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diff --git a/42926.txt b/42926.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 419a136..0000000 --- a/42926.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,13005 +0,0 @@ - THE LAST OF THEIR RACE - - - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost -no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this -eBook or online at http://www.gutenberg.org/license. - - - -Title: The Last of Their Race -Author: Annie S. Swan -Release Date: June 12, 2013 [EBook #42926] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST OF THEIR RACE *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - THE LAST OF - THEIR RACE - - - BY - ANNIE S. SWAN - - - - HODDER AND STOUGHTON LIMITED - LONDON - 1911 - - - - -DONALD AND MARY - -"For ours beyond the gate, -The deep things, the untold, -We only wait." - - - - _Made and Printed in Great Britain for Hodder & Stoughton, Limited_ - _By C. Tinling & Co., Ltd., Liverpool, London and Prescot._ - - - - - CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER I - -THE INDIAN MAIL - - CHAPTER II - -THE OLD HOME - - CHAPTER III - -ISLA TAKES ACTION - - CHAPTER IV - -THE AMERICANS - - CHAPTER V - -THE BRIDGE BUILDERS - - CHAPTER VI - -THE HOPE OF ACHREE - - CHAPTER VII - -THE HOME-COMING - - CHAPTER VIII - -MALCOLM'S PROSPECTS - - CHAPTER IX - -THE MESSENGER - - CHAPTER X - -THE HOUSE OF WOE - - CHAPTER XI - -VIVIEN - - CHAPTER XII - -THE HAND IN THE DARK - - CHAPTER XIII - -THE PASSING OF MACKINNON - - CHAPTER XIV - -FAMILY COUNSELS - - CHAPTER XV - -SETTLING DOWN - - CHAPTER XVI - -THE PURPLE LADY - - CHAPTER XVII - -HER TRUE FRIENDS - - CHAPTER XVIII - -GOOD-BYE TO GLENOGLE - - CHAPTER XIX - -IN THE LONDON TRAIN - - CHAPTER XX - -THE REALITY OF THINGS - - CHAPTER XXI - -THE MARKET PLACE - - CHAPTER XXII - -MR. AND MRS. BODLEY-CHARD - - CHAPTER XXIII - -AT CROSS PURPOSES - - CHAPTER XXIV - -THE CHAMPION - - CHAPTER XXV - -THE ARCH-PLOTTERS - - CHAPTER XXVI - -THE LURE OF VIVIEN - - CHAPTER XXVII - -THE CALL - - CHAPTER XXVIII - -WITH HASTENING FEET - - CHAPTER XXIX - -THE LAST LEAF ON THE TREE - - - - - CHAPTER I - - THE INDIAN MAIL - - -Isla Mackinnon came out from the narrow doorway of the Castle of Achree, -and stood for a moment on the broad step, worn by the feet of -generations, while she thoughtfully drew on a pair of shabby, old -leather gloves with gauntlets which came well up her slender arms. Hers -were small, fine, capable hands, in which at that moment, though she -knew it not, lay the whole destiny of Achree. Its very existence was to -be threatened that cool, clear March day, and there was none but Isla to -step into the breach. - -She did not look incompetent; nay, about her there was a fine strength -and courage, in her wide grey-blue eyes an undaunted spirit. - -It was a spirit that had had much to try its quality in her -six-and-twenty years of life, for half of which, at least, she had been -the chief buttress and hope of the house of her fathers. - -She looked her age, though her figure was very slender and straight. -The years that had brought her womanhood had left her the heart of a -child. It looked out from the clear eyes under the delicate lashes, it -was in the slightly downward curves of the small sensitive mouth that -had not had sufficient occasion for smiles to bring out all its -sweetness. - -Her hair, under the small tweed hat turned up at the brim with a -pheasant's wing, was a clear brown, with here and there a touch of the -sun inclining it to ruddy gold. She wore a short skirt of Harris tweed, -leather-bound, and a woollen coat of her own knitting, a pair of brown -brogues well fitted to her shapely feet, and under her arm she had a -shepherd's crook with a whistle at the end of it. - -Presently, when its clear, low call broke the stillness of the morning, -three dogs came bounding from some region beyond the house, betraying a -wild excitement which even her remonstrance could not keep in check. - -"Down, Murdo boy, and don't nip Bruce's ear again, or back you go to the -stable. Janet, you silly old woman, at your time of life you ought to -have more sense. Well then, off you go!" - -The big deer-hound, the fat, glossy, sable collie, and the small, wiry -Aberdeen lady who rejoiced in the sober name of Janet, thus admonished, -bounded before her down the drive between the laurel and the pine trees, -barking joyously as was their wont. - -About fifty yards from the house the carriage-way took a sharp turn, so -that the next few steps hid all except the cold slate roof and the -pinnacles of the little round towers which mark that particular style of -architecture called the Scottish baronial. - -The old Castle of Achree was considered one of the best examples of it -in the country, and it certainly was picturesque, if a little -"ill-convenient," as the country-folk had it. It was a large mansion of -sorts, but totally unsuited to the needs of a family and almost -completely