was　just　in　time　for　his　dinner；　and　narrowly　escaped　encountering
  Betty　in　the　transe。　　He　had　been　tempted　to　leave　the　instrument；
  but　no　one　could　tell　what　might　happen；　and　to　doubt　would　be　to　be
  miserable　with　anxiety。
  He　did　the　same　for　several　days　without　interruptionnot；　however；
  without　observation。　　When；　returning　from　his　fourth　visit；　he
  opened　the　door　between　the　gardens；　he　started　back　in　dismay；　for
  there　stood　the　beautiful　lady。
  Robert　hesitated　for　a　moment　whether　to　fly　or　speak。　　He　was　a
  Lowland　country　boy；　and　therefore　rude　of　speech；　but　he　was　three
  parts　a　Celt；　and　those　who　know　the　address　of　the　Irish　or　of　the
  Highlanders；　know　how　much　that　involves　as　to　manners　and　bearing。
  He　advanced　the　next　instant　and　spoke。
  'I　beg　yer　pardon；　mem。　　I　thoucht　naebody　wad　see　me。　　I　haena　dune
  nae　ill。'
  'I　had　not　the　least　suspicion　of　it；　I　assure　you；'　returned　Miss
  St。　John。　'But；　tell　me；　what　makes　you　go　through　here　always　at
  the　same　hour　with　the　same　parcel　under　your　arm？'
  'Ye　winna　tell　naebodywill　ye；　mem；　gin　I　tell　you？'
  Miss　St。　John；　amused；　and　interested　besides　in　the　contrast
  between　the　boy's　oddly　noble　face　and　good　bearing　on　the　one　hand；
  and　on　the　other　the　drawl　of　his　bluntly　articulated　speech　and　the
  coarseness　of　his　tone；　both　seeming　to　her　in　the　extreme　of
  provincialism；　promised；　and　Robert；　entranced　by　all　the　qualities
  of　her　voice　and　speech；　and　nothing　disenchanted　by　the　nearer　view
  of　her　lovely　face；　confided　in　her　at　once。
  'Ye　see；　mem；'　he　said；　'I　cam'　upo'　my　grandfather's　fiddle。　　But
  my　grandmither　thinks　the　fiddle's　no　gude。　　And　sae　she　tuik　and
  she　hed　it。　　But　I　faun't　it　again。　　An'　I　daurna　play　i'　the　hoose；
  though　my　grannie's　i'　the　country；　for　Betty　hearin'　me　and　tellin'
  her。　　And　sae　I　gang　to　the　auld　fact'ry　there。　　It　belangs　to　my
  grannie；　and　sae　does　the　yaird　（garden）。　　An'　this　hoose　and　yaird
  was　ance　my　father's；　and　sae　he　had　that　door　throu；　they　tell　me。
  An'　I　thocht　gin　it　suld　be　open；　it　wad　be　a　fine　thing　for　me；　to
  haud　fowk　ohn　seen　me。　　But　it　was　verra　ill…bred　to　you；　mem；　I
  ken；　to　come　throu　your　yaird　ohn　speirt　leave。　　I　beg　yer　pardon；
  mem；　an'　I'll　jist　gang　back；　and　roon'　by　the　ro'd。　　This　is　my
  fiddle　I　hae　aneath　my　airm。　　We　bude　to　pit　back　the　case　o'　't
  whaur　it　was　afore；　i'　my　grannie's　bed；　to　haud　her　ohn　kent　'at
  she　had　tint　the　grup　o'　't。'
  Certainly　Miss　St。　John　could　not　have　understood　the　half　of　the
  words　Robert　used；　but　she　understood　his　story　notwithstanding。
  Herself　an　enthusiast　in　music；　her　sympathies　were　at　once　engaged
  for　the　awkward　boy　who　was　thus　trying　to　steal　an　entrance　into
  the　fairy　halls　of　sound。　　But　she　forbore　any　further　allusion　to
  the　violin　for　the　present；　and　contented　herself　with　assuring
  Robert　that　he　was　heartily　welcome　to　go　through　the　garden　as
  often　as　he　pleased。　　She　accompanied　her　words　with　a　smile　that
