nt to his lonely stool and home 'untreasured of its
mistress.' Robert went home too, and stole like a thief to his room.

The next day was a Saturday, which, indeed, was the real old Sabbath, or
at least the half of it, to the schoolboys of Rothieden. Even Robert's
grannie was Jew enough, or rather Christian enough, to respect this
remnant of the fourth commandment--divine antidote to the rest of the
godless money-making and soul-saving week--and he had the half-day to
himself. So as soon as he had had his dinner, he managed to give Shargar
the slip, left him to the inroads of a desolate despondency, and stole
away to the old factory-garden. The key of that he had managed to
purloin from the kitchen where it hung; nor was there much danger of its
absence being discovered, seeing that in winter no one thought of the
garden. The smuggling of the violin out of the house was the 'dearest
danger'--the more so that he would not run the risk of carrying her out
unprotected, and it was altogether a bulky venture with the case. But
by spying and speeding he managed it, and soon found himself safe within
the high walls of the garden.

It was early spring. There had been a heavy fall of sleet in the
morning, and now the wind blew gustfully about the place. The neglected
trees shook showers upon him as he passed under them, trampling down the
rank growth of the grass-walks. The long twigs of the wall-trees, which
had never been nailed up, or had been torn down by the snow and the
blasts of winter, went trailing away in the moan of the fitful wind, and
swung back as it sunk to a sigh. The currant and gooseberry bushes, bare
and leafless, and 'shivering all for cold,' neither reminded him of the
feasts of the past summer, nor gave him any hope for the next. He strode
careless through it all to gain the door at the bottom. It yielded to a
push, and the long grass streamed in over the threshold as he entered.
He mounted by a broad stair in the main part of the house, passing the
silent clock in one of its corners, now expiating in motionlessness the
false accusations it had brought against the work-people, and turned
into the chaos of machinery.

I fear that my readers will expect, from the minuteness with which I
recount these particulars, that, after all, I am going to describe a
rendezvous with a lady, or a ghost at least. I will not plead in excuse
that I, too, have been infected with Sandy's mode of regarding her,
but I plead th