devoid of all those modern conveniences which, in these days, -every artisan has at his command. - -It was so cut up by winding stairs and queer little passages that there -was scarcely a room of decent dimensions within its walls. It was full -of legend, of tragic memories, and did not even lack the ghost, a mailed -and headless warrior who haunted the dungeon-room where he had been done -to death. - -It was whitewashed or harled, but looked sadly in need of the washer's -brush. The rains of many a year had soddened and discoloured it, while, -here and there, at angles specially exposed, there were green patches -where the moss and lichen clung. - -Yet it made a picture of indescribable beauty, not untouched with -pathos, as the cradle of every great race must be, its history woven in -with its very stones. People came from far and near to see it, and many -artists had lingered enchanted over its picturesque detail. It stood on -a small, green plateau facing south, sheltered at the back by the -pine-clad hill of Creagh, which stood, like a sentinel, guarding the -great moor of Creagh that stretched away in the distance till it joined -the lands of Breadalbane towards Loch Tay. - -With the moor of Creagh the Mackinnon property ended on that side, but -it was still a goodly-sized estate, with shooting of some value, though -it had been cut down to as narrow dimensions as the extravagance of some -of the Mackinnons had dared to cut it. But never, never had Achree been -in such dire straits as now. - -When Isla left the gateway beside the little lodge and turned down the -beautiful road, she lifted her head and took a long deep breath. For -the morning air was good, though there was a nip of frost in it, and the -red sun lay warm and kindly on the clear summit of Ben Voirlich, of -which, at that point, an exquisite view could be obtained, though it was -in the next few steps lost again. The ruddy glow was reflected in the -clear waters of Loch Earn, and altogether the scene was one of -incomparable beauty, and it was knit into the very fibre of Isla -Mackinnon's being. It was her home, and the people were her own. She -had known none other. - -A few rare trips to London when her cousins, the richer Barras -Mackinnons, had had a house for the season, with occasional visits to -them at their home in one of the islands of the western seas, comprised -her whole knowledge of the world outside her own glen. But beyond that -she had neither asked nor desired anything else. The things she most -passionately desired and prayed for--peace for Achree and decent comfort -in which to live--were denied her. She lived in hope, however; but this -day was to see its utter quenching, so far as any earthly intelligence -could predict. - -The dogs, gambolling in front, knew their destination--the Earn village; -that is, if they did not meet David Bain with the post-gig on the road. - -For more than a year now it had been Isla's custom to meet the postman -for the purpose of intercepting any letters which it might not be wise -to let her father see. In this simple act a great part of the tragedy of -Achree may be apprehended. For even such innocent deception was foreign -to the soul and heart of Isla Mackinnon, which was as clear and true as -the waters of her own loch. - -She saw the fat, white pony presently, standing before the dry-stone -dyke that shut in the garden of Darrach farm-house from the road, and -she quickened her steps in order that she might reach it before he -started out again, and might thus save him another stop on the steep -ascent. That act was natural to her, if you like; for if at any time by -her thought or speech or act she could help another, then she was happy -indeed. - -But David of the grim face and the silent tongue had got into the gig -again, and the fat pony had ambled off before she could stop him. -Presently they met where a little water-course merrily crossed the -gravelly road, seeking its way to the Glenogle burn. - -"Good-morning, David. I hope you are quite well. You had letters for -Mrs. Maclure. Surely you are earlier than usual." - -"It wass only a post-cairt from her niece, Jeanie Maclure, from the -school at Govan sayin' she would come for the week-end maype," answered -David, as if the matter were of moment to the whole glen. "Yes--there -pe lots an' lots of letters. I hope yourself an' the General are fery -well this mornin'." - -"Thank you, we are," said Isla as she leaned against the shaft of the -old cart, stroking the fat pony's yellow eldes, her eyes a little more -bright and eager than usual. - -David fingered the letters with outward and visible clumsiness, but he -was most careful with them, and in all the years of his service he had -never made a mistake with one or failed to deliver it to its proper -recipient. - -"Thank you, David; this is all I want," said Isla as her fingers closed -over the thick letter enclosed in its foreign envelope. "Take the rest -up to Achree. My