robert falconer-第23部分

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We　maun　lea'　him　oot　noo。'



'Lea'　wha　oot；　grannie？'



'Him；　himAnerew。　　Yer　father；　laddie。　　I　think　my　hert　'll　brak。'



'Lea'　him　oot　o'　what；　grannie？　　I　dinna　unnerstan'　ye。'



'Lea'　him　oot　o'　oor　prayers；　laddie；　and　I　canna　bide　it。'



'What　for　that？'



'He's　deid。'



'Are　ye　sure？'



'Ay；　ower　sureower　sure；　laddie。'



'Weel；　I　dinna　believe　't。'



'What　for　that？'



''Cause　I　winna　believe　't。　　I'm　no　bund　to　believe　't；　am　I？'



'What's　the　gude　o'　that？　　What　for　no　believe　't？　　Dr。　Anderson's

sent　hame　word　o'　't　to　John　Lammie。　　Och　hone！　och　hone！'



'I　tell　ye　I　winna　believe　't；　grannie；　'cep'　God　himsel'　tells　me。

As　lang　's　I　dinna　believe　'at　he's　deid；　I　can　keep　him　i'　my

prayers。　　I'm　no　gaein'　to　lea'　him　oot；　I　tell　ye；　grannie。'



'Weel；　laddie；　I　canna　argue　wi'　ye。　　I　hae　nae　hert　til　't。　　I

doobt　I　maun　greit！　　Come　awa'。'



She　took　him　by　the　hand　and　rose；　then　let　him　go　again；　saying；



'Sneck　the　door；　laddie。'



Robert　bolted　the　door；　and　his　grandmother　again　taking　his　hand；

led　him　to　the　usual　corner。　　There　they　knelt　down　together；　and

the　old　woman's　prayer　was　one　great　and　bitter　cry　for　submission

to　the　divine　will。　　She　rose　a　little　strengthened；　if　not

comforted；　saying；



'Ye　maun　pray　yer　lane；　laddie。　　But　oh　be　a　guid　lad；　for　ye're　a'

that　I　hae　left；　and　gin　ye　gang　wrang　tu；　ye'll　bring　doon　my　gray

hairs　wi'　sorrow　to　the　grave。　　They're　gray　eneuch；　and　they're

near　eneuch　to　the　grave；　but　gin　ye　turn　oot　weel；　I'll　maybe　haud

up　my　heid　a　bit　yet。　　But　O　Anerew！　my　son！　my　son！　　Would　God　I

had　died　for　thee！'



