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was to be found seated by Mr。 Lindsay's parlour fire。
As he entered the room that same evening； a young girl raised
herself from a low seat by the fire to meet him。 There was a faint
rosy flush on her cheek； and she held a volume in her hand as she
approached her father。 They did not kiss： kisses were not a legal
tender in Scotland then： possibly there has been a depreciation in
the value of them since they were。
'I've been to ask after Mr。 Ericson；' said Mr。 Lindsay。
'And how is he？' asked the girl。
'Very poorly indeed；' answered her father。
'I am sorry。 You'll miss him； papa。'
'Yes； my dear。 Tell Jenny to bring my lamp。'
'Won't you have your tea first； papa？'
'Oh yes； if it's ready。'
'The kettle has been boiling for a long time； but I wouldn't make
the tea till you came in。'
Mr。 Lindsay was an hour later than usual； but Mysie was quite
unaware of that： she had been absorbed in her book； too much
absorbed even to ring for better light than the fire afforded。 When
her father went to put off his long； bifurcated greatcoat； she
returned to her seat by the fire； and forgot to make the tea。 It
was a warm； snug room； full of dark； old…fashioned； spider…legged
furniture； low…pitched； with a bay…window； open like an ear to the
cries of the German Ocean at night； and like an eye during the day
to look out upon its wide expanse。 This ear or eye was now
curtained with dark crimson； and the room； in the firelight； with
the young girl for a soul to it； affected one like an ancient book
in which he reads his own latest thought。
Mysie was nothing over the middle heightdelicately…fashioned； at
once slender and round； with extremities neat as buds。 Her
complexion was fair； and her face pale； except when a flush； like
that of a white rose； overspread it。 Her cheek was lovelily curved；
and her face rather short。 But at first one could see nothing for
her eyes。 They were the largest eyes； and their motion reminded one
of those of Sordello in the Purgatorio：
E nel muover degli occhi onesta e tarda：
they seemed too large to move otherwise than with a slow turning
like that of the heavens。 At first they looked black； but if one
ventured inquiry； which was as dangerous as to gaze from the
battlements of Elsinore； he found them a not very dark brown。 In
her face； however； especially when flushed； they had all the effect
of what Milton describes as
Quel sereno fulgor d'amabil nero。
A wise observer would have been a little troubled in regarding her
mouth。 The sadness of a morbid sensibility hovered about itthe
sign of an imagination wrought upon from the centre of self。 Her
lips were neither thin nor compressedthey closed lightly； and were
richly curved； but there was a mobility almost tremulous about the
upper lip that gave sign of the possibility of such an oscillation
of feeling as might cause the whole fabric of her nature to rock
dangerously。
The moment her father re…entered； she started from her stool on the
rug； and proceeded to make the tea。 Her father took no notice of
her neglect； but drew a chair to the table； helped himself to a
piece of oat…cake； hastily loaded it with as much butter as it could
well carry； and while eating it forgot it and everything else in the
absorption of a volume he had brought in with him from his study； in
which he was tracing out some genealogical thread of which he
fancied he had got a hold。 Mysie was very active now； and lost the
expression of far…off…ness which had hitherto characterized her
countenance； till； having poured out the tea； she too plunged at
once into her novel； and； like her father； forgot everything and
everybody near her。
Mr。 Lindsay was a mild； gentle man； whose face and hair seemed to
have grown gray together。 He was very tall； and stooped much。 He
had a mouth of much sensibility； and clear blue eyes； whose light
was rarely shed upon any one within reach except his daughterthey
were so constantly bent downwards； either on the road as he walked；
or on his book as he sat。 He had been educated for the church； but
had never risen above the position of a parish school…master。 He
had little or no impulse to utterance； was shy； genial； and； save in
reading； indolent。 Ten years before this point of my history he had
been taken up by an active lawyer in Edinburgh； from information
accidentally supplied by Mr。 Lindsay himself； as the next heir to a
property to which claim was laid by the head of a county family of
wealth。 Probabilities were altogether in his favour； when he gave
up the contest upon the offer of a comfortable annuity from the
disputant。 To leave his schooling and his possible estate together；
and sit down comfortably by his own fireside； with the means of
buying books； and within reach of a good old librarythat of King's
College by preferencewas to him the sum of all that was desirable。
The income offered him was such that he had no doubt of laying
aside enough for his only child； Mysie； but both were so ill…fitted
for saving； he from looking into the past； she from looking
intowhat shall I call it？ I can only think of negativeswhat was
neither past； present； nor future； neither material nor eternal；
neither imaginative in any true sense； nor actual in any sense； that
up to the present hour there was nothing in the bank； and only the
money for impending needs in the house。 He could not be called a
man of learning； he was only a great bookworm； for his reading lay
all in the nebulous regions of history。 Old family records；
wherever he could lay hold upon them； were his favourite dishes；
old； musty books； that looked as if they knew something everybody
else had forgotten； made his eyes gleam； and his white
taper…fingered hand tremble with eagerness。 With such a book in his
grasp he saw something ever beckoning him on； a dimly precious
discovery； a wonderful fact just the shape of some missing fragment
in the mosaic of one of his pictures of the past。 To tell the
truth； however； his discoveries seldom rounded themselves into
pictures； though many fragments of the minutely dissected map would
find their places； whereupon he rejoiced like a mild giant refreshed
with soda…water。 But I have already said more about him than his
place justifies； therefore； although I could gladly linger over the
portrait； I will leave it。 He had taught his daughter next to
nothing。 Being his child； he had the vague feeling that she
inherited his wisdom； and that what he knew she knew。 So she sat
reading novels； generally trashy ones； while he knew no more of what
was passing in her mind than of what the Admirable Crichton might；
at the moment； be disputing with the angels。
I would not have my reader suppose that Mysie's mind was corrupted。
It was so simple and childlike； leaning to what was pure； and
looking up to what was noble； that anything directly bad in the
books sh