In this endeavour he was so absorbed, and by the picture itself
was so divided from the rest of the room, that he neither saw nor
heard anything until Florimel cried out.
Naturally, those events made him yet more dissatisfied with his
sister's position. Evil influences and dangers were on all sides
of her--the worst possible outcome being that, loving one man,
she should marry another, and him such a man as Liftore. Whatever
he heard in the servants' hall, both tone and substance, only
confirmed the unfavourable impression he had had from the first of
the bold faced countess. The oldest of her servants had, he found;
the least respect for their mistress, although all had a certain
liking for her, which gave their disrespect the heavier import.
He must get Florimel away somehow. While all was right between
her and the painter he had been less anxious about her immediate
surroundings, trusting that Lenorme would ere long deliver her.
But now she had driven him from the very country, and he had left
no clue to follow him up by. His housekeeper could tell nothing of
his purposes. The gardener and she were left in charge as a matter
of course. He might be back in a week, or a year; she could not
even conjecture.
Seeming possibilities, in varied mingling with rank absurdities
passing through Malcolm's mind, as, after Liftore's punishment,
he lifted the portrait, set it again upon its easel, and went on
trying to clean the face of it--with no small promise of success.
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