"Eh! that's a siller can'lestick, Maister MacPhail," she cried, "an' ye maunna tak a knife till 't, or ye'll scrat it a' dreidfu'."

An angry flush glowed in the withered cheeks of the piper, as, without the least start at the suddenness of her interference, he turned his face in the direction of the speaker.

"You take old Tuncan's finkers for persons of no etchucation, mem!

As if tey couldn't know ta silfer from ta pra.s.s! If tey wa.s.s so stupid, her nose would pe telling tem so. Efen old Tuncan's knife 'll pe knowing petter than to scratch ta silfer--or ta pra.s.s either; old Tuncan's knife would pe scratching nothing petter tan ta skin of a Cawmill."

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 x.x.xIII: THE LIBRARY

Malcolm's first night was rather troubled,--not primarily from the fact that but a thin part.i.tion 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 a.s.saults 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 a.s.sailed 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 seash.o.r.e; 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.

About ten o'clock he was summoned to the marquis's presence, and found him at breakfast with Lady Florimel.

"Where did you sleep last night?" asked the marquis.

"Neist door to the auld warlock," answered Malcolm.

Lady Florimel looked up with a glance of bright interest: her father had just been telling her the story.

"You did!" said the marquis. "Then Mrs Courthope--did she tell you the legend about him?"

"Ay did she, my lord."

"Well, how did you sleep?"

"Middlin' only."

"How was that?"

"I dinna ken, 'cep it was 'at I was fule eneuch to fin' the place gey eerie like."

"Aha!" said the marquis. "You've had enough of it! You won't try it again!"

"What 's that ye say, my lord?" rejoined Malcolm. "Wad ye hae a man turn 's back at the first fleg? Na, na, my lord; that wad never du!"

"Oh! then, you did have a fright?"

"Na, I canna say that aither. Naething waur cam near me nor a dream 'at plaguit me--an' it wasna sic an ill ane efter a'."

"What was it?"

"I thocht there was a bonny leddy sittin' o' the bed i' the neist room, in her nichtgoon like, an' she was greitin' sair in her heirt, though she never loot a tear fa' doon. She was greitin' about a bairnie she had lost, an' I kent weel whaur the bairnie was-- doon in a cave upo' the sh.o.r.e, I thoucht--an' was jist yirnin'

to gang till her an' tell her, an' stop the greitin' o' her hert, but I cudna muv han' nor fit, naither cud I open my mou' to cry till her. An' I gaed dreamin' on at the same thing ower an' ower, a' the time I was asleep. But there was naething sae frichtsome aboot that, my lord."

"No, indeed," said his lordship.

"Only it garred me greit tu, my lord, 'cause I cudna win at her to help her."

His lordship laughed, but oddly, and changed the subject.

"There's no word of that boat yet," he said. "I must write again."

"May I show Malcolm the library, papa?" asked Lady Florimel.

"I wad fain see the buiks," adjected Malcolm.

"You don't know what a scholar he is, papa!"

"Little eneuch o' that!" said Malcolm.

"Oh yes! I do," said the marquis, answering his daughter. "But he must keep the skipper from my books and the scholar from my boat."

"Ye mean a scholar wha wad skip yer buiks, my lord! Haith! sic wad be a skipper wha wad ill scull yer boat!" said Malcolm, with a laugh at the poor attempt.

"Bravo!" said the marquis, who certainly was not over critical.

"Can you write a good hand?"

"No ill, my lord."

"So much the better! I see you 'll be worth your wages."

"That depen's on the wages," returned Malcolm.

"And that reminds me you 've said nothing about them yet."

"Naither has yer lordship."

"Well, what are they to be?"

"Whatever ye think proper, my lord. Only dinna gar me gang to Maister Crathie for them."

The marquis had sent away the man who was waiting when Malcolm entered, and during this conversation Malcolm had of his own accord been doing his best to supply his place. The meal ended, Lady Florimel desired him to wait a moment in the hall.

"He 's so amusing, papa!" she said. "I want to see him stare at the books. He thinks the schoolmaster's hundred volumes a grand library! He 's such a goose! It 's the greatest fun in the world watching him."

"No such goose!" said the marquis; but he recognized himself in his child, and laughed.

Florimel ran off merrily, as bent on a joke, and joined Malcolm.