The House on the Moor, v. 2/3Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
General
The House on the Moor, v. 2/3
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Fiction
Pouncet's influence had been exerted to further the
views of his partner elsewhere, and how it happened that the stranger's
reception showed so much ceremonious regard and so little cordiality.
With a certain sense of envy and emulation, the young man regarded this
new comer, who held another man, repugnant and unwilling, fast in his
gripe, and had him in his power. It is _chacun a son gout_ in matters of
ambition as well as in other matters. There was something intoxicating
to the mind of Horace in this species of superiority. To have command
secretly, by some undisclosable means, of another individual's will and
actions: to domineer secretly over his victim by a spell which he dared
neither resist nor acknowledge; this was something more than a mere
means of advancement; independent of all results, there was a
fascination indescribable in the very sensation of this power.
And it was this power which he himself had acquired over these two men,
so totally unlike each other, who would see him to-day, unsuspicious of
his enlightenment, and this evening meet him at the social table, which
already won such influence, put under a painful constraint. Horace
exulted as he thought of it, and brushed past the early Kenlisle
wayfarers with such a colour on his cheek, and a step so brisk and
energetic, that not one of them believed the tales to his disadvantage,
and furtive hints of having been seen in unnameable places, which began
to be dropped about the little gossiping town. He had only time to make
a hurried toilette, deferring to that more important necessity, the
breakfast, which he had no leisure to take, and to hasten to "the
office," where he sat punctual and composed at his desk, for full two
hours before his companion of the previous night appeared, nervous and
miserable, at his post, with an aching head and trembling fingers.
Horace glanced across with cool contempt at this _miserable_ as he
entered. He was conscious that he himself, in his iron force of youth
and selfishness, looked rather better and more self-controlled than
usual under the inspiration of his new knowledge, and he looked at his
weaker compeer with a half-amused, contemptuous smile. This very smile
and disdain had their effect on the little circle of spectators, who all
observed it with an involuntary respect, and forgot to think what might
be the heart and disposition of this lofty comrade of theirs, in
admiring homage to the coolness of his insolence and the strength of his
head.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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