father will be waiting for them." - -"Yes, Miss Isla. That I will do, and hope it will pe good news from -Maister Malcolm in foreign parts, an' that he will pe fery well." - -"Thank you, David. He is sure to be well," said Isla, trying to speak -lightly, but her fingers were nervously closing over the letter, and -into her eyes there crept a strange shadow. - -She had sometimes said that she had the gift of second sight which was -so common among the Mackinnons. Certainly she knew before she opened -that letter, about a hundred yards lower down the road, that it -contained bad news. It was too thick to be of no consequence, for her -brother Malcolm was no great letterwriter when times were easy and his -credit good. - -She nodded good-bye to David Bain and passed on, hastening more quickly -than usual past the farm-house of Darrach, though there lived one of her -best and most faithful friends in the whole glen--one Elspeth Mackay -married to Donald Maclure, the big crofter who was respected in the -glen, from end to end of it, as a man of his word. - -But Elspeth's tongue was long and her eyes were very keen, and Isla was -not ready for them yet. Therefore she hastened past the gate of -Darrach, not even smiling as the rich, fine smell of Elspeth's baking -was borne out through the open door. Down the hill a little way she -came to the old brig that crossed the Darrach burn; and there she -paused, for there was no one in sight and the slope hid her from view of -Elspeth's windows. - -She could never afterwards recall that half-hour by the Darrach Brig -without an inward shudder. - -Thus did Malcolm Mackinnon, the ne'er-do-weel, write airily and lightly, -telling the miserable story that well nigh broke his sister's heart:-- - -"DEAR ISLA,--Last time you wrote me you hoped I would have better news -to send next time. I'm sorry I can't comply. I seem to have the -devil's own luck here in this beastly country. In fact, I may as well -say at once that it's all up with me and that I'm coming home. - -"I've never been very happy in the Thirty-fifth nor got on well with old -Martindale. He's a beast, if ever there was one, a regular martinet, -and unless you practise the whole art of sucking up to him you may as -well give up the ghost, as far as any chance of promotion or even of -fair play is concerned. Of course, no Mackinnon can suck up to -anybody--we've got too much beastly pride. Anyway, I haven't been able -to soft-sawder Martindale enough, and I have been in his black books -ever since I joined. But it's got a lot worse in the last nine months. - -"When I wrote the governor last year, asking him to use his influence to -get me shifted, I was quite in earnest, and if he'd done it all this row -might have been prevented. We've been up country a goodish bit since I -wrote last, and there again I didn't get fair play or a bit of a chance. -We've had several brushes with a hostile tribe, but the other chaps got -their innings every time and nothing but the dirty work was left to me. -We had such a lot of beastly, unnecessary fag on our marches that most -of the chaps were on the verge of mutiny; but I was the only one with -the courage to speak up. Whatever garbled version of the story may get -home, you may take it from me, old girl, that is the bottom truth of it. -Anyhow, I've got to send in my papers--that's the long and the short of -it. All the chaps, except the few that suck up to Martindale, think -I've been treated most beastly badly, and unjustly besides. But of -course nobody listens to a poor subaltern's defence or excuse. - -"By the time you get this I shall have started for home. I'm coming by -the 'Jumna,' a rotten slow boat, but I think it better for many -reasons--chiefly those of economy. I shall be pleased to see the old -place again, and I hope the governor won't cut up too rough. Try and -get the worst over for me before I come, because naturally I'm raw -enough about the whole bally thing, and couldn't stand much more. Fact -is, it's all right in a crack regiment for the chaps who have big -allowances. There's only one word to fit the case of poor, hard-up -beggars like me, and that one I mustn't use. Poverty opens the door to -all sorts of mischief and misery that a girl who never needs any money -can't begin to understand. - -"I'd better make a clean breast of it while I'm at it, and you'll have -time to digest it before I get home. I'm in with the money-lenders both -in London and in Calcutta. I owe about two thousand pounds, and how -it's to be paid is keeping me awake at night. Of course, it's been -advanced on Achree, so heaven only knows what will be the upshot. I'll -have to see that old starched stick Cattanach the minute I get back so -that the old man may not be worried. - -"If only I had the place in my own hands I'd make things hum a bit. You -know, Isla, everything has been shockingly neglected in the last five -years, and a perfect horde of pensioners have been kept off the