That night, when the customary time arrived, she refused to take up her violin; and when her grandfather remonstrated, she had no definite excuse. She hesitated and stammered—said they had not played chess for ever so long—or would he rather have a game of draughts?—anything but the violin.
"Are you forgetting your good-natured neighbour over there?" her grandfather asked. "It will be quite a disappointment for her. Poor thing, it appears to be the only society she has; we never hear a sound otherwise; there seems to be no one ever come to talk to her during the day, or we should hear a voice now and again."
"Yes, but, grandfather," said Maisrie, who seemed much embarrassed, "don't you think it a little imprudent to—to encourage this kind of—of answering each other—without knowing who the other person is?"
"Why, what can be more harmless!" he protested, cheerfully, and then he went on: "More harmless than music?—nothing, nothing! Song is the solace of human life; in joy it is the natural expression of our happiness—in times of trouble it refreshes the heart with thoughts of other and brighter days. A light heart—a heart that can sing to itself—that is the thing to carry you through life, Maisrie!" And he himself, as he crossed the room to fetch a box of matches, was trolling gaily, with a fine bravura execution—
"The boat rocks at the pier o' Leith,
Fu' loud the wind blows frae the ferry;
The ship rides by the Berwick Law,
And I maun leave my bonnie Mary."
Maisrie was not to be moved; but she appeared down-hearted a little. As time went on the silence in the little street seemed somehow to accuse her; she knew she was responsible. She was playing draughts with her grandfather, in a perfunctory sort of way. She remembered that glance of appeal—she could not forget it—and this had been her answer. Then all of a sudden her hand that hovered over the board trembled, and she had almost dropped the piece that was in her fingers: for there had sprang into the stillness a half-hushed sound—it was an air she knew well enough—she could almost recognise the words—
"Nachtigall, ich hör' dich singen;
S'Herz thut mir im Leibe springen,
Komm nur bald und sag mir's wohl,
Wie ich mich verhalten soll."
Her grandfather stopped the game to listen; and when the soft-toned melody had ceased, he said——
"There, now, Maisrie, that is an invitation: you must answer."
"No, no, grandfather," she said, almost in distress. "I would rather not—you don't know—you must find out something about—about whoever it is that plays. I am sure it will be better. Of course it is quite harmless, as you say—oh, yes, quite harmless—but I should like you to get to know first—quite harmless, of course—but I am frightened—about a stranger—not frightened, of course—but—don't ask me, grandfather!"