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MacDonald, George, 1824-1905

"Robert Falconer"

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, I
winna 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.


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