MYSIE'S FACE.
Meantime Ericson grew better.A space of hard, clear weather, in which everything sparkled with frost and sunshine, did him good.
But not yet could he use his brain.He turned with dislike even from his friend Plato.He would sit in bed or on his chair by the fireside for hours, with his hands folded before him, and his eyelids drooping, and let his thoughts flow, for he could not think.
And that these thoughts flowed not always with other than sweet sounds over the stones of question, the curves of his lip would testify to the friendly, furtive glance of the watchful Robert.
None but the troubled mind knows its own consolations; and Ibelieve the saddest life has its own presence--however it may be unrecognized as such--of the upholding Deity.Doth God care for the hairs that perish from our heads? To a mind like Ericson's the remembered scent, the recurring vision of a flower loved in childhood, is enough to sustain anxiety with beauty, for the lovely is itself healing and hope-giving, because it is the form and presence of the true.To have such a presence is to be; and while a mind exists in any high consciousness, the intellectual trouble that springs from the desire to know its own life, to be assured of its rounded law and security, ceases, for the desire itself falls into abeyance.
But although Ericson was so weak, he was always able and ready to help Robert in any difficulty not unfrequently springing from his imperfect preparation in Greek; for while Mr.Innes was an excellent Latin scholar, his knowledge of Greek was too limited either to compel learning or inspire enthusiasm, And with the keen instinct he possessed in everything immediate between man and man, Robert would sometimes search for a difficulty in order to request its solution;for then Ericson would rouse himself to explain as few men could have explained: where a clear view was to be had of anything, Ericson either had it or knew that he had it not.Hence Robert's progress was good; for one word from a wise helper will clear off a whole atmosphere of obstructions.
At length one day when Robert came home he found him seated at the table, with his slate, working away at the Differential Calculus.
After this he recovered more rapidly, and ere another week was over began to attend one class a day.He had been so far in advance before, that though he could not expect prizes, there was no fear of his passing.
One morning, Robert, coming out from a lecture, saw Ericson in the quadrangle talking to an elderly gentleman.When they met in the afternoon Ericson told him that that was Mr.Lindsay, and that he had asked them both to spend the evening at his house.Robert would go anywhere to be with his friend.
He got out his Sunday clothes, and dressed himself with anxiety: he had visited scarcely at all, and was shy and doubtful.He then sat down to his books, till Ericson came to his door--dressed, and hence in Robert's eyes ceremonial--a stately, graceful gentleman.Renewed awe came upon him at the sight, and renewed gratitude.There was a flush on Ericson's cheek, and a fire in his eye.Robert had never seen him look so grand.But there was a something about him that rendered him uneasy--a look that made Ericson seem strange, as if his life lay in some far-off region.
'I want you to take your violin with you, Robert,' he said.
'Hoots!' returned Robert, 'hoo can I do that? To tak her wi' me the first time I gang to a strange hoose, as gin I thocht a'body wad think as muckle o' my auld wife as I do mysel'! That wadna be mainners--wad it noo, Mr.Ericson?'
'But I told Mr.Lindsay that you could play well.The old gentleman is fond of Scotch tunes, and you will please him if you take it.'
'That maks a' the differ,' answered Robert.
'Thank you,' said Ericson, as Robert went towards his instrument;and, turning, would have walked from the house without any additional protection.
'Whaur are ye gaein' that gait, Mr.Ericson? Tak yer plaid, or ye'll be laid up again, as sure's ye live.'
'I'm warm enough,' returned Ericson.
'That's naething.The cauld 's jist lyin' i' the street like a verra deevil to get a grup o' ye.Gin ye dinna pit on yer plaid, Iwinna tak my fiddle.'
Ericson yielded; and they set out together.
I will account for Ericson's request about the violin.
He went to the episcopal church on Sundays, and sat where he could see Mysie--sat longing and thirsting ever till the music returned.
Yet the music he never heard; he watched only its transmutation into form, never taking his eyes off Mysie's face.Reflected thence in a metamorphosed echo, he followed all its changes.Never was one powerless to produce it more strangely responsive to its influence.
She had no voice; she had never been taught the use of any instrument.A world of musical feeling was pent up in her, and music raised the suddener storms in her mobile nature, that she was unable to give that feeling utterance.The waves of her soul dashed the more wildly against their shores, inasmuch as those shores were precipitous, and yielded no outlet to the swelling waters.It was that his soul might hover like a bird of Paradise over the lovely changes of her countenance, changes more lovely and frequent than those of an English May, that Ericson persuaded Robert to take his violin.
