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white…washed walls； and the long flagged transe that led to his
silent grandmother seated in her arm…chair； gazing into the red
coalsfor somehow grannie's fire always glowed； and never
blazedwith her round…toed shoes pointed at them from the top of
her little wooden stool。 He traversed the stair and the transe；
entered the parlour； and sat down to his open book as though nothing
had happened。 But his grandmother saw the light in his face； and
did think he had just come from his prayers。 And she blessed God
that he had put it into her heart to burn the fiddle。
The next night Robert took with him the miniature of his mother； and
showed it to Miss St。 John； who saw at once that； whatever might be
his present surroundings； his mother must have been a lady。 A
certain fancied resemblance in it to her own mother likewise drew
her heart to the boy。 Then Robert took from his pocket the gold
thimble； and said；
'This thimmel was my mamma's。 Will ye tak it； mem； for ye ken it's
o' nae use to me。'
Miss St。 John hesitated for a moment。
'I will keep it for you； if you like；' she said； for she could not
bear to refuse it。
'Na； mem； I want ye to keep it to yersel'； for I'm sure my mamma wad
hae likit you to hae 't better nor ony ither body。'
'Well； I will use it sometimes for your sake。 But mind； I will not
take it from you； I will only keep it for you。'
'Weel； weel； mem； gin ye'll keep it till I speir for 't； that'll du
weel eneuch；' answered Robert； with a smile。
He laboured diligently； and his progress corresponded to his labour。
It was more than intellect that guided him： Falconer had genius for
whatever he cared for。
Meantime the love he bore his teacher； and the influence of her
beauty； began to mould him； in his kind and degree； after her
likeness； so that he grew nice in his person and dress； and smoothed
the roughness and moderated the broadness of his speech with the
amenities of the English which she made so sweet upon her tongue。
He became still more obedient to his grandmother； and more diligent
at school； gathered to himself golden opinions without knowing it；
and was gradually developing into a rustic gentleman。
Nor did the piano absorb all his faculties。 Every divine influence
tends to the rounded perfection of the whole。 His love of Nature
grew more rapidly。 Hitherto it was only in summer that he had felt
the presence of a power in her and yet above her： in winter； now；
the sky was true and deep； though the world was waste and sad； and
the tones of the wind that roared at night about the goddess…haunted
house； and moaned in the chimneys of the lowly dwelling that nestled
against it； woke harmonies within him which already he tried to
spell out falteringly。 Miss St。 John began to find that he put
expressions of his own into the simple things she gave him to play；
and even dreamed a little at his own will when alone with the
passive instrument。 Little did Mrs。 Falconer think into what a
seventh heaven of accursed music she had driven her boy。
But not yet did he tell his friend； much as he loved and much as he
trusted her； the little he knew of his mother's sorrows and his
father's sins； or whose the hand that had struck him when she found
him lying in the waste factory。
For a time almost all his trouble about God went from him。 Nor do I
think that this was only because he rarely thought of him at all：
God gave him of himself in Miss St。 John。 But words dropped now and
then from off the shelves where his old difficulties lay； and they
fell like seeds upon the heart of Miss St。 John； took root； and rose
in thoughts： in the heart of a true woman the talk of a child even
will take life。
One evening Robert rose from the table； not unwatched of his
grandmother； and sped swiftly and silently through the dark； as was
his custom； to enter the chamber of enchantment。 Never before had
his hand failed to alight； sure as a lark on its nest； upon the
brass handle of the door that admitted him to his paradise。 It
missed it now； and fell on something damp； and rough； and repellent
instead。 Horrible； but true suspicion！ While he was at school that
day； his grandmother； moved by what doubt or by what certainty she
never revealed； had had the doorway walled up。 He felt the place
all over。 It was to his hands the living tomb of his mother's vicar
on earth。
He returned to his book； pale as death； but said never a word。 The
next day the stones were plastered over。
Thus the door of bliss vanished from the earth。 And neither the boy
nor his grandmother ever said that it had been。
PART II。HIS YOUTH。
CHAPTER I。
ROBERT KNOCKSAND THE DOOR IS NOT OPENED。
The remainder of that winter was dreary indeed。 Every time Robert
went up the stair to his garret； he passed the door of a tomb。 With
that gray mortar Mary St。 John was walled up； like the nun he had
read of in the Marmion she had lent him。 He might have rung the
bell at the street door； and been admitted into the temple of his
goddess； but a certain vague terror of his grannie； combined with
equally vague qualms of conscience for having deceived her； and the
approach in the far distance of a ghastly suspicion that violins；
pianos； moonlight； and lovely women were distasteful to the
over…ruling Fate； and obnoxious to the vengeance stored in the gray
cloud of his providence； drove him from the awful entrance of the
temple of his Isis。
Nor did Miss St。 John dare to make any advances to the dreadful old
lady。 She would wait。 For Mrs。 Forsyth； she cared nothing about
the whole affair。 It only gave her fresh opportunity for smiling
condescensions about 'poor Mrs。 Falconer。' So Paradise was over and
gone。
But though the loss of Miss St。 John and the piano was the last
blow； his sorrow did not rest there； but returned to brood over his
bonny lady。 She was scattered to the winds。 Would any of her ashes
ever rise in the corn； and moan in the ripening wind of autumn？
Might not some atoms of the bonny leddy creep into the pines on the
hill； whose 'soft and soul…like sounds' had taught him to play the
Flowers of the Forest on those strings which； like the nerves of an
amputated limb； yet thrilled through his being？ Or might not some
particle find its way by winds and waters to sycamore forest of
Italy； there creep up through the channels of its life to some
finely…rounded curve of noble tree； on the side that ever looks
sunwards； and be chosen once again by the violin…hunter； to be
wrought into a new and fame…gathering instrument？
Could it be that his bonny lady had learned her wondrous music in
those forests； from the shine of the sun； and the sighing of the
winds through the sycamores and pines？ For Robert knew that the
broad…leaved sycamore； and the sharp； needle…leaved pine； had each
its share in the violin。 Only as the wild innocence of human