Before the sentence was
finished, however, she would let it die away, speaking the last
words mechanically, as her consciousness relapsed into dreamland.
Had not Robert been with Ericson, he would have found it wearisome
enough; and except things took a turn, Ericson could hardly be
satisfied with the pleasure of the evening. Things did take a turn.
'Robert has brought his fiddle,' said Ericson, as the tea was
removed.
'I hope he will be kind enough to play something,' said Mr. Lindsay.
'I'll do that,' answered Robert, with alacrity. 'But ye maunna
expec' ower muckle, for I'm but a prentice-han',' he added, as he
got the instrument ready.
Before he had drawn the bow once across it, attention awoke in
Mysie's eyes; and before he had finished playing, Ericson must have
had quite as much of the 'beauty born of murmuring sound' as was
good for him. Little did Mysie think of the sky of love, alive with
silent thoughts, that arched over her. The earth teems with love
that is unloved. The universe itself is one sea of infinite love,
from whose consort of harmonies if a stray note steal across the
sense, it starts bewildered.
Robert played better than usual. His touch grew intense, and put on
all its delicacy, till it was like that of the spider, which, as
Pope so admirably says,
Feels at each thread, and lives along the line.
And while Ericson watched its shadows, the music must have taken
hold of him too; for when Robert ceased, he sang a wild ballad of
the northern sea, to a tune strange as itself.
Pages:
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403