Read Online Here Burns My Candle by Liz Curtis Higgs - Free Book Online Page A

Nature in its Fourfold State deserved a more sober reading.
    But Elisabeth had already settled into an upholstered chair, her long feet balanced on a velvet-covered footstool. “Man’s life is a stream,” she read aloud, “running into death’s devouring deeps. They who now live in palaces must quit them…”
    Marjory let the words wash over her, keeping only those sentiments that pleased her. “This world is like a great fair or market.” Aye, the High Street especially. “Youth is a flower that soon withers.” Her looking glass proved that. “Christ has taken away the sting of death.” A reassuring thought.
    But the vanity of man’s life, the sinfulness of man’s nature, the certainty of man’s demise—Marjory did not dwell on those subjects. The tragic loss of Lord John had taught her all she needed to know of death and more than she wanted to know of guilt. His portrait hung above the marble mantelpiece, a tacit reminder of a marriage ended too soon.
    Marjory sank back against the chair, closing her eyes so she might listen without distraction. Elisabeth’s voice played on, like a music box, the sound growing fainter and fainter…
    “Mother?”
    Marjory slowly lifted her head and blinked, trying to make sense ofthings. The drawing room bathed in shadows. The warmth of the fire. Flickering candles on the mantelpiece. Donald touching her shoulder.
    “You sent the right man,” he said, smiling down at her. “When Gibson found me in the Lawnmarket, he insisted I come home and refused to hear otherwise.”
    “The Lord bless him for it.” Marjory studied Donald’s face. He was paler than usual with a fine sheen on his brow and upper lip and a bruised look to his eyes. Poor lad . He’d had a difficult afternoon. Though Donald no longer suffered as Andrew did, she’d sent Gibson none too soon.
    Relieved to have them both home, Marjory sat up and patted her hair in place, knowing she must look frightful. How had she slept so soundly? When she glanced at the clock, her eyes widened. “Is it past six?”
    “Aye.” Donald nodded toward the window. “The light has long faded.”
    “Now black and deep the night begins to fall.” Marjory paused, waiting to see if he recognized the line of poetry.
    “Much too easy,” he chided her, “or have you forgotten I acquired a new edition of Thomson’s The Seasons?”
    She sniffed. “I know better than to test you after I’ve been napping.”
    Elisabeth spoke from across the room. “Do forgive us for not waking you.” She sat before a tambour frame, embroidering one of Donald’s silk waistcoats, the scarlet thread in constant motion, a bank of candles lighting her tiny stitches. “Lord Kerr mentioned you did not sleep well last night.”
    “On the contrary.” Marjory abruptly stood, ignoring a slight twinge of pain. “I slept very well.” She took a turn round the room, hoping to ease the stiffness in her knees. “What news from the Lawnmarket, Lord Kerr? You’ve no doubt informed the others.” When she paused at one of the windows overlooking Milne Square, Donald joined her, briefly touching her hand, a thoughtful son comforting his mother.
    “I reached the Lawnmarket not far ahead of Hamilton’s dragoons,” he began. “An hour later the Gentlemen Volunteers marched down the West Bow. You know what a winding, zigzag of a street it is, giving menwith second thoughts a chance to slip off unnoticed through open doorways or narrow wynds. By the time the Volunteers reached the Grass-market, only forty soldiers remained.”
    “Forty?” Marjory looked up at him, aghast. “I thought they numbered four hundred.”
    Donald looked out into the deepening twilight. “Family members pulled many aside, convincing them to stay behind. Other men couldn’t find the courage to go on. Then the parish ministers arrived, pleading for the youth of Edinburgh and the hope of the next generation.” He shook his head. “When Reverend Wishart spoke of the lads