'；　laddie；'　she　added；　as　she

saw　Robert　about　to　leave　the　room。



'I'll　be　back　in　a　minute；　grannie；'　returned　Robert。



'He's　a　fine　lad；　that！'　said　Mr。　Innes；　'an'　guid　'll　come　o'　'm；

and　that　'll　be　heard　tell　o'。'



'Gin　he　had　but　the　grace　o'　God；　there　wadna　be　muckle　to　compleen

o'；'　acquiesced　his　grandmother。



'There's　time　eneuch　for　that；　Mrs。　Faukner。　　Ye　canna　get　auld

heids　upo'　young　shoothers；　ye　ken。'



''Deed　for　that　maitter；　ye　may　get　mony　an　auld　heid　upo'　auld

shoothers；　and　nae　a　spark　o'　grace　in　't　to　lat　it　see　hoo　to　lay

itsel'　doon　i'　the　grave。'



Robert　returned　before　Mr。　Innes　had　made　up　his　mind　as　to　whether

the　old　lady　intended　a　personal　rebuke。



'Hae；　grannie；'　he　said；　going　up　to　her；　and　putting　the　two

sovereigns　in　her　white　palm。



He　had　found　some　difficulty　in　making　Shargar　give　up　his；　else　he

would　have　returned　sooner。



'What's　this　o'　't；　laddie？'　said　Mrs。　Falconer。　'Hoots！　　I'm　nae

gaein'　to　tak　yer　siller。　　Lat　the　puir　soutar…craturs　hae　't。　　But

dinna　gie　them　mair　nor　a　shillin'　or　twa　at　ancejist　to　haud　them

in　life。　　They　deserve　nae　mair。　　But　they　maunna　sterve。　　And　jist

ye　tell　them；　laddie；　at　gin　they　spen'　ae　saxpence　o'　't　upo'

whusky；　they　s'　get　nae　mair。'



'Ay；　ay；　grannie；'　responded　Robert；　with　a　glimmer　of　gladness　in

his　heart。　'And　what　aboot　the　fiddlin'；　grannie？'　he　added；　half

playfully；　hoping　for　some　kind　concession　therein　as　well。



But　he　had　gone　too　far。　　She　vouchsafed　no　reply；　and　her　face　grew

stern　with　offence。　　It　was　one　thing　to　give　bread　to　eat；　another

to　give　music　and　gladness。　　No　music　but　that　which　sprung　from

effectual　calling　and　the　perseverance　of　the　saints　could　be　law