robert falconer- 第64部分

youths；　and　his　experience　of　life　taught　Ericson　and　Robert　much；

especially　what　he　told　them　about　his　Brahmin　friend　in　India。

Moray；　on　the　other　hand；　was　chiefly　interested　in　his　tales　of

adventure　when　on　service　in　the　Indian　army；　or　engaged　in　the

field　sports　of　that　region　so　prolific　in　monsters。　　His　gipsy

blood　and　lawless　childhood；　spent　in　wandering　familiarity　with

houseless　nature；　rendered　him　more　responsive　to　these　than　the

others；　and　his　kindled　eye　and　pertinent　remarks　raised　in　the

doctor's　mind　an　early　question　whether　a　commission　in　India　might

not　be　his　best　start　in　life。



Between　Ericson　and　Robert；　as　the　former　recovered　his　health；

communication　from　the　deeper　strata　of　human　need　became　less

frequent。　　Ericson　had　to　work　hard　to　recover　something　of　his

leeway；　Robert　had　to　work　hard　that　prizes　might　witness　for　him　to

his　grandmother　and　Miss　St。　John。　To　the　latter　especially；　as　I

think　I　have　said　before；　he　was　anxious　to　show　well；　wiping　out

the　blot；　as　he　considered　it；　of　his　all　but　failure　in　the　matter

of　a　bursary。　　For　he　looked　up　to　her　as　to　a　goddess　who　just　came

near　enough　to　the　earth　to　be　worshipped　by　him　who　dwelt　upon　it。



The　end　of　the　session　came　nigh。　　Ericson　passed　his　examinations

with　honour。　　Robert　gained　the　first　Greek　and　third　Latin　prize。

The　evening　of　the　last　day　arrived；　and　on　the　morrow　the　students

would　be　gonesome　to　their　homes　of　comfort　and　idleness；　others

to　hard　labour　in　the　fields；　some　to　steady　reading；　perhaps　to

school　again　to　prepare　for　the　next　session；　and　others　to　be

tutors　all　the　summer　months；　and　return　to　the　wintry　city　as　to

freedom　and　life。　　Shargar　was　to　remain　at　the　grammar…school。



That　last　evening　Robert　sat　with　Ericson　in　his　room。　　It　was　a

cold　nightthe　night　of　the　last　day　of　March。　　A　bitter　wind　blew

about　the　house；　and　dropped　spiky　hailstones　upon　the　skylight。

The　friends　were　to　leave　on　the　morrow；　but　to　leave　together；　for

they　had　already　sent　their　boxes；　one　by　the　carrier　to　Rothieden；

the　other　by　a　sailing　vessel　to　Wick；　and　had　agreed　to　walk

together　as　far　as　Robert's　home；　where　he　was　in　hopes　of　inducing

his　friend　to　remain　for　a　few　days　if　he　found　his　grandmother

agreeable　to　the　plan。　　Shargar　was　asleep　on　the　rug　for　the　last

time；　and　Robert　had　brought　his　coal…scuttle　into　Ericson's　room　to

combine　their　scanty　remains　of　well…saved　fuel　in　a　common　glow；

over　which　they　now　sat。



'I　wonder　what　my　grannie　'ill　say　to　me；'　said　Robert。



'She'll　be　very　glad　to　see　you；　whatever　she　may　say；'　remarked

Ericson。



'She'll　say　〃Noo；　be　dooce；〃　the　minute　I　hae　shacken　hands　wi'

her；'　said　Robert。



'Robert；'　returned　Ericson　solemnly；　'if　I　had　a　grandmother　to　go

home　to；　she　might　box　my　ears　if　she　likedI　wouldn't　care。　　You

do　not　know　what　it　is　not　to　have　a　soul　belonging　to　you　on　the

face　of　the　earth。　　It　is　so　cold　and　so　lonely！'



'But　you　have　a　cousin；　haven't　you？'　suggested　Robert。



Ericson　laughed；　but　good…naturedly。



'Yes；'　he　answered；　'a　little　man　with　a　fishy　smell；　in　a　blue

tail…coat　with　brass　buttons；　and　a　red　and　black　nightcap。'



'But；'　Robert　ventured　to　hint；　'he　might　go　in　a　kilt　and

top…boots；　like　Satan　in　my　grannie's　copy　o'　the　Paradise　Lost；　for

onything　I　would　care。'



