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CHAPTER II: THE LIBRARY
When she had finished her oats, Malcolm left her busy with her hay,
for she was a huge eater, and went into the house, passing through
the kitchen and ascending a spiral stone stair to the library--the
only room not now dismantled. As he went along the narrow passage
on the second floor leading to it from the head of the stair, the
housekeeper, Mrs Courthope, peeped after him from one of the many
bedrooms opening upon it, and watched him as he went, nodding her
head two or three times with decision: he reminded her so strongly
--not of his father, the last marquis, but the brother who had
preceded him, that she felt all but certain, whoever might be his
mother, he had as much of the Colonsay blood in his veins as any
marquis of them all. It was in consideration of this likeness that
Mr Crathie had permitted the youth, when his services were not
required, to read in the library.
Malcolm went straight to a certain corner, and from amongst a dingy
set of old classics took down a small Greek book, in large type.
It was the manual of that slave among slaves, that noble among the
free, Epictetus. He was no great Greek scholar, but, with the help
of the Latin translation, and the gloss of his own rath experience,
he could lay hold of the mind of that slave of a slave, whose very
slavery was his slave to carry him to the heights of freedom. It was
not Greek he cared for, but Epictetus. It was but little he read,
however, for the occurrence of the morning demanded, compelled
thought. Mr Crathie's behaviour caused him neither anger nor
uneasiness, but it rendered necessary some decision with regard to
the ordering of his future.
I can hardly say he recalled how, on his deathbed, the late marquis,
about three months before, having, with all needful observances,
acknowledged him his son, had committed to his trust the welfare
of his sister; for the memory of this charge was never absent from
his feeling even when not immediately present to his thought. But
although a charge which he would have taken upon him all the same
had his father not committed it to him, it was none the less a
source of perplexity upon which as yet all his thinking had let in
but little light. For to appear as Marquis of Lossie was not merely
to take from his sister the title she supposed her own, but to
declare her illegitimate, seeing that, unknown to the marquis, the
youth's mother, his first wife, was still alive when Florimel was
born. How to act so that as little evil as possible might befall
the favourite of his father, and one whom he had himself loved with
the devotion almost of a dog, before he knew she was his sister,
was the main problem.
For himself, he had had a rough education, and had enjoyed it: his
thoughts were not troubled about his own prospects. Mysteriously
committed to the care of a poor blind Highland piper, a stranger
from inland regions, settled amongst a fishing people, he had, as
he grew up, naturally fallen into their ways of life and labour,
and but lately abandoned the calling of a fisherman to take charge
of the marquis's yacht, whence, by degrees, he had, in his helpfulness,
grown indispensable to him and his daughter, and had come to live
in the house of Lossie as a privileged servant. His book education,
which he owed mainly to the friendship of the parish schoolmaster,
although nothing marvellous, or in Scotland very peculiar, had
opened for him in all directions doors of thought and inquiry, but
the desire of knowledge was in his case, again through the influences
of Mr Graham, subservient to an almost restless yearning after
the truth of things, a passion so rare that the ordinary mind can
hardly master even the fact of its existence.
The Marchioness of Lossie, as she was now called, for the family
was one of the two or three in Scotland in which the title descends
to an heiress, had left Lossie House almost immediately upon her
father's death, under the guardianship of a certain dowager countess.
Lady Bellair had taken her first to Edinburgh, and then to London.
Tidings of her Malcolm occasionally received through Mr Soutar of
Duff Harbour, the lawyer the marquis had employed to draw up the
papers substantiating the youth's claim. The last amounted to this,
that, as rapidly as the proprieties of mourning would permit, she
was circling the vortex of the London season; and Malcolm was now
almost in despair of ever being of the least service to her as
a brother to whom as a servant he had seemed at one time of daily
necessity. If he might but once be her skipper, her groom, her
attendant, he might then at least learn how to discover to her
the bond between them, without breaking it in the very act, and so
ruining the hope of service to follow.
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