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broad…leaved sycamore； and the sharp； needle…leaved pine； had each
its share in the violin。 Only as the wild innocence of human
nature； uncorrupted by wrong； untaught by suffering； is to that
nature struggling out of darkness into light； such and so different
is the living wood； with its sweetest tones of obedient impulse；
answering only to the wind which bloweth where it listeth； to that
wood； chosen； separated； individualized； tortured into strange；
almost vital shape； after a law to us nearly unknown； strung with
strings from animal organizations； and put into the hands of man to
utter the feelings of a soul that has passed through a like history。
This Robert could not yet think； and had to grow able to think it
by being himself made an instrument of God's music。
What he could think was that the glorious mystery of his bonny leddy
was gone for everand alas！ she had no soul。 Here was an eternal
sorrow。 He could never meet her again。 His affections； which must
live for ever； were set upon that which had passed away。 But the
child that weeps because his mutilated doll will not rise from the
dead； shall yet find relief from his sorrow； a true relief； both
human and divine。 He shall know that that which in the doll made
him love the doll； has not passed away。 And Robert must yet be
comforted for the loss of his bonny leddy。 If she had had a soul；
nothing but her own self could ever satisfy him。 As she had no
soul； another body might take her place； nor occasion reproach of
inconstancy。
But； in the meantime； the shears of Fate having cut the string of
the sky…soaring kite of his imagination； had left him with the stick
in his hand。 And thus the rest of that winter was dreary enough。
The glow was out of his heart； the glow was out of the world。 The
bleak； kindless wind was hissing through those pines that clothed
the hill above Bodyfauld； and over the dead garden； where in the
summer time the rose had looked down so lovingly on the heartsease。
If he had stood once more at gloaming in that barley…stubble； not
even the wail of Flodden…field would have found him there； but a
keen sense of personal misery and hopeless cold。 Was the summer a
lie？
Not so。 The winter restrains； that the summer may have the needful
time to do its work well； for the winter is but the sleep of summer。
Now in the winter of his discontent； and in Nature finding no help；
Robert was driven inwardsinto his garret； into his soul。 There；
the door of his paradise being walled up； he began； vaguely；
blindly； to knock against other doorssometimes against stone…walls
and rocks； taking them for doorsas travel…worn； and hence
brain…sick men have done in a desert of mountains。 A door； out or
in； he must find； or perish。
It fell； too； that Miss St。 John went to visit some friends who
lived in a coast town twenty miles off； and a season of heavy snow
followed by frost setting in； she was absent for six weeks； during
which time； without a single care to trouble him from without；
Robert was in the very desert of desolation。 His spirits sank
fearfully。 He would pass his old music…master in the street with
scarce a recognition； as if the bond of their relation had been
utterly broken； had vanished in the smoke of the martyred violin；
and all their affection had gone into the dust…heap of the past。
Dooble Sanny's character did not improve。 He took more and more
whisky； his bouts of drinking alternating as before with fits of
hopeless repentance。 His work was more neglected than ever； and his
wife having no money to spend even upon necessaries； applied in
desperation to her husband's bottle for comfort。 This comfort； to
do him justice； he never grudged her； and sometimes before midday
they would both be drunka condition expedited by the lack of food。
When they began to recover； they would quarrel fiercely； and at
last they became a nuisance to the whole street。 Little did the
whisky…hating old lady know to what god she had really offered up
that violinif the consequences of the holocaust can be admitted as
indicating the power which had accepted it。
But now began to appear in Robert the first signs of a practical
outcome of such truth as his grandmother had taught him； operating
upon the necessities of a simple and earnest nature。 Reality；
however lapt in vanity； or even in falsehood； cannot lose its power。
It isthe other is not。 She had taught him to look upthat there
was a God。 He would put it to the test。 Not that he doubted it yet：
he only doubted whether there was a hearing God。 But was not that
worse？ It was； I think。 For it is of far more consequence what
kind of a God； than whether a God or no。 Let not my reader suppose
I think it possible there could be other than a perfect
Godperfecteven to the vision of his creatures； the faith that
supplies the lack of vision being yet faithful to that vision。 I
speak from Robert's point of outlook。 But； indeed； whether better
or worse is no great matter； so long as he would see it or what
there was。 He had no comfort； and； without reasoning about it； he
felt that life ought to have comfortfrom which point he began to
conclude that the only thing left was to try whether the God in whom
his grandmother believed might not help him。 If the God would but
hear him； it was all he had yet learned to require of his Godhood。
And that must ever be the first thing to require。 More demands
would come； and greater answers he would find。 But nowif God
would but hear him！ If he spoke to him but one kind word； it would
be the very soul of comfort； he could no more be lonely。 A fountain
of glad imaginations gushed up in his heart at the thought。 What
if； from the cold winter of his life； he had but to open the door of
his garret…room； and； kneeling by the bare bedstead； enter into the
summer of God's presence！ What if God spoke to him face to face！
He had so spoken to Moses。 He sought him from no fear of the
future； but from present desolation； and if God came near to him； it
would not be with storm and tempest； but with the voice of a friend。
And surely； if there was a God at all； that is； not a power greater
than man； but a power by whose power man was； he must hear the voice
of the creature whom he had made； a voice that came crying out of
the very need which he had created。 Younger people than Robert are
capable of such divine metaphysics。 Hence he continued to disappear
from his grandmother's parlour at much the same hour as before。 In
the cold； desolate garret； he knelt and cried out into that which
lay beyond the thought that cried； the unknowable infinite； after
the God that may be known as surely as a little child knows his
mysterious mother。 And from behind him； the pale…blue； star…crowded
sky shone upon his head； through the window that looked upwards
only。
Mrs。 Falconer saw that he still went away as he had been wont； and
instituted observations； the