  made　Robert　feel　not　only　that　she　was　the　most　beautiful　of　all
  princesses　in　fairy…tales；　but　that　she　had　presented　him　with
  something　beyond　price　in　the　most　self…denying　manner。　　He　took　off
  his　cap；　thanked　her　with　much　heartiness；　if　not　with　much　polish；
  and　hastened　to　the　gate　of　his　grandmother's　little　garden。　　A　few
  years　later　such　an　encounter　might　have　spoiled　his　dinner：　I　have
  to　record　no　such　evil　result　of　the　adventure。
  With　Miss　St。　John；　music　was　the　highest　form　of　human　expression；
  as　must　often　be　the　case　with　those　whose　feeling　is　much　in
  advance　of　their　thought；　and　to　whom；　therefore；　may　be　called
  mental　sensation　is　the　highest　known　condition。　　Music　to　such　is
  poetry　in　solution；　and　generates　that　infinite　atmosphere；　common
  to　both　musician　and　poet；　which　the　latter　fills　with　shining
  worlds。But　if　my　reader　wishes　to　follow　out　for　himself　the　idea
  herein　suggested；　he　must　be　careful　to　make　no　confusion　between
  those　who　feel　musically　or　think　poetically；　and　the　musician　or
  the　poet。　　One　who　can　only　play　the　music　of　others；　however
  exquisitely；　is　not　a　musician；　any　more　than　one　who　can　read　verse
  to　the　satisfaction；　or　even　expound　it　to　the　enlightenment　of　the
  poet　himself；　is　therefore　a　poet。When　Miss　St。　John　would　worship
  God；　it　was　in　music　that　she　found　the　chariot　of　fire　in　which　to
  ascend　heavenward。　　Hence　music　was　the　divine　thing　in　the　world
  for　her；　and　to　find　any　one　loving　music　humbly　and　faithfully　was
  to　find　a　brother　or　sister　believer。　　But　she　had　been　so　often
  disappointed　in　her　expectations　from　those　she　took　to　be　such；
  that　of　late　she　had　become　less　sanguine。　　Still　there　was
  something　about　this　boy　that　roused　once　more　her　musical　hopes；
  and；　however　she　may　have　restrained　herself　from　the　full
  indulgence　of　them；　certain　it　is　that　the　next　day；　when　she　saw
  Robert　pass；　this　time　leisurely；　along　the　top　of　the　garden；　she
  put　on　her　bonnet　and　shawl；　and；　allowing　him　time　to　reach　his
  den；　followed　him；　in　the　hope　of　finding　out　whether　or　not　he
  could　play。　　I　do　not　know　what　proficiency　the　boy　had　attained；
  very　likely　not　much；　for　a　man　can　feel　the　music　of　his　own　bow；
  or　of　his　own　lines；　long　before　any　one　else　can　discover　it。　　He
  had　already　made　a　path；　not　exactly　worn　one；　but　trampled　one；
  through　the　neglected　grass；　and　Miss　St。　John　had　no　difficulty　in
  finding　his　entrance　to　the　factory。
  She　felt　a　little　eerie；　as　Robert　would　have　called　it；　when　she
  passed　into　the　waste　silent　place；　for　besides　the　wasteness　and
  the　silence；　motionless　machines　have　a　look　of　death　about　them；　at
  least　when　they　bear　such　signs　of　disuse　as　those　that　filled　these
  rooms。　　Hearing　no　violin；　she　waited　for　a　while　in　the
  ground…floor　of　the　building；　but　still　hearing　nothing；　she
  ascended　to　the　first　floor。　　Here；　likewise；　all　was　silence。　　She
