tales and fantasies-第3章

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faintly　burning　to　light　his　return；　a　dreadful　stillness

reigned；　broken　by　the　deep　ticking　of　the　eight…day　clock。

He　put　the　gas　out；　and　sat　on　a　chair　in　the　hall；　waiting

and　counting　the　minutes；　longing　for　any　human　countenance。

But　when　at　last　he　heard　the　alarm　spring　its　rattle　in　the

lower　story；　and　the　servants　begin　to　be　about；　he　instantly

lost　heart；　and　fled　to　his　own　room；　where　he　threw　himself

upon　the　bed。







CHAPTER　III　…　IN　WHICH　JOHN　ENJOYS　THE　HARVEST　HOME







SHORTLY　after　breakfast；　at　which　he　assisted　with　a　highly

tragical　countenance；　John　sought　his　father　where　he　sat；

presumably　in　religious　meditation；　on　the　Sabbath　mornings。

The　old　gentleman　looked　up　with　that　sour；　inquisitive

expression　that　came　so　near　to　smiling　and　was　so　different

in　effect。



'This　is　a　time　when　I　do　not　like　to　be　disturbed；'　he　said。



'I　know　that；'　returned　John；　'but　I　have　…　I　want　…　I've

made　a　dreadful　mess　of　it；'　he　broke　out；　and　turned　to　the

window。



Mr。　Nicholson　sat　silent　for　an　appreciable　time；　while　his

unhappy　son　surveyed　the　poles　in　the　back　green；　and　a

certain　yellow　cat　that　was　perched　upon　the　wall。　　Despair

sat　upon　John　as　he　gazed；　and　he　raged　to　think　of　the

dreadful　series　of　his　misdeeds；　and　the　essential　innocence

that　lay　behind　them。



'Well；'　said　the　father；　with　an　obvious　effort；　but　in　very

quiet　tones；　'what　is　it？'



'Maclean　gave　me　four　hundred　pounds　to　put　in　the　bank；

sir；'　began　John；　'and　I'm　sorry　to　say　that　I've　been　robbed

of　it！'



'Robbed　of　it？'　cried　Mr。　Nicholson；　with　a　strong　rising

inflection。　　'Robbed？　　Be　careful　what　you　say；　John！'



'I　can't　say　anything　else；　sir；　I　was　just　robbed　of　it；'

said　John；　in　desperation；　sullenly。



'And　where　and　when　did　this　extraordinary　event　take　place？'

inquired　the　father。



'On　the　Calton　Hill　about　twelve　last　night。'



'The　Calton　Hill？'　repeated　Mr。　Nicholson。　　'And　what　were

you　doing　there　at　such　a　time　of　the　night？'



'Nothing；　sir；'　says　John。



Mr。　Nicholson　drew　in　his　breath。



'And　how　came　the　money　in　your　hands　at　twelve　last　night？'

he　asked；　sharply。



'I　neglected　that　piece　of　business；'　said　John；　anticipating

comment；　and　then　in　his　own　dialect：　'I　clean　forgot　all

about　it。'



'Well；'　said　his　father；　'it's　a　most　extraordinary　story。

Have　you　communicated　with　the　police？'



'I　have；'　answered　poor　John；　the　blood　leaping　to　his　face。

'They　think　they　know　the　men　that　did　it。　　I　dare　say　the

money　will　be　recovered；　if　that　was　all；'　said　he；　with　a

desperate　indifference；　which　his　father　set　down　to　levity；

but　which　sprung　from　the　consciousness　of　worse　behind。



'Your　mother's　watch；　too？'　asked　Mr。　Nicholson。



'Oh；　the　watch　is　all　right！'　cried　John。　　'At　least；　I　mean

I　was　coming　to　the　watch　…　the　fact　is；　I　am　ashamed　to　say；

I　…　I　had　pawned　the　watch　before。　　Here　is　the　ticket；　they

didn't　find　that；　the　watch　can　be　redeemed；　they　don't　sell

pledges。'　　The　lad　panted　out　these　phrases；　one　after

another；　like　minute　guns；　but　at　the　last　word；　which　rang

in　that　stately　chamber　like　an　oath；　his　heart　failed　him

utterly；　and　the　dreaded　silence　settled　on　father　and　son。



It　was　broken　by　Mr。　Nicholson　picking　up　the　pawn…ticket：

'John　Froggs；　85　Pleasance；'　he　read；　and　then　turning　upon

John；　with　a　brief　flash　of　passion　and　disgust；　'Who　is　John

Froggs？'　he　cried。



'Nobody；'　said　John。　　'It　was　just　a　name。'