And　the　words　of　her　brother　in　grief；　the　king　of　Israel；　opened

the　floodgates　of　her　heart；　and　she　wept。　　Robert　left　her　weeping；

and　closed　the　door　quietly　as　if　his　dead　father　had　been　lying　in

the　room。



He　took　his　way　up　to　his　own　garret；　closed　that　door　too；　and　sat

down　upon　the　floor；　with　his　back　against　the　empty　bedstead。



There　were　no　more　castles　to　build　now。　　It　was　all　very　well　to

say　that　he　would　not　believe　the　news　and　would　pray　for　his

father；　but　he　did　believe　themenough　at　least　to　spoil　the

praying。　　His　favourite　employment；　seated　there；　had　hitherto　been

to　imagine　how　he　would　grow　a　great　man；　and　set　out　to　seek　his

father；　and　find　him；　and　stand　by　him；　and　be　his　son　and　servant。

Oh！　to　have　the　man　stroke　his　head　and　pat　his　cheek；　and　love

him！　　One　moment　he　imagined　himself　his　indignant　defender；　the

next　he　would　be　climbing　on　his　knee；　as　if　he　were　still　a　little

child；　and　laying　his　head　on　his　shoulder。　　For　he　had　had　no

fondling　his　life　long；　and　his　heart　yearned　for　it。　　But　all　this

was　gone　now。　　A　dreary　time　lay　before　him；　with　nobody　to　please；

nobody　to　serve；　with　nobody　to　praise　him。　　Grannie　never　praised

him。　　She　must　have　thought　praise　something　wicked。　　And　his　father

was　in　misery；　for　ever　and　ever！　　Only　somehow　that　thought　was　not

quite　thinkable。　　It　was　more　the　vanishing　of　hope　from　his　own

life　than　a　sense　of　his　father's　fate　that　oppressed　him。



He　cast　his　eyes；　as　in　a　hungry　despair；　around　the　empty　roomor；

rather；　I　should　have　said；　in　that　faintness　which　makes　food　at

once　essential　and　loathsome；　for　despair　has　no　proper　hunger　in

it。　　The　room　seemed　as　empty　as　his　life。　　There　was　nothing　for

his　eyes　to　rest　upon　but　those　bundles　and　bundles　of　dust…browned

papers　on　the　shelves　before　him。　　What　were　they　all　about？　　He

understood　that　they　were　his　father's：　now　that　he　was　dead；　it

would　be　no　sacrilege　to　look　at　them。　　Nobody　cared　about　them。　　He

would　see　at　least　what　they　were。　　It　would　be　something　to　do　in

this　dreariness。



Bills　and　receipts；　and　everything　ephemeralto　feel　the　interest

of　which；　a　man　must　be　a　poet　indeedwas　all　that　met　his　view。

Bundle　after　bundle　he　tried；　with　no　better　success。　　But　as　he

drew　near　the　middle　of　the　second　shelf；　upon　which　they　lay

several　rows　deep；　he　saw　something　dark　behind；　hurriedly　displaced

the　packets　between；　and　drew　forth　a　small　workbox。　　His　heart　beat

like　that　of　the　prince　in　the　fairy…tale；　when　he　comes　to　the　door

of　the　Sleeping　Beauty。　　This　at　least　must　have　been　hers。　　It　was

a　common　little　thing；　probably　a　childish　possession；　and　kept　to

hold　trifles　worth　more　than　they　looked　to　be。　　He　opened　it　with

bated　breath。　　The　first　thing　he　saw　was　a　half…finished　reel　of

cottona　pirn；　he　called　it。　　Beside　it　was　a　gold　thimble。　　He

lifted　the　tray。　　A　lovely　face　in　miniature；　with　dark　hair　and

blue　eyes；　lay　looking　earnestly　upward。　　At　the　lid　of　this　coffin

those　eyes　had　looked　for　so　many　years！　　The　picture　was　set　all

round　with　pearls　in　an　oval　ring。　　How　Robert　knew　them　to　be

pearls　he　could　not　tell；　for　he　did　not　know　that　he　had　ever　seen

any　pearls　before；　but　he　knew　they　were　pearls；　and　that　pearls　had

something　to　do　with　the　New　Jerusalem。　　But　the　sadness　of　it　all

at　length　overpowered　him；　and　he　burst　out　crying。　　For　it　was

awfully　sad　that　his　mother's　portrait　should　be　in　his　own　mother's

box。



He　took　a　bit　of　red　tape　off　a　bundle　of　the　papers；　put　it　through

the　eye　of　the　setting；　and　hung　the　picture　round　his　neck；　inside

his　clothes；　for　grannie　must　not　see　it。　　She　would　take　that　away

as　she　had　taken　his　fiddle。　　He　had　a　nameless　something　now　for

which　he　had　been　longing　for　years。



Looking　again　in　the　box；　he　found　a　little　bit　of　paper；

discoloured　with　antiquity；　as　it　seemed　to　him；　though　it　was　not

so　old　as　himself。　　Unfolding　it　he　found　written　upon　it　a

well…known　hymn；　and　at　the　bottom　of　the　hymn；　the　words：　'O　Lord！

my　heart　is　very　sore。'The　treasure　upon　Robert's　bosom　was　no

