Now the candlestick had no business in the kitchen,
and if it were scratched, the butler would be indignant;
but the girl was a Campbell, and Duncan’s words
so frightened her that she did not dare interfere.
She soon saw, however, that the piper had not over
vaunted his skill: the skene left not a mark upon
the metal; in a few minutes he had melted away the
wax he could not otherwise reach, and had rubbed the
candlestick perfectly bright, leaving behind him no
trace except an unpleasant odour of train oil from
the rag. From that hour he was cleaner of lamps
and candlesticks, as well as blower of bagpipes, to
the House of Lossie; and had everything provided necessary
to the performance of his duties with comfort and
success.
Before many weeks were over, he had proved the possession
of such a talent for arrangement and general management,
at least in everything connected with illumination,
that the entire charge of the lighting of the house
was left in his hands,—even to that of
its stores of wax and tallow and oil; and great was
the pleasure he derived, not only from the trust reposed
in him, but from other more occult sources connected
with the duties of his office.
CHAPTER XXXIII: THE LIBRARY
Malcolm’s first night was rather troubled,—not
primarily from the fact that but a thin partition
separated him from the wizard’s chamber, but
from the deadness of the silence around him; for he
had been all his life accustomed to the near noise
of the sea, and its absence had upon him the rousing
effect of an unaccustomed sound. He kept hearing
the dead silence—was constantly dropping,
as it were into its gulf; and it was no wonder that
a succession of sleepless fits, strung together rather
than divided by as many dozes little better than startled
rousings, should at length have so shaken his mental
frame as to lay it open to the assaults of nightly
terrors, the position itself being sufficient to seduce
his imagination, and carry it over to the interests
of the enemy.
But Malcolm had early learned that a man’s will
must, like a true monarch, rule down every rebellious
movement of its subjects, and he was far from yielding
to such inroads as now assailed him: still it
was long before he fell asleep, and then only to dream
without quite losing consciousness of his peculiar
surroundings. He seemed to know that he lay in
his own bed, and yet to be somehow aware of the presence
of a pale woman in a white garment, who sat on the
side of the bed in the next room, still and silent,
with her hands in her lap, and her eyes on the ground.
He thought he had seen her before, and knew, notwithstanding
her silence, that she was lamenting over a child she
had lost. He knew also where her child was,—that
it lay crying in a cave down by the seashore; but he
could neither rise to go to her, nor open his mouth
to call. The vision kept coming and coming, like
the same tune played over and over on a barrel organ,
and when he woke seemed to fill all the time he had
slept.