'Yes；　but　he's　just　like　his　looks。　　The　first　thing　he'll　do　the

next　morning　after　I　go　home；　will　be　to　take　me　into　his　office；　or

shop；　as　he　calls　it；　and　get　down　his　books；　and　show　me　how　many

barrels　of　herring　I　owe　him；　with　the　price　of　each。　　To　do　him

justice；　he　only　charges　me　wholesale。'



'What'll　he　do　that　for？'



'To　urge　on　me　the　necessity　of　diligence；　and　the　choice　of　a

profession；'　answered　Ericson；　with　a　smile　of　mingled　sadness　and

irresolution。　'He　will　set　forth　what　a　loss　the　interest　of　the

money　is；　even　if　I　should　pay　the　principal；　and　remind　me　that

although　he　has　stood　my　friend；　his　duty　to　his　own　family　imposes

limits。　　And　he　has　at　least　a　couple　of　thousand　pounds　in　the

county　bank。　　I　don't　believe　he　would　do　anything　for　me　but　for

the　honour　it　will　be　to　the　family　to　have　a　professional　man　in

it。　　And　yet　my　father　was　the　making　of　him。'



'Tell　me　about　your　father。　　What　was　he？'



'A　gentle…minded　man；　who　thought　much　and　said　little。　　He　farmed

the　property　that　had　been　his　father's　own；　and　is　now　leased　by　my

fishy　cousin　afore　mentioned。'



'And　your　mother？'



'She　died　just　after　I　was　born；　and　my　father　never　got　over　it。'



'And　you　have　no　brothers　or　sisters？'



'No；　not　one。　　Thank　God　for　your　grandmother；　and　do　all　you　can　to

please　her。'



A　silence　followed；　during　which　Robert's　heart　swelled　and　heaved

with　devotion　to　Ericson；　for　notwithstanding　his　openness；　there

was　a　certain　sad　coldness　about　him　that　restrained　Robert　from

letting　out　all　the　tide　of　his　love。　　The　silence　became　painful；

and　he　broke　it　abruptly。



'What　are　you　going　to　be；　Mr。　Ericson？'



'I　wish　you　could　tell　me；　Robert。　　What　would　you　have　me　to　be？

Come　now。'



Robert　thought　for　a　moment。



'Weel；　ye　canna　be　a　minister；　Mr。　Ericson；　'cause　ye　dinna　believe

in　God；　ye　ken；'　he　said　simply。



'Don't　say　that；　Robert；'　Ericson　returned；　in　a　tone　of　pain　with

which　no　displeasure　was　mingled。　'But　you　are　right。　　At　best　I

only　hope　in　God；　I　don't　believe　in　him。'



'I'm　thinkin'　there　canna　be　muckle　differ　atween　houp　an'　faith；'

said　Robert。　'Mony　a　ane　'at　says　they　believe　in　God　has　unco

little　houp　o'　onything　frae　's　han'；　I'm　thinkin'。'



My　reader　may　have　observed　a　little　change　for　the　better　in

Robert's　speech。　　Dr。　Anderson　had　urged　upon　him　the　necessity　of

being　able　at　least　to　speak　English；　and　he　had　been　trying　to

modify　the　antique　Saxon　dialect　they　used　at　Rothieden　with　the

newer　and　more　refined　English。　　But　even　when　I　knew　him；　he　would

upon　occasion；　especially　when　the　subject　was　religion　or　music；

fall　back　into　the　broadest　Scotch。　　It　was　as　if　his　heart　could

not　issue　freely　by　any　other　gate　than　that　of　his　grandmother

tongue。



Fearful　of　having　his　last　remark　contradictedfor　he　had　an

instinctive　desire　that　it　should　lie　undisturbed　where　he　had　cast

it　in　the　field　of　Ericson's　mind；　he　hurried　to　another　question。



'What　for　shouldna　ye　be　a　doctor？'



'Now　you'll　think　me　a　fool；　Robert；　if　I　tell　you　why。'



'Far　be　it　frae　me　to　daur　think　sic　a　word；　Mr。　Ericson！'　said

Robert　devoutly。



'Well；　I'll　tell　you；　whether　or　not；'　returned　Ericson。　'I　could；　I

believe；　amputate　a　living　limb　with　considerable　coolness；　but　put

a　knife　in　a　dead　body　I　could　not。'



