robert falconer-第119节

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distance　of　hearing。　　But　he　did　not　therefore　let　it　die。　　Through

various　changes　it　floated　in　the　thin　？ther　of　the　soul；　changes

delicate　as　when　the　wind　leaves　the　harp　of　the　reeds　by　a　river's

brink；　and　falls　a…ringing　at　the　heather　bells；　or　playing　with　the

dry　silvery　pods　of　honesty　that　hang　in　the　poor　man's　garden；　till

at　length　it　drew　nearer　once　more；　bearing　on　its　wings　the　wail　of

red　Flodden；　the　Flowers　of　the　Forest。　　Listening　through　the

melody　for　sounds　of　a　far　different　kind；　Robert　was　aware　that

those　sounds　had　ceased；　the　growling　was　still；　he　heard　no　more

turnings　to　and　fro。　　How　it　was　operating　he　could　not　tell；

further　than　that　there　must　be　some　measure　of　soothing　in　its

influence。　　He　ceased　quite；　and　listened　again。　　For　a　few　moments

there　was　no　sound。　　Then　he　heard　the　half…articulate　murmuring　of

one　whose　organs　have　been　all　but　overcome　by　the　beneficent

paralysis　of　sleep；　but　whose　feeble　will　would　compel　them　to

utterance。　　He　was　nearly　asleep　again。　　Was　it　a　fact；　or　a　fancy

of　Robert's　eager　heart？　　Did　the　man　really　say；



'Play　that　again；　father。　　It's　bonnie；　that！　　I　aye　likit　the

Flooers　o'　the　Forest。　　Play　awa'。　　I　hae　had　a　frichtsome　dream。　　I

thocht　I　was　i'　the　ill　place。　　I　doobt　I'm　no　weel。　　But　yer　fiddle

aye　did　me　gude。　　Play　awa'；　father！'



