第66章

AN AUTO DA Fé.

The morning at length arrived when Robert and Shargar must return to Rothieden.A keen autumnal wind was blowing far-off feathery clouds across a sky of pale blue； the cold freshened the spirits of the boys， and tightened their nerves and muscles， till they were like bow-strings.No doubt the winter was coming， but the sun， although his day's work was short and slack， was still as clear as ever.So gladsome was the world， that the boys received the day as a fresh holiday， and strenuously forgot to-morrow.The wind blew straight from Rothieden， and between sun and wind a bright thought awoke in Robert.The dragon should not be carried--he should fly home.

After they had said farewell， in which Shargar seemed to suffer more than Robert， and had turned the corner of the stable， they heard the good farmer shouting after them，'There'll be anither hairst neist year， boys，' which wonderfully restored their spirits.When they reached the open road， Robert laid his violin carefully into a broom-bush.Then the tail was unrolled， and the dragon ascended steady as an angel whose work is done.Shargar took the stick at the end of the string， and Robert resumed his violin.But the creature was hard to lead in such a wind； so they made a loop on the string， and passed it round Shargar's chest， and he tugged the dragon home.Robert longed to take his share in the struggle， but he could not trust his violin to Shargar， and so had to walk beside ingloriously.On the way they laid their plans for the accommodation of the dragon.But the violin was the greater difficulty.Robert would not hear of the factory， for reasons best known to himself， and there were serious objections to taking it to Dooble Sanny.It was resolved that the only way was to seize the right moment， and creep upstairs with it before presenting themselves to Mrs.Falconer.Their intended man？uvres with the kite would favour the concealment of this stroke.

Before they entered the town they drew in the kite a little way， and cut off a dozen yards of the string， which Robert put in his pocket， with a stone tied to the end.When they reached the house， Shargar went into the little garden and tied the string of the kite to the paling between that and Captain Forsyth's.Robert opened the street door， and having turned his head on all sides like a thief， darted with his violin up the stairs.Having laid his treasure in one of the presses in Shargar's garret， he went to his own， and from the skylight threw the stone down into the captain's garden， fastening the other end of the string to the bedstead.Escaping as cautiously as he had entered， he passed hurriedly into their neighbour's garden， found the stone， and joined Shargar.The ends were soon united， and the kite let go.It sunk for a moment， then， arrested by the bedstead， towered again to its former 'pride of place，'

sailing over Rothieden， grand and unconcerned， in the wastes of air.

But the end of its tether was in Robert's garret.And that was to him a sense of power， a thought of glad mystery.There was henceforth， while the dragon flew， a relation between the desolate little chamber， in that lowly house buried among so many more aspiring abodes， and the unmeasured depths and spaces， the stars， and the unknown heavens.And in the next chamber lay the fiddle free once more，--yet another magical power whereby his spirit could forsake the earth and mount heavenwards.

All that night， all the next day， all the next night， the dragon flew.

Not one smile broke over the face of the old lady as she received them.Was it because she did not know what acts of disobedience， what breaches of the moral law， the two children of possible perdition might have committed while they were beyond her care， and she must not run the risk of smiling upon iniquity？ I think it was rather that there was no smile in her religion， which， while it developed the power of a darkened conscience， overlaid and half-smothered all the lovelier impulses of her grand nature.How could she smile？ Did not the world lie under the wrath and curse of God？ Was not her own son in hell for ever？ Had not the blood of the Son of God been shed for him in vain？ Had not God meant that it should be in vain？ For by the gift of his Spirit could he not have enabled him to accept the offered pardon？ And for anything she knew， was not Robert going after him to the place of misery？ How could she smile？

'Noo be dooce，' she said， the moment she had shaken hands with them， with her cold hands， so clean and soft and smooth.With a volcanic heart of love， her outside was always so still and cold！--snow on the mountain sides， hot vein-coursing lava within.For her highest duty was submission to the will of God.Ah！ if she had only known the God who claimed her submission！ But there is time enough for every heart to know him.

'Noo be dooce，' she repeated， 'an' sit doon， and tell me aboot the fowk at Bodyfauld.I houpe ye thankit them， or ye left， for their muckle kindness to ye.'

The boys were silent.

'Didna ye thank them？'

'No， grannie； I dinna think 'at we did.'

'Weel， that was ill-faured o' ye.Eh！ but the hert is deceitfu'

aboon a' thing， and desperately wicked.Who can know it？ Come awa'.Come awa'.Robert， festen the door.'