robert falconer-第77部分

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father　must　be　sacred　even　from　the　eyes　of　their　son。　　But　what

other　or　fitter　messenger　than　himself　could　bear　it　to　its

destination？　　It　was　for　this　that　he　had　been　guided　to　it。



For　years　he　had　regarded　the　finding　of　his　father　as　the　first

duty　of　his　manhood：　it　was　as　if　his　mother　had　now　given　her

sanction　to　the　quest；　with　this　letter　to　carry　to　the　husband　who；

however　he　might　have　erred；　was　yet　dear　to　her。　　He　replaced　it　in

the　box；　but　the　box　no　more　on　the　forsaken　shelf　with　its　dreary

barricade　of　soulless　records。　　He　carried　it　with　him；　and　laid　it

in　the　bottom　of　his　box；　which　henceforth　he　kept　carefully　locked：

there　lay　as　it　were　the　pledge　of　his　father's　salvation；　and　his

mother's　redemption　from　an　eternal　grief。



He　turned　to　his　equation：　it　had　cleared　itself　up；　he　worked　it

out　in　five　minutes。　　Betty　came　to　tell　him　that　the　dinner　was

ready；　and　he　went　down；　peaceful　and　hopeful；　to　his　grandmother。



While　at　home　he　never　worked　in　the　evenings：　it　was　bad　enough　to

have　to　do　so　at　college。　　Hence　nature　had　a　chance　with　him　again。

Blessings　on　the　wintry　blasts　that　broke　into　the　first　youth　of

Summer！　　They　made　him　feel　what　summer　was！　　Blessings　on　the

cheerless　days　of　rain；　and　even　of　sleet　and　hail；　that　would　shove

the　reluctant　year　back　into　January。　　The　fair　face　of　Spring；　with

her　tears　dropping　upon　her　quenchless　smiles；　peeped　in　suppressed

triumph　from　behind　the　growing　corn　and　the　budding　sallows　on　the

river…bank。　　Nay；　even　when　the　snow　came　once　more　in　defiance　of

calendars；　it　was　but　a　background　from　which　the　near　genesis

should　'stick　fiery　off。'



