His departure had cast him upon his own resources, and allowed the individuality repressed by every event of his history, even by his worship of Robert, to begin to develop itself.Miserable for a few weeks, he had revived in the fancy that to work hard at school would give him some chance of rejoining Robert.Thence, too, he had watched to please Mrs.Falconer, and had indeed begun to buy golden opinions from all sorts of people.He had a hope in prospect.But into the midst fell the whisper of the apprenticeship like a thunderbolt out of a clear sky.He fled at once.
'Weel, ye can hae my bed the nicht,' said Robert, 'for I maun sit up wi' Mr.Ericson.'
''Deed I'll hae naething o' the kin'.I'll sleep upo' the flure, or else upo' the door-stane.Man, I'm no clean eneuch efter what I've come throu sin' I drappit frae the window-sill i' the ga'le-room.
But jist len' me yer plaid, an' I'll sleep upo' the rug here as gin I war i' Paradees.An' faith, sae I am, Robert.Ye maun gang to yer bed some time the nicht forby (besides), or ye winna be fit for yer wark the morn.Ye can jist gie me a kick, an' I'll be up afore ye can gie me anither.'
Their supper arrived from below, and, each on one side of the fire, they ate the porridge, conversing all the while about old times--for the youngest life has its old times, its golden age--and old adventures,--Dooble Sanny, Betty, &c., &c.There were but two subjects which Robert avoided--Miss St.John and the Bonnie Leddy.
Shargar was at length deposited upon the little bit of hearthrug which adorned rather than enriched the room, with Robert's plaid of shepherd tartan around him, and an Ainsworth's dictionary under his head for a pillow.
'Man, I fin' mysel' jist like a muckle colley (sheep-dog),' he said.
'Whan I close my een, I'm no sure 'at I'm no i' the inside o' yer auld luckie-daiddie's kilt.The Lord preserve me frae ever sic a fricht again as yer grannie an' Betty gae me the nicht they fand me in 't! I dinna believe it's in natur' to hae sic a fricht twise in ae lifetime.Sae I'll fa' asleep at ance, an' say nae mair--but as muckle o' my prayers as I can min' upo' noo 'at grannie's no at my lug.'
'Haud yer impidence, an' yer tongue thegither,' said Robert.'Min'
'at my grannie's been the best frien' ye ever had.'
''Cep' my ain mither,' returned Shargar, with a sleepy doggedness in his tone.
During their conference, Ericson had been slumbering.Robert had visited him from time to time, but he had not awaked.As soon as Shargar was disposed of, he took his candle and sat down by him.He grew more uneasy.Robert guessed that the candle was the cause, and put it out.Ericson was quieter.So Robert sat in the dark.
But the rain had now ceased.Some upper wind had swept the clouds from the sky, and the whole world of stars was radiant over the earth and its griefs.
'O God, where art thou?' he said in his heart, and went to his own room to look out.
There was no curtain, and the blind had not been drawn down, therefore the earth looked in at the storm-window.The sea neither glimmered nor shone.It lay across the horizon like a low level cloud, out of which came a moaning.Was this moaning all of the earth, or was there trouble in the starry places too? thought Robert, as if already he had begun to suspect the truth from afar--that save in the secret place of the Most High, and in the heart that is hid with the Son of Man in the bosom of the Father, there is trouble--a sacred unrest--everywhere--the moaning of a tide setting homewards, even towards the bosom of that Father.