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.
The last of the sunlight was departing, and a large full moon was
growing through the fog on the horizon. The sky was almost clear of
clouds, and the air was cold and penetrating. Robert drew Eric's
plaid closer over his chest. Eric thanked him lightly, but his
voice sounded eager; and it was with a long hasty stride that he
went up the hill through the gathering of the light frosty mist. He
stopped at the stair upon which Robert had found him that memorable
night. They went up. The door had been left on the latch for their
entrance. They went up more steps between rocky walls. When in
after years he read the Purgatorio, as often as he came to one of
its ascents, Robert saw this stair with his inward eye. At the top
of the stair was the garden, still ascending, and at the top of the
garden shone the glow of Mr. Lindsay's parlour through the
red-curtained window. To Robert it shone a refuge for Ericson from
the night air; to Ericson it shone the casket of the richest jewel
of the universe. Well might the ruddy glow stream forth to meet
him! Only in glowing red could such beauty be rightly closed. With
trembling hand he knocked at the door.
They were shown at once into the parlour. Mysie was putting away
her book as they entered, and her back was towards them.
Pages:
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401