In　general　he　had　a　lonely　walk　after　his　lesson　with　Miss　St。　John

was　over：　there　was　no　one　at　Rothieden　to　whom　his　heart　and

intellect　both　were　sufficiently　drawn　to　make　a　close　friendship

possible。　　He　had　companions；　however：　Ericson　had　left　his　papers

with　him。　　The　influence　of　these　led　him　into　yet　closer　sympathy

with　Nature　and　all　her　moods；　a　sympathy　which；　even　in　the　stony

heart　of　London；　he　not　only　did　not　lose　but　never　ceased　to　feel。

Even　there　a　breath　of　wind　would　not　only　breathe　upon　him；　it

would　breathe　into　him；　and　a　sunset　seen　from　the　Strand　was　lovely

as　if　it　had　hung　over　rainbow　seas。　　On　his　way　home　he　would　often

go　into　one　of　the　shops　where　the　neighbours　congregated　in　the

evenings；　and　hold　a　little　talk；　and　although；　with　Miss　St。　John

filling　his　heart；　his　friend's　poems　his　imagination；　and　geometry

and　algebra　his　intellect；　great　was　the　contrast　between　his　own

inner　mood　and　the　words　by　which　he　kept　up　human　relations　with

his　townsfolk；　yet　in　after　years　he　counted　it　one　of　the　greatest

blessings　of　a　lowly　birth　and　education　that　he　knew　hearts　and

feelings　which　to　understand　one　must　have　been　young　amongst　them。

He　would　not　have　had　a　chance　of　knowing　such　as　these　if　he　had

been　the　son　of　Dr。　Anderson　and　born　in　Aberdeen。









CHAPTER　XIX。



ROBERT　MEDIATES。



One　lovely　evening　in　the　first　of　the　summer　Miss　St。　John　had

dismissed　him　earlier　than　usual；　and　he　had　wandered　out　for　a

walk。　　After　a　round　of　a　couple　of　miles；　he　returned　by　a

fir…wood；　through　which　went　a　pathway。　　He　had　heard　Mary　St。　John

say　that　she　was　going　to　see　the　wife　of　a　labourer　who　lived　at

the　end　of　this　path。　　In　the　heart　of　the　trees　it　was　growing　very

dusky；　but　when　he　came　to　a　spot　where　they　stood　away　from　each

other　a　little　space；　and　the　blue　sky　looked　in　from　above　with　one

cloud　floating　in　it　from　which　the　rose　of　the　sunset　was　fading；

he　seated　himself　on　a　little　mound　of　moss　that　had　gathered　over

an　ancient　stump　by　the　footpath；　and　drew　out　his　friend's　papers。

Absorbed　in　his　reading；　he　was　not　aware　of　an　approach　till　the

rustle　of　silk　startled　him。　　He　lifted　up　his　eyes；　and　saw　Miss

St。　John　a　few　yards　from　him　on　the　pathway。　　He　rose。



'It's　almost　too　dark　to　read　now；　isn't　it；　Robert？'　she　said。



'Ah！'　said。　　Robert；　'I　know　this　writing　so　well　that　I　could　read

it　by　moonlight。　　I　wish　I　might　read　some　of　it　to　you。　　You　would

like　it。'



'May　I　ask　whose　it　is；　then？　　Poetry；　too！'



'It's　Mr。　Ericson's。　　But　I'm　feared　he　wouldna　like　me　to　read　it

to　anybody　but　myself。　　And　yet'



'I　don't　think　he　would　mind　me；'　returned　Miss　St。　John。　'I　do　know

him　a　little。　　It　is　not　as　if　I　were　quite　a　stranger；　you　know。

Did　he　tell　you　not？'



'No。　But　then　he　never　thought　of　such　a　thing。　　I　don't　know　if

it's　fair；　for　they　are　carelessly　written；　and　there　are　words　and

lines　here　and　there　that　I　am　sure　he　would　alter　if　he　cared　for

them　ae　hair。'



'Then　if　he　doesn't　care　for　them；　he　won't　mind　my　hearing　them。

There！'　she　said；　seating　herself　on　the　stump。　'You　sit　down　on

the　grass　and　read　meone　at　least。'



'You'll　remember　they　were　never　intended　to　be　read？'　urged　Robert；

not　knowing　what　he　was　doing；　and　so　fulfilling　his　destiny。



'I　will　be　as　jealous　of　his　honour　as　ever　you　can　wish；'　answered

Miss　St。　John　gaily。



Robert　laid　himself　on　the　grass　at　her　feet；　and　read：



MY　TWO　GENIUSES。



One　is　a　slow　and　melancholy　maid：

I　know　not　if　she　cometh　from　the　skies；

Or　from　the　sleepy　gulfs；　but　she　will　rise

Often　before　me　in　the　twilight　shade

Holding　a　bunch　of　poppies；　and　a　blade

Of　springing　wheat：　prostrate　my　body　lies

Before　her　on　the　turf；　the　while　she　ties

A　fillet　of　the　weed　about　my　head；

And　in　the　gaps　of　sleep　I　seem　to　hear

A　gentle　rustle　like　the　stir　of　corn；

And　words　like　odours　thronging　to　my　ear：

'Lie　still；　beloved；　still　until　the　morn；

Lie　still　with　me　upon　this　rolling　sphere；

Still　till　the　judgmentthou　art　faint　and　worn。'