'An　ALIAS；'　his　father　commented。



'Oh！　　I　think　scarcely　quite　that；'　said　the　culprit；　'it's　a


form；　they　all　do　it；　the　man　seemed　to　understand；　we　had　a

great　deal　of　fun　over　the　name　…　'



He　paused　at　that；　for　he　saw　his　father　wince　at　the　picture

like　a　man　physically　struck；　and　again　there　was　silence。



'I　do　not　think；'　said　Mr。　Nicholson；　at　last；　'that　I　am　an

ungenerous　father。　　I　have　never　grudged　you　money　within

reason；　for　any　avowable　purpose；　you　had　just　to　come　to　me

and　speak。　　And　now　I　find　that　you　have　forgotten　all

decency　and　all　natural　feeling；　and　actually　pawned　…　pawned

…　your　mother's　watch。　　You　must　have　had　some　temptation；　I

will　do　you　the　justice　to　suppose　it　was　a　strong　one。　　What

did　you　want　with　this　money？'



'I　would　rather　not　tell　you；　sir；'　said　John。　　'It　will　only

make　you　angry。'



'I　will　not　be　fenced　with；'　cried　his　father。　　'There　must

be　an　end　of　disingenuous　answers。　　What　did　you　want　with

this　money？'



'To　lend　it　to　Houston；　sir；'　says　John。



'I　thought　I　had　forbidden　you　to　speak　to　that　young　man？'

asked　the　father。



'Yes；　sir；'　said　John；　'but　I　only　met　him。'



'Where？'　came　the　deadly　question。



And　'In　a　billiard…room'　was　the　damning　answer。　　Thus；　had

John's　single　departure　from　the　truth　brought　instant

punishment。　　For　no　other　purpose　but　to　see　Alan　would　he

have　entered　a　billiard…room；　but　he　had　desired　to　palliate

the　fact　of　his　disobedience；　and　now　it　appeared　that　he

frequented　these　disreputable　haunts　upon　his　own　account。



Once　more　Mr。　Nicholson　digested　the　vile　tidings　in　silence；

and　when　John　stole　a　glance　at　his　father's　countenance；　he

was　abashed　to　see　the　marks　of　suffering。



'Well；'　said　the　old　gentleman；　at　last；　'I　cannot　pretend

not　to　be　simply　bowed　down。　　I　rose　this　morning　what　the

world　calls　a　happy　man　…　happy；　at　least；　in　a　son　of　whom　I

thought　I　could　be　reasonably　proud　…　'



