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Updated: June 3, 2025
Having thought the thing out pretty thoroughly, as he fancied, and resolved at the same time to feel his way toward negotiations with Mistress Catanach, he turned and rode home.
"I dinna ken; maybe ay an' maybe no I wadna say. But I dinna want to hae onything to du wi' ye, mem." "Ma'colm MacPhail," said Mrs Catanach, lowering her voice to a hoarse whisper, while every trace of laughter vanished from her countenance, "ye hae had mair to du wi' me nor ye ken, an' aiblins ye'll hae mair yet nor ye can weel help. Sae caw canny, my man."
Now, all this was the merest talk, for of course Miss Horn could not long remain in ignorance of the declaration her fury had, the night previous, forced from Mrs. Catanach; but he must, he thought, put her off and keep her quiet, if possible, until he had come to an understanding with Malcolm, after which he would no doubt have his trouble with her.
"By name she's Bauby Cat'nach, an' by natur' she's what I tell ye an' gien I had her 'atween my twa een, it 's what I wad say to the face o' her." "It can't be MacPhail! Mrs Stewart says he is her son, and the woman Catanach is her chief witness in support of the claim." "The deevil has a better to the twa o' them, my lord, as they 'll ken some day.
He set Mr Morrison to preside at the farmers' tables, and had all the fisher folk about himself. When the main part of the dinner was over, he rose, and with as much circumstance as he thought desirable, told his story, beginning with the parts in it his uncle and Mrs Catanach had taken.
Now there were but three besides Mrs Catanach and Malcolm who did know who was his mother, namely, Miss Horn, Mr Graham, and a certain Mr Morrison, a laird and magistrate near Portlossie, an elderly man, and of late in feeble health. The lawyers the marquis had employed on his death bed did not know: he had, for Florimel's sake taken care that they should not.
Whom should he see, as he turned into it, but Mrs Catanach! standing on her own doorstep, opposite the descent to the Seaton, shading her eyes with her hand, and looking far out over the water through the green smoke of the village below.
"Nane o' yer hearkenin' at the keye hole, though, or I s' lug mark ye, ye !" said Mrs Catanach, finishing the sentence none the more mildly that she did it only in her heart. "I wadna hae ye believe a' 'at she says, my lord," said Malcolm, with a significant smile, as he turned to creep away.
Isna she bonny, Malkie? Isna hers a winsome shape an' a lauchin' ee? Didna she draw ye on, an' luik i' the hawk's een o' ye, an' lay herself oot afore ye, an' ?" "She did naething o' the sort, ye ill tongued wuman!" said Malcolm in anger. "Ho! ho!" trumpeted Mrs Catanach. "Ill tongued, am I? An' what neist?"
But the moment fowk says wha I am ye touch na a poun'-not' mair, an' I coont mysel' free to pursue onything I can pruv agane ye." Mrs. Catanach attempted a laugh of scorn, but her face was gray as putty and its muscles declined response. "Ay or no?" said Malcolm. "I winna gar ye sweir, for I wad lippen to yer aith no a hair."
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