'I　think　I　know　what　you　mean。　　Then　you　must　he　a　lawyer。'



'A　lawyer！　　O　Lord！'　said　Ericson。



'Why　not？'　asked　Robert；　in　some　wonderment；　for　he　could　not

imagine　Ericson　acting　from　mere　popular　prejudice　or　fancy。



'Just　think　of　spending　one's　life　in　an　atmosphere　of　squabbles。

It's　all　very　well　when　one　gets　to　be　a　judge　and　dispense

justice；　butwell；　it's　not　for　me。　　I　could　not　do　the　best　for　my

clients。　　And　a　lawyer　has　nothing　to　do　with　the　kingdom　of

heavenonly　with　his　clients。　　He　must　be　a　party…man。　　He　must

secure　for　one　so　often　at　the　loss　of　the　rest。　　My　duty　and　my

conscience　would　always　be　at　strife。'



'Then　what　will　you　be；　Mr。　Ericson？'



'To　tell　the　truth；　I　would　rather　be　a　watchmaker　than　anything

else　I　know。　　I　might　make　one　watch　that　would　go　right；　I　suppose；

if　I　lived　long　enough。　　But　no　one　would　take　an　apprentice　of　my

age。　　So　I　suppose　I　must　be　a　tutor；　knocked　about　from　one　house

to　another；　patronized　by　ex…pupils；　and　smiled　upon　as　harmless　by

mammas　and　sisters　to　the　end　of　the　chapter。　　And　then　something　of

a　pauper's　burial；　I　suppose。　　Che　sara　sara。'



Ericson　had　sunk　into　one　of　his　worst　moods。　　But　when　he　saw

Robert　looking　unhappy；　he　changed　his　tone；　and　would　bewhat　he

could　not　bemerry。



'But　what's　the　use　of　talking　about　it？'　he　said。　'Get　your　fiddle；

man；　and　play　The　Wind　that　shakes　the　Barley。'



'No；　Mr。　Ericson；'　answered　Robert；　'I　have　no　heart　for　the　fiddle。

I　would　rather　have　some　poetry。'



'Oh！Poetry！'　returned　Ericson；　in　a　tone　of　contemptyet　not　very

hearty　contempt。



'We're　gaein'　awa'；　Mr。　Ericson；'　said　Robert；　'an'　the　Lord　'at　we

ken　naething　aboot　alane　kens　whether　we'll　ever　meet　again　i'　this

place。　　And　sae'



'True　enough；　my　boy；'　interrupted　Ericson。　'I　have　no　need　to

trouble　myself　about　the　future。　　I　believe　that　is　the　real　secret

of　it　after　all。　　I　shall　never　want　a　profession　or　anything　else。'



'What　do　you　mean；　Mr。　Ericson？'　asked　Robert；　in　half…defined

terror。



'I　mean；　my　boy；　that　I　shall　not　live　long。　　I　know　thatthank

God！'



'How　do　you　know　it？'



'My　father　died　at　thirty；　and　my　mother　at　six…and…twenty；　both　of

the　same　disease。　　But　that's　not　how　I　know　it。'



'How　do　you　know　it　then？'



Ericson　returned　no　answer。　　He　only　said



'Death　will　be　better　than　life。　　One　thing　I　don't　like　about　it

though；'　he　added；　'is　the　coming　on　of　unconsciousness。　　I　cannot

bear　to　lose　my　consciousness　even　in　sleep。　　It　is　such　a　terrible

thing！'



'I　suppose　that's　ane　o'　the　reasons　that　we　canna　be　content

withoot　a　God；'　responded　Robert。　'It's　dreidfu'　to　think　even　o'

fa'in'　asleep　withoot　some　ane　greater　an'　nearer　than　the　me

watchin'　ower　't。　　But　I'm　jist　sayin'　ower　again　what　I　hae　read　in

ane　o'　your　papers；　Mr。　Ericson。　　Jist　lat　me　luik。'



Venturing　more　than　he　had　ever　yet　ventured；　Robert　rose　and　went

to　the　cupboard　where　Ericson's　papers　lay。　　His　friend　did　not

check　him。　　On　the　contrary；　he　took　the　papers　from　his　hand；　and