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Puck Himself. 17
On a gorgeous bed, surrounded by heavy and
elegant curtains, lay a man, who in vain sought
the blessings of refreshing sleep. Every time that
he closed his eyes a crowd of pale and distressed
figures emerged from all the corners of the chamber
and stretched forth their arms to him. From the
shadowy folds of the bed-curtains haggard faces
looked at him, and suppressed sighs and moans
filled the air.
“By wicked means has he acquired his wealth,
and all these tears of woe come from those whom,
heedless of their anguish, he has plunged into misery
and despair,” said Puck.
“ Away, away from me!” cried the rich man, and
writhed in agonized slumber. Cold perspiration
oozed out on his forehead, and he pressed his hands
convulsively against his eyes to drive away the
visions. But he only saw them more clearly and
distinctly, till at last, with a cry of inexpressible
anguish, he awoke to consciousness. “ Light, more
light!” he cried, and pulled the bell for his servants,
who carried into the room candelabra of silver with
the -candles lit, which they placed on the tables
and then disappeared, after first having thrown
furtive glances at their wretched master.
“All the lights in the world will not suffice to
chase away the dark spectres of conscience from your
bed! Repentance and amendment of your wrong-
doings alone can save you from them,” said Puck,
and thrust his staff against the wicked heart; but
it clanked as hollow as if he had struck against
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