But　it　was　beyond　human　nature　to　endure　this　longer；　and

John　interrupted　almost　with　a　scream。　　'Oh；　wheest！'　he

cried；　'that's　not　all；　that's　not　the　worst　of　it　…　it's

nothing！　　How　could　I　tell　you　were　proud　of　me？　　Oh！　　I

wish；　I　wish　that　I　had　known；　but　you　always　said　I　was　such

a　disgrace！　　And　the　dreadful　thing　is　this：　we　were　all

taken　up　last　night；　and　we　have　to　pay　Colette's　fine　among

the　six；　or　we'll　be　had　up　for　evidence　…　shebeening　it　is。

They　made　me　swear　to　tell　you；　but　for　my　part；'　he　cried；

bursting　into　tears；　'I　just　wish　that　I　was　dead！'　　And　he

fell　on　his　knees　before　a　chair　and　hid　his　face。



Whether　his　father　spoke；　or　whether　he　remained　long　in　the

room　or　at　once　departed；　are　points　lost　to　history。　　A

horrid　turmoil　of　mind　and　body；　bursting　sobs；　broken；

vanishing　thoughts；　now　of　indignation；　now　of　remorse；

broken　elementary　whiffs　of　consciousness；　of　the　smell　of

the　horse…hair　on　the　chair　bottom；　of　the　jangling　of　church

bells　that　now　began　to　make　day　horrible　throughout　the

confines　of　the　city；　of　the　hard　floor　that　bruised　his

knees；　of　the　taste　of　tears　that　found　their　way　into　his

mouth：　for　a　period　of　time；　the　duration　of　which　I　cannot

guess；　while　I　refuse　to　dwell　longer　on　its　agony；　these

were　the　whole　of　God's　world　for　John　Nicholson。



When　at　last；　as　by　the　touching　of　a　spring；　he　returned

again　to　clearness　of　consciousness　and　even　a　measure　of

composure；　the　bells　had　but　just　done　ringing；　and　the

Sabbath　silence　was　still　marred　by　the　patter　of　belated

feet。　　By　the　clock　above　the　fire；　as　well　as　by　these　more

speaking　signs；　the　service　had　not　long　begun；　and　the

unhappy　sinner；　if　his　father　had　really　gone　to　church；

might　count　on　near　two　hours　of　only　comparative

unhappiness。　　With　his　father；　the　superlative　degree

returned　infallibly。　　He　knew　it　by　every　shrinking　fibre　in

his　body；　he　knew　it　by　the　sudden　dizzy　whirling　of　his

brain；　at　the　mere　thought　of　that　calamity。　　An　hour　and　a

half；　perhaps　an　hour　and　three…quarters；　if　the　doctor　was

long…winded；　and　then　would　begin　again　that　active　agony

from　which；　even　in　the　dull　ache　of　the　present；　he　shrunk

as　from　the　bite　of　fire。　　He　saw；　in　a　vision；　the　family

pew；　the　somnolent　cushions；　the　Bibles；　the　psalm…books；

Maria　with　her　smelling…salts；　his　father　sitting　spectacled

and　critical；　and　at　once　he　was　struck　with　indignation；　not

unjustly。　　It　was　inhuman　to　go　off　to　church；　and　leave　a

sinner　in　suspense；　unpunished；　unforgiven。　　And　at　the　very

touch　of　criticism；　the　paternal　sanctity　was　lessened；　yet

the　paternal　terror　only　grew；　and　the　two　strands　of　feeling

pushed　him　in　the　same　direction。



And　suddenly　there　came　upon　him　a　mad　fear　lest　his　father

should　have　locked　him　in。　　The　notion　had　no　ground　in

sense；　it　was　probably　no　more　than　a　reminiscence　of　similar

calamities　in　childhood；　for　his　father's　room　had　always

been　the　chamber　of　inquisition　and　the　scene　of　punishment；

but　it　stuck　so　rigorously　in　his　mind　that　he　must　instantly

approach　the　door　and　prove　its　untruth。　　As　he　went；　he

struck　upon　a　drawer　left　open　in　the　business　table。　　It　was

the　money…drawer；　a　measure　of　his　father's　disarray：　the

money…drawer　…　perhaps　a　pointing　providence！　　Who　is　to

decide；　when　even　divines　differ　between　a　providence　and　a

temptation？　or　who；　sitting　calmly　under　his　own　vine；　is　to

pass　a　judgment　on　the　doings　of　a　poor；　hunted　dog；

slavishly　afraid；　slavishly　rebellious；　like　John　Nicholson

on　that　particular　Sunday？　　His　hand　was　in　the　drawer；

almost　before　his　mind　had　conceived　the　hope；　and　rising　to

his　new　situation；　he　wrote；　sitting　in　his　father's　chair

and　using　his　father's　blotting…pad；　his　pitiful　apology　and

farewell：…





'MY　DEAR　FATHER；　…　I　have　taken　the　money；　but　I　will　pay　it

back　as　soon　as　I　am　able。　　You　will　never　hear　of　me　again。

I　did　not　mean　any　harm　by　anything；　so　I　hope　you　will　try

and　forgive　me。　　I　wish　you　would　say　good…bye　to　Alexander

and　Maria；　but　not　if　you　don't　want　to。　　I　could　not　wait　to

see　you；　really。　　Please　try　to　forgive　me。　　Your

affectionate　son；



JOHN　NICHOLSON。'





The　coins　abstracted　and　the　missive　written；　he　could　not　be

gone　too　soon　from　the　scene　of　these　transgressions；　and

remembering　how　his　father　had　once　returned　from　church；　on

some　slight　illness；　in　the　middle　of　the　second　psalm；　he

durst　not　even　make　a　packet　of　a　change　of　clothes。　　Attired

as　he　was；　he　slipped　from　the　paternal　doors；　and　found

himself　in　the　cool　spring　air；　the　thin　spring　sunshine；　and

the　great　Sabbath　quiet　of　the　city；　which　was　now　only

pointed　by　the　cawing　of　the　rooks。　　There　was　not　a　soul　in

Randolph　Crescent；　nor　a　soul　in　Queensferry　Street；　in　this

outdoor　privacy　and　the　sense　of　escape；　John　took　heart

again；　and　with　a　pathetic　sense　of　leave…taking；　he　even

ventured　up　the　lane　and　stood　awhile；　a　strange　peri　at　the

gates　of　a　quaint　paradise；　by　the　west　end　of　St。　George's

Church。　　They　were　singing　within；　and　by　a　strange　chance；

the　tune　was　'St。　George's；　Edinburgh；'　which　bears　the　name；

and　was　first　sung　in　the　choir　of　that　church。　　'Who　is　this

King　of　Glory？'　went　the　voices　from　within；　and；　to　John；

this　was　lik