longer　the　symbol　of　a　mother's　love；　but　of　a　woman's　sadness；

which　he　could　not　reach　to　comfort。　　In　that　hour；　the　boy　made　a

great　stride　towards　manhood。　　Doubtless　his　mother's　grief　had　been

the　same　as　grannie'sthe　fear　that　she　would　lose　her　husband　for

ever。　　The　hourly　fresh　griefs　from　neglect　and　wrong　did　not　occur

to　him；　only　the　never　never　more。　　He　looked　no　farther；　took　the

portrait　from　his　neck　and　replaced　it　with　the　paper；　put　the　box

back；　and　walled　it　up　in　solitude　once　more　with　the　dusty　bundles。

Then　he　went　down　to　his　grandmother；　sadder　and　more　desolate　than

ever。



He　found　her　seated　in　her　usual　place。　　Her　New　Testament；　a

large…print　octavo；　lay　on　the　table　beside　her　unopened；　for　where

within　those　boards　could　she　find　comfort　for　a　grief　like　hers？

That　it　was　the　will　of　God　might　well　comfort　any　suffering　of　her

own；　but　would　it　comfort　Andrew？　and　if　there　was　no　comfort　for

Andrew；　how　was　Andrew's　mother　to　be　comforted？



Yet　God　had　given　his　first…born　to　save　his　brethren：　how　could　he

be　pleased　that　she　should　dry　her　tears　and　be　comforted？　　True；

some　awful　unknown　force　of　a　necessity　with　which　God　could　not

cope　came　in　to　explain　it；　but　this　did　not　make　God　more　kind；　for

he　knew　it　all　every　time　he　made　a　man；　nor　man　less　sorrowful；　for

God　would　have　his　very　mother　forget　him；　or；　worse　still；　remember

him　and　be　happy。



'Read　a　chapter　till　me；　laddie；'　she　said。



Robert　opened　and　read　till　he　came　to　the　words：　'I　pray　not　for

the　world。'



'He　was　o'　the　world；'　said　the　old　woman；　'and　gin　Christ　wadna

pray　for　him；　what　for　suld　I？'



Already；　so　soon　after　her　son's　death；　would　her　theology　begin　to

harden　her　heart。　　The　strife　which　results　from　believing　that　the

higher　love　demands　the　suppression　of　the　lower；　is　the　most

fearful　of　all　discords；　the　absolute　love　slaying　lovethe　house

divided　against　itself；　one　moment　all　given　up　for　the　will　of　Him；

the　next　the　human　tenderness　rushing　back　in　a　flood。　　Mrs。

Falconer　burst　into　a　very　agony　of　weeping。　　From　that　day；　for

many　years；　the　name　of　her　lost　Andrew　never　passed　her　lips　in　the

hearing　of　her　grandson；　and　certainly　in　that　of　no　one　else。



But　in　a　few　weeks　she　was　more　cheerful。　　It　is　one　of　the

mysteries　of　humanity　that　mothers　in　her　circumstances；　and　holding

her　creed；　do　regain　not　merely　the　faculty　of　going　on　with　the

business　of　life；　but；　in　most　cases；　even　cheerfulness。　　The

infinite　Truth；　the　Love　of　the　universe；　supports　them　beyond　their

consciousness；　coming　to　them　like　sleep　from　the　roots　of　their

being；　and　having　nothing　to　do　with　their　opinions　or　beliefs。　　And

hence　spring　those　comforting　subterfuges　of　hope　to　which　they　all

fly。　　Not　being　able　to　trust　the　Father　entirely；　they　yet　say：

'Who　can　tell　what　took　place　at　the　last　moment？　　Who　can　tell

whether　God　did　not　please　to　grant　them　saving　faith　at　the

eleventh　hour？'that　so　they　might　pass　from　the　very　gates　of

hell；　the　only　place　for　which　their　life　had　fitted　them；　into　the

bosom　of　love　and　purity！　　This　God　could　do　for　all：　this　for　the

son　beloved　of　his　mother　perhaps　he　might　do！



O　rebellious　mother　heart！　dearer　to　God　than　that　which　beats

laboriously　solemn　under　Genevan　gown　or　Lutheran　surplice！　if　thou

wouldst　read　by　thine　own　large　light；　instead　of　the　glimmer　from

the　phosphorescent　brains　of　theologians；　thou　mightst　even　be　able

to　understand　such　a　simple　word　as　that　of　the　Saviour；　when；

wishing　his　disciples　to　know　that　he　had　a　nearer　regard　for　them

as　his　brethren　in　holier　danger；　than　those　who　had　not　yet

partaken　of　his　light；　and　therefore　praying　for　them　not　merely　as

human　beings；　but　as　the　human　beings　they　were；　he　said　to　his

Father　in　their　hearing：　'I　pray　not　for　the　world；　but　for

them；'not　for　the　world　now；　but　for　thema　meaningless

utterance；　if　he　never　prayed　for　the　world；　a　word　of　small

meaning；　if　it　was　not　his　very　wont　and　custom　to　pray　for　the

worldfor　men　as　men。　　Lord　Christ！　not　alone　f