Old Duncan grasps his son's arm and quickens his pace, though already breathing hard from their walk along that path near the sea. At the same time Mrs. Catanach comes gliding along the grass by the side of the road, noiseless as an adder. Wearing black silk gown, white shawl, and a great straw bonnet, she looks the very pattern of Sunday respectability . . . but her black eyebrows gloom ominously, and an evil smile shadows about the corners of her mouth as she passes father and son -- without taking the least notice of them. "I'm telling you, Malcolm," says Duncan, shuddering. "Beware that woman -- for she's thinking bad thoughts " This lowland village has come upon strange times . . . for a young woman has died in sorrow -- and the mad hunchback laird, Stephen Stewart, scurries across the heath, crying out to the skies to tell him where he came from. And now Malcolm's father warns against the woman Malcolm already knows to have strange and disturbing ways -- and to have hurled curses at him