All　the　night　through；　till　the　dawn　of　the　gray　morning；　Falconer

watched　the　sleeping　man；　all　but　certain　that　he　was　indeed　his

father。　　Eternities　of　thought　passed　through　his　mind　as　he

watchedthis　time　by　the　couch；　as　he　hoped；　of　a　new　birth。　　He

was　about　to　see　what　could　be　done　by　one　man；　strengthened　by　all

the　aids　that　love　and　devotion　could　give；　for　the　redemption　of

his　fellow。　　As　through　the　darkness　of　the　night　and　a　sluggish　fog

to　aid　it；　the　light　of　a　pure　heaven　made　its　slow　irresistible

way；　his　hope　grew　that　athwart　the　fog　of　an　evil　life；　the

darkness　that　might　be　felt；　the　light　of　the　Spirit　of　God　would

yet　penetrate　the　heart　of　the　sinner；　and　shake　the　wickedness　out

of　it。　　Deeper　and　yet　deeper　grew　his　compassion　and　his　sympathy；

in　prospect　of　the　tortures　the　man　must　go　through；　before　the　will

that　he　had　sunk　into　a　deeper　sleep　than　any　into　which　opium　could

sink　his　bodily　being；　would　shake　off　its　deathly　lethargy；　and

arise；　torn　with　struggling　pain；　to　behold　the　light　of　a　new

spiritual　morning。　　All　that　he　could　do　he　was　prepared　to　do；

regardless　of　entreaty；　regardless　of　torture；　anger；　and　hate；　with

the　inexorable　justice　of　love；　the　law　that　will　not；　must　not；

dares　not　yieldstrong　with　an　awful　tenderness；　a　wisdom　that

cannot　be　turned　aside；　to　redeem　the　lost　soul　of　his　father。　　And

he　strengthened　his　heart　for　the　conflict　by　saying　that　if　he

would　do　thus　for　his　father；　what　would　not　God　do　for　his　child？

Had　He　not　proved　already；　if　there　was　any　truth　in　the　grand

story　of　the　world's　redemption　through　that　obedience　unto　the

death；　that　his　devotion　was　entire；　and　would　leave　nothing　undone

that　could　be　done　to　lift　this　sheep　out　of　the　pit　into　whose

darkness　and　filth　he　had　fallen　out　of　the　sweet　Sabbath　of　the

universe？



He　removed　all　his　clothes；　searched　the　pockets；　found　in　them　one

poor　shilling　and　a　few　coppers；　a　black　cutty　pipe；　a　box　of　snuff；

a　screw　of　pigtail；　a　knife　with　a　buckhorn　handle　and　one　broken

blade；　and　a　pawn…ticket　for　a　keyed　flute；　on　the　proceeds　of　which

he　was　now　sleepinga　sleep　how　dearly　purchased；　when　he　might

have　had　it　free；　as　the　gift　of　God's　gentle　darkness！　　Then　he

destroyed　the　garments；　committing　them　to　the　fire　as　the　hoped

farewell　to　the　state　of　which　they　were　the　symbols　and　signs。



He　found　himself　perplexed；　however；　by　the　absence　of　some　of　the

usual　symptoms　of　the　habit　of　opium；　and　concluded　that　his　poor

father　was　in　the　habit　of　using　stimulants　as　well　as　narcotics；

and　that　the　action　of　the　one　interfered　with　the　action　of　the

other。



He　called　his　housekeeper。　　She　did　not　know　whom　her　master

supposed　his　guest　to　be；　and　regarded　him　only　as　one　of　the　many

objects　of　his　kindness。　　He　told　her　to　get　some　tea　ready；　as　the

patient　would　most　likely　wake　with　a　headache。　　He　instructed　her

to　wait　upon　him　as　a　matter　of　course；　and　explain　nothing。　　He　had

resolved　to　pass　for　the　doctor；　as　indeed　he　was；　and　he　told　her

that　if　he　should　be　at　all　troublesome；　he　would　be　with　her　at

once。　　She　must　keep　the　room　dark。　　He　would　have　his　own　breakfast

now；　and　if　the　patient　remained　quiet；　would　sleep　on　the　sofa。



He　woke　murmuring；　and　evidently　suffered　from　headache　and　nausea。

Mrs。　Ashton　took　him　some　tea。　　He　refused　it　with　an　oathmore　of

discomfort　than　of　ill…natureand　was　too　unwell　to　show　any

curiosity　about　the　person　who　had　offered　it。　　Probably　he　was

accustomed　to　so　many　changes　of　abode；　and　to　so　many　bewilderments

of　the　brain；　that　he　did　not　care　to　inquire　where　he　was　or　who

waited　upon　him。　　But　happily　for　the　heart's　desire　of　Falconer；

the　debauchery　of　his　father　had　at　length　reached　one　of　many

crises。　　He　had　caught　cold　before　De　Fleuri　and　his　comrades　found

him。　　He　was　now　illfeverish　and　oppressed。　　Through　the　whole　of

the　following　week　they　nursed　and　waited　upon　him　without　his

asking　a　single　question　as　to　where　he　was　or　who　they　were；　during

all　which　time　Falconer　saw　no　one　but　De　Fleuri　and　the　many　poor

fellows　who　called　to　inquire　after　him　and　the　result　of　their

supposed　success。　　He　never　left　the　house；　but　either　watched　by

the　bedside；　or　waited　in　the　next　room。　　Often　would　the　patient

get　out　of　bed；　driven　by　the　longing　for　drink　or　for　opium；

gnawing　him　through　all　the　hallucinations　of　delirium；　but　he　was

weak；　and　therefore　manageable。　　If　in　any　lucid　moments　he　thought

where　he　was；　he　no　doubt　supposed　that　he　was　in　a　hospital；　and

probably　had　sense　enough　to　understand　that　it　was　of　no　use　to

attempt　to　get　his　own　way　there。　　He　was　soon　much　worn；　and　his

limbs　trembled　greatly。　　It　was　absolutely　necessary　to　give　him

stimulants；　or　he　would　have　died；　but　Robert　reduced　them　gradually

as　he　recovered　strength。



But　there　was　an　infinite　work　to　be　done　beyond　even　curing　him　of

his　evil　habits。　　To　keep　him　from　strong　drink　and　opium；　even　till

the　craving　after　them　was　gone；　would　be　but　the　capturing　of　the

merest　outwork　of　the　enemy's　castle。　　He　must　be　made　such　that；

even　if　the　longing　should　return　with　tenfold　force；　and　all　the

means　for　its　gratification　should　lie　within　the　reach　of　his

outstretched　hand；　he　would　not　touch　them。　　God　only　was　able　to　do

that　for　him。　　He　would　do　all　that　he　knew　how　to　do；　and　God　would

not　fail　of　his　part。　　For　this　he　had　raised　him　up；　to　this　he　had

called　him；　for　this　work　he　had　educated　him；　made　him　a　physician；

given　him　money；　time；　the　love　and　aid　of　his　fellows；　and；　beyond

all；　a　rich　energy　of　hope　and　faith　in　his　heart；　emboldening　him

to　attempt　whatever　his　hand　found　to　do。









CHAPTER　XIII。



ANDREW　REBELS。



As　Andrew　Falconer　grew　better；　the　longing　of　his　mind　after　former

excitement　and　former　oblivion；　roused　and　kept　alive　the　longing　of

his　body；　until　at　length　his　thoughts　dwelt　upon　nothing　but　his

diseased　cravings。　　His　whole　imagination；　naturally　not　a　feeble

one；　was　concentrated　on　the　delights　in　store　for　him　as　soon　as　he

was　well　enough　to　be　his　own　master；　as　he　phrased　it；　once　more。

He　soon　began　to　see　that；　if　he　was　in　a　hospital；　it　must　be　a

private　one；　and　at　last；　irresolute　as　he　was　both　from　character

and　illness；　made　up　his　mind　to　demand　his　liberty。　　He　sat　by　his

bedroom　fire　one　afternoon；　for　he　needed　much　artificial　warmth。

The　shades　of　evening　were　thickening　the　air。　　He　had　just　had　one

of　his　frequent　meals；　and　was　gazing；　as　he　often　did；　into　the

glowing　coals。　　Robert　had　come　in；　and　after　a　little　talk　was

sitting　silent　at　the　opposite　corner　of　the　chimney…piece。



'Doctor；'　said　Andrew；　seizing　the　opportunity；　'you've　been　very

kind　to　me；　and　I　don't　know　how　to　thank　you；　but　it　is　time　I　was

going。　　I　am　quite　well　now。　　Would　you　kindly　order　the　nurse　to

bring　me　my　clothes　to…morrow　morning；　and　I　will　go。'



This　he　said　with　the　quavering　voice　of　one　who　speaks　because　he

has　made　up　his　mind　to　speak。　　A　certain　something；　I　believe　a

vague　molluscous　form　of　conscience；　made　him　wriggle　and　shift

uneasily　upon　his　chair　as　he　spoke。



'No；　no；'　said　Robert；　'you　are　not　fit　to　go。　　Make　yourself

comfortable；　my　dear　sir。　　There　is　no　reason　why　you　should　go。'



'There　is　something　I　don't　understand　about　it。　　I　want　to　go。'



'It　would　ruin　my　character　as　a　professional　man　to　let　a　patient

in　your　condition　leave　the　house。　　The　weather　is　unfavourable。　　I

can