  hesitated；　but　at　length　ventured　up　the　next　stair；　beginning；
  however；　to　feel　a　little　troubled　as　well　as　eerie；　the　silence　was
  so　obstinately　persistent。　　Was　it　possible　that　there　was　no　violin
  in　that　brown　paper？　　But　that　boy　could　not　be　a　liar。　　Passing
  shelves　piled…up　with　stores　of　old　thread；　she　still　went　on；　led
  by　a　curiosity　stronger　than　her　gathering　fear。　　At　last　she　came
  to　a　little　room；　the　door　of　which　was　open；　and　there　she　saw
  Robert　lying　on　the　floor　with　his　head　in　a　pool　of　blood。
  Now　Mary　St。　John　was　both　brave　and　kind；　and；　therefore；　though
  not　insensible　to　the　fact　that　she　too　must　be　in　danger　where
  violence　had　been　used　to　a　boy；　she　set　about　assisting　him　at
  once。　　His　face　was　deathlike；　but　she　did　not　think　he　was　dead。
  She　drew　him　out　into　the　passage；　for　the　room　was　close；　and　did
  all　she　could　to　recover　him；　but　for　some　time　he　did　not　even
  breathe。　　At　last　his　lips　moved；　and　he　murmured；
  'Sandy；　Sandy；　ye've　broken　my　bonnie　leddy。'
  Then　he　opened　his　eyes；　and　seeing　a　face　to　dream　about　bending　in
  kind　consternation　over　him；　closed　them　again　with　a　smile　and　a
  sigh；　as　if　to　prolong　his　dream。
  The　blood　now　came　fast　into　his　forsaken　cheeks；　and　began　to　flow
  again　from　the　wound　in　his　head。　　The　lady　bound　it　up　with　her
  handkerchief。　　After　a　little　he　rose；　though　with　difficulty；　and
  stared　wildly　about　him；　saying；　with　imperfect　articulation；
  'Father！　father！'　　Then　he　looked　at　Miss　St。　John　with　a　kind　of
  dazed　inquiry　in　his　eyes；　tried　several　times　to　speak；　and　could
  not。
  'Can　you　walk　at　all？'　asked　Miss　St。　John；　supporting　him；　for　she
  was　anxious　to　leave　the　place。
  'Yes；　mem；　weel　eneuch；'　he　answered。
  'Come　along；　then。　　I　will　help　you　home。'
  'Na；　na；'　he　said；　as　if　he　had　just　recalled　something。　'Dinna　min'
  me。　　Rin　hame；　mem；　or　he'll　see　ye！'
  'Who　will　see　me？'
  Robert　stared　more　wildly；　put　his　hand　to　his　head；　and　made　no
  reply。　　She　half　led；　half　supported　him　down　the　stair；　as　far　as
  the　first　landing；　when　he　cried　out　in　a　tone　of　anguish；
  'My　bonny　leddy！'
  'What　is　it？'　asked　Miss　St。　John；　thinking　he　meant　her。
  'My　fiddle！　my　fiddle！　　She　'll　be　a'　in　bits；'　he　answered；　and
  turned　to　go　up　again。
  'Sit　down　here；'　said　Miss　St。　John；　'and　I'll　fetch　it。'
  Though　not　without　some　tremor；　she　darted　back　to　the　room。　　Then
  she　turned　faint　for　the　first　time；　but　determinedly　supporting
  herself；　she　looked　about；　saw　a　brown…paper　parcel　on　a　shelf；　took
  it；　and　hurried　out　with　a　shudder。
  Robert　stood　leaning　against　the　wall。　　He　stretched　out　his　hands
  eagerly。
  'Gie　me　her。　　Gie　me　her。'
  'You　had　better　let　me　carry　it。　　You　are　not　able。'
  'Na；　na；　mem。　　Ye　dinna　ken　hoo　easy　she　is　to　hurt。'
  'Oh；　yes；　I　do！'　returned　Miss　St。　John；　smiling；　and　Robert　could
  not　withstand　the　smile。
  'Weel；　tak　care　o'　her；　as　ye　wad　o'　yer　ain　sel'；　m