The　other　meets　me　in　the　public　throng：

Her　hair　streams　backward　from　her　loose　attire；

She　hath　a　trumpet　and　an　eye　of　fire；

She　points　me　downward　steadily　and　long

'There　is　thy　gravearise；　my　son；　be　strong！

Hands　are　upon　thy　crown；　awake；　aspire

To　immortality；　heed　not　the　lyre

Of　the　enchantress；　nor　her　poppy…song；

But　in　the　stillness　of　the　summer　calm；

Tremble　for　what　is　godlike　in　thy　being。

Listen　awhile；　and　thou　shalt　hear　the　psalm

Of　victory　sung　by　creatures　past　thy　seeing；

And　from　far　battle…fields　there　comes　the　neighing

Of　dreadful　onset；　though　the　air　is　balm。'



Maid　with　the　poppies；　must　I　let　thee　go？

Alas！　　I　may　not；　thou　art　likewise　dear；

I　am　but　human；　and　thou　hast　a　tear；

When　she　hath　nought　but　splendour；　and　the　glow

Of　a　wild　energy　that　mocks　the　flow

Of　the　poor　sympathies　which　keep　us　here。

Lay　past　thy　poppies；　and　come　twice　as　near；

And　I　will　teach　thee；　and　thou　too　shalt　grow；

And　thou　shalt　walk　with　me　in　open　day

Through　the　rough　thoroughfares　with　quiet　grace；

And　the　wild…visaged　maid　shall　lead　the　way；

Timing　her　footsteps　to　a　gentler　pace；

As　her　great　orbs　turn　ever　on　thy　face；

Drinking　in　draughts　of　loving　help　alway。



Miss　St。　John　did　not　speak。



'War　ye　able　to　follow　him？'　asked　Robert。



'Quite；　I　assure　you；'　she　answered；　with　a　tremulousness　in　her

voice　which　delighted　Robert　as　evidence　of　his　friend's　success。



'But　they're　nae　a'　so　easy　to　follow；　I　can　tell　ye；　mem。　　Just

hearken　to　this；'　he　said；　with　some　excitement。



　　　　　When　the　storm　was　proudest；

　　　　　And　the　wind　was　loudest；

I　heard　the　hollow　caverns　drinking　down　below；

　　　　　When　the　stars　were　bright；

　　　　　And　the　ground　was　white；

I　heard　the　grasses　springing　underneath　the　snow。



　　　　　Many　voices　spake

　　　　　The　river　to　the　lake；

The　iron…ribbed　sky　was　talking　to　the　sea；

　　　　　And　every　starry　spark

　　　　　Made　music　with　the　dark；

And　said　how　bright　and　beautiful　everything　must　be。



'That　line；　mem；'　remarked　Robert；　''s　only　jist　scrattit　in；　as　gin

he　had　no　intention　o'　leavin'　't；　an'　only　set　it　there　to　keep

room　for　anither。　　But　we'll　jist　gang　on　wi'　the　lave　o'　't。　　I

ouchtna　to　hae　interruppit　it。'



　　　　　When　the　sun　was　setting；

　　　　　All　the　clouds　were　getting

Beautiful　and　silvery　in　the　rising　moon；

　　　　　Beneath　the　leafless　trees

　　　　　Wrangling　in　the　breeze；

I　could　hardly　see　them　for　the　leaves　of　June。



　　　　　When　the　day　had　ended；

　　　　　And　the　night　descended；

I　heard　the　sound　of　streams　that　I　heard　not　through　the　day

　　　　　And　every　peak　afar；

　　　　　Was　ready　for　a　star；

And　they　climbed　and　rolled　around　until　the　morning　gray。



　　　　　Then　slumber　soft　and　holy

　　　　　Came　down　upon　me　slowly；

And　I　went　I　know　not　whither；　and　I　lived　I　know　not　how；

　　　　　My　glory　had　been　banished；

　　　　　For　when　I　woke　it　vanished；

But　I　waited　on　it's　coming；　and　I　am　waiting　now。



'There！'　said　Robert；　ending；　'can　ye　mak　onything　o'　that；　Miss　St。

John？'



'I　don't　say　I　can　in