poor old -place. The half of them ought to be chucked; it's nothing but -pauperizing the glen from end to end. A bit more could be screwed out -of the tenants, as most of them have their places dirt-cheap. - -"Well, old girl, I'm beastly sorry, for you can't be expected to like -this. But suspend your judgment, for really I'm not half so bad as I'm -painted, and if I had only half a chance I might prove it to you. I -must try and get somebody to introduce me to the Stock Exchange. That -seems to be the only way of turning an honest penny nowadays. There are -hundreds of military men on it. - -"Don't be too downhearted over this. You are such a one for taking -things seriously, and there's hardly anything in life worth worrying -about, really. You have the best of it, for nobody expects anything of -a girl, and she hasn't a chap's temptations. - -"Good-bye, old girl. I shall see you soon, if I don't fancy on board -the 'Jumna' that the easiest way out would be to drop quietly over the -rail some night when nobody's looking.--Your affectionate, but -down-on-his-luck, - -"MALCOLM." - -Just for the space of five minutes or so the world was a dark place to -Isla Mackinnon. She had no mother, and for the last ten years she had -borne a double burden--had experienced both a mother's anxiety and a -sister's shame for the ne'er-do-weel. The history of Malcolm -Mackinnon's misdeeds in the glen, and out of it, would fill a book. But -such a book would not be worth the writing. Through him evil had fallen -on an old and honourable house--its revenues had been scattered, its -very existence threatened. - -While Malcolm was stationed at home, at Colchester, at Sheerness, and at -the Curragh, complaints had been many and his scrapes innumerable, and -Isla had welcomed with abundant relief the news that his regiment was -ordered to India. That was three years ago. And now the final blow had -fallen. He had been dismissed the army, in itself a disgrace so -overwhelming that Isla knew there must be some scandalous story behind. - -Presently he would be home to loaf about in idleness, to harry the -people, to wring her heart and the heart of the old man, in so far as he -was able to comprehend. And, with it all, he would smile his wicked and -alluring smile and get off scot-free. This was the first time condign -punishment had been meted out to him, and he took it lightly and merely -remarked that it was injustice. Everything was injustice that sought in -any way to hamper the wayward impulses of Malcolm Mackinnon. It had been -so from his youth up. - -But what was to be done? That half-hour of anguish did its work on the -face of Isla Mackinnon. It ploughed a few more lines on it and took -away the last remnant of its girlish curve. She had a woman's work in -front of her, and a man's combined, for the intellect of the old General -was clouded now, and his bodily health frail. There was no one to act -for Achree save her alone. - -And she would act. Presently she threw her head up, and the pride of -her race crept back to sustain her, and her eye even flashed with the -swift strength of her new resolve. - -The dogs, hovering wistfully about her feet, asking mutely why she -lingered and cheated them out of their scamper down the hill, reminded -her of the passage of time. She pulled herself together, thrust the -letter into her bosom, and, grasping her stick, walked on with feet -which faltered only at the first step. - -She reached the village, gave her order at the little shop, inquired for -a child who was sick in the house above, passed the time of day with all -whom she met, and even listened patiently to a tinker's tale, told with -the persuasive guile of her tribe. She felt herself a dual person that -day. Never had the brain of the inner self been so active. Her swift -planning was so intense as to make her head ache. - -All her small commissions done, she breasted the hill again and so came -to the gate of Darrach farm-house, where Elspeth Maclure was looking out -for her. - -Now it must be explained that Elspeth had been a nurse-girl at Achree -and had had Isla in her absolute care for the first seven years of her -life. Then she had married honest Donald Maclure and had flitted to the -house of Darrach, whose chief recommendation, in her eyes, was that it -stood straight on the main road and that, from its windows, she could -see all who passed to and fro between the village and the old Castle. - -The private life of its inmates was not hid from Elspeth. She, too, -remembered and took anxious note of the Indian mail-day. As she came -down the path, wiping the flour of her baking from her hands on the -snow-white of her apron, her deep, dark eyes scanned the beloved face of -her darling with all a mother's solicitude. - -Elspeth was now considerably over forty--a comely, motherly woman with a -clear, rosy face and abundant black hair, a model wife and mother, and -the staunchest friend of Isla Mackinnon's whole life. - -When she opened the little gate, she saw that Isla could not speak, and -that her face was wan and dark under the eyes. She took her by the two -hands and drew her towards the door of the house. - -"It is pad news, whatefer, my lamb. I knew it wass comin' at twelve -o'clock last night when that thrawn prute of a cock wouldna stop his -crawin'. I wass for Donald gettin' up to thraw hiss ill neck, only he -wouldna." - -Isla did not speak, and, quite suddenly, when they got within the house, -where the baby, in a queer little cage of Donald's making, was crowing -in the middle of the floor, she threw herself into Elspeth'e arms and -burst into a storm of weeping. - -Now, this was the most terrifying thing that had ever happened in -Elspeth's experience, and it seemed to presage such woe as she had not -dreamed of. - -For the Mackinnons were a proud and self-contained race, and to make -parade of their feelings was impossible for them. It may be that they, -as a family, had erred in repressing them too much. There had been but -three in the family--the third being an elder sister who had married -young and died in childbed. Her death was the first sorrow that had -helped to take the spring out of the old man's heart. He had never, -perhaps, been quite just to Isla, because he had loved his first-born -best. - -"There, there, my lammie! God forpid that you should cry your heart oot -like that. Put there--it will do ye good! Oh, the man that invented -the post hass a heap to answer for. In the old days the trouble had -plown ower, whatefer, afore we got wind of it, especially when it -happened in foreign parts. What is he sayin' till it the day, my dear? -It is not impident curiosity that pids me ask, put I canna pear to see -ye like this." - -It was all spoken in a crooning voice which had the effect of soothing -the overcharged heart of the girl. That outburst of natural tears was -the very best thing which could have happened to her. Thus relieved, -her heart quickly recovered its strength. She drew back, smiling -weakly, begged to be forgiven for such an exhibition, and fumbled inside -her blouse for the missive that had wrought such woe. - -She smoothed it out and, for the moment, she thought to pass it over to -her faithful friend, who, though no scholar, would have had no -difficulty in reading that big, sprawling, crude schoolboy writing. But -again the shame of it overcame the girl, and sitting down on the edge of -a chair, she lifted her wet eyes to Elspeth's face and said -mournfully:-- - -"It's the deluge, Eppie. I've always said it would come, and it is -here." - -"What hass happened? Pe pleased to tell it quickly, Miss Isla, for I -nefer wass a good hand at waitin'." - -"Malcolm has been dismissed from the Army, and he is coming home. He -has sailed by now," she added, referring to the second page of the -letter, "and his ship, the 'Jumna,' will arrive in about three weeks. -It's a slow boat, but inside a month he'll be at Achree." - -Elspeth bit her lip, and her hands worked nervously in front of her -apron. - -"For the good God's sake, Miss Isla, what are we to do with him here?" - -"That's what I want to know. It will kill my father. He must never know -that Malcolm has been sent home. He must just think that it is an -ordinary leave of absence. Poor dear, it is not so hard to bamboozle -him now as it once was! If he grasped the fact that Malcolm had been -cashiered it would simply kill him. Now I shall be hard put to it, -watching for other letters from India or from the War Office. Oh, -Elspeth, I'm so tired of playing watch-dog! It's killing me. Sometimes -I think I shall get up quite early one morning and go down to the little -loch and just walk in, where it is all silvery with the dawn. Then -everything would be over, and I should be at peace!" - -"God forpid, my lamb, since ye are the one hope and salvation of -Achree," said Elspeth Maclure fervently. - -Isla shook her head. - -"There is little hope for Achree now, and, so far as I can see, nothing -can save it. My brother owes so much money, that, to get him clear, we -ought to sell it. It is what he will do himself, without doubt, whenever -he gets it into his own hands." - -Elspeth Maclure stood, thunderstruck and horrified, staring vaguely in -front of her. - -"Sell Achree what hass peen the place of the Mackinnons for efer and -efer!" she repeated slowly. "God forpid. He would nefer let it come to -pass. Oh, Miss Isla, the laws made py men are not good laws. I'm only -a plain woman, put this I see that, when a man iss like what Maister -Malcolm iss, without the fear of God or man in hiss heart, he should not -haf the power. I suppose he hass porrowed the money on the place, put -it iss not him that will haf to pey," she added fiercely. - -"No," repeated Isla, with a hard, far-away look on her face, "it is not -he who will have to pay." - - - - - CHAPTER II - - THE OLD HOME - - -Isla rose to her feet, and, suddenly, observing the baby clutching with -his chubby hands at the side of his cage and smiling engagingly into her -face, she stretched out her hands to him. - -"Oh, you darling! Did Isla forget him, then? What a shame!" - -She lifted him out, and his small chubby hands met tightly round her -neck, and his cheek was laid against hers with a coo of delight. -Elspeth stood smiling by, thinking of the wonder and gift of the child -that can charm grief away. - -"If only you had a good man of your own, Miss Isla, and a heap of little -pairns, like me, things would pe easier," she said quaintly. "It's not -for me to say, put I whiles think that if there had peen ither laddies -in Achree, Maister Malcolm wouldna haf had it all his own wey, which -would haf peen a good thing for him." - -"Yes, Elspeth, what you say is true; but I shall never have a man or any -little bairns," she said with a sigh. "My life-work is cut out plainly -enough--and has been from the beginning. I have to save Achree -somehow--and I will." - -"That would be a fery good thing, no doubt, put the ither would pe -petter, my lamb," said Elspeth with such yearning in her eyes that Isla, -feeling her composure shaking again, hastily kissed the child and put -him back in his little enclosure. - -"Donald must positively patent this, Eppie--he would make money by it. -It's the cleverest thing I've ever seen," she said lightly. - -"It does the turn, and I'm not sayin' put that Donald is clever--clever -with hiss hands. It makes up for the gift of the gab which he hass not -got. I never saw a man speak less. I whiles ask him if his tongue pe -not tired with too little wark." - -"Ah, but his heart is of gold, Eppie. Don't you ever miscall Donald to -me, for I won't listen." - -"Wha's misca'in him, whatefer?" asked Elspeth with a small laugh which -hid a tear. "Good-bye, Miss Isla, my ponnie dear, and may the good God -go wi' ye and help ye ower this steep pit of the road." - -Isla nodded and sped away, not daring to trust herself to further -speech. - -Left alone, Eppie Maclure sat down and incontinently began to cry. She -came from one of the islands of the western seas, owned by kinsfolk of -the Achree Mackinnons, and her heart was as soft as her speech, which -had the roll of the western seas in its tone. - -There were no tears in Isla's eyes as she breasted the hill bravely, -brain and heart so busy that the good mile seemed but a stone's throw. -It was half-past twelve when she stopped at the low doorway of the -house, and with a wave of the hand dismissed the dogs, who went off with -hanging heads, as if they were conscious of having missed something in -their walk. They knew--for there are few people wiser than the dumb -creatures that love us--that, though the body of their mistress had -accompanied them down the familiar way, her heart was clean away from -them and from all the little homely happenings that can make a country -walk so pleasant. - -She lifted the sneck softly and went in, closing the door behind her. -It was rather a wide low hall, with a flagged stone floor washed as -clean as hands and soft rain water could make it. A few deer-skins were -scattered on it, some of them rather worn and bare, as it was a long -time since a Mackinnon had stalked a deer in the forest of Achree. Some -fine antlered heads stood out upon the wall between the stout wooden -beams that supported it and were now black with age and shining with the -peatreek. A fire of peat was burning now in the wide fireplace, in -which there was no grate. On the oak mantelpiece there were queer, -carved wooden pots, full of stag's moss and heather that had lost its -bloom. - -It was a bare, cold place, with very little beauty to arrest the eye, -yet it had a dignity difficult to explain or to describe. The stair -went up, wide and steep, from one end of the hall for a few steps, and -then it became a winding one leading to all sorts of nooks and crannies -having small and unexpected landings, with doors opening abruptly off -them--a bewildering house, and very "ill-convenient" to quote once more -the language of the glen. But Isla Mackinnon loved every stone and beam -of it, and the heart of her was heavy, because she saw in the very near -future the day approaching when the Mackinnons would be out of it, root -and branch. - -"But not before I've done my best to save it, please God," she said -under her breath, as she cast her coat aside and went to look for her -father. - -An old serving-man in a shabby kilt emerged from the faded red-baize -door that shut off the servants' quarters, bearing a tray with glasses -in his hand. - -"I suppose it is just on lunch time, Diarmid?" she said. "Where is the -General?" - -"I have just put him comfortable with the paper by the library fire, -Miss Isla," said the man, as he scanned her face almost wistfully. - -He, too, knew the day of the Indian mail. She motioned him to the -dining-room, a long, narrow room furnished in what the irreverent called -spindