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MacDonald, George, 1824-1905

"Malcolm"

He
made little of it, however, bound it up, and, as the marquis would
not now hear of bringing the luncheon to the top, having, he said,
had more than enough of the place, limped painfully after them down
to the shore.
Knowing whither they were bound, and even better acquainted with
the place than Malcolm himself; Mrs Catanach, the moment she had
drawn down her blinds in mourning for her dog, had put her breakfast
in her pocket, and set out from her back door, contriving mischief
on her way. Arrived at the castle, she waited a long time before
they made their appearance, but was rewarded for her patience, as
she said to herself; by the luck which had so wonderfully seconded
her cunning. From a broken loophole in the foundation of a round
tower, she now watched them go down the hill. The moment they
were out of sight, she crept like a fox from his earth, and having
actually crawled beyond danger of discovery, hurried away inland,
to reach Portlossie by footpaths and byways, and there show herself
on her own doorstep.
The woman's consuming ambition was to possess power over others
--power to hurt them if she chose--power to pull hidden strings
fastened to their hearts or consciences or history or foibles or
crimes, and so reduce them, in her knowledge, if not in theirs, to
the condition of being, more or less, her slaves. Hence she pounced
upon a secret as one would on a diamond in the dust, any fact even
was precious, for it might be allied to some secret--might, in
combination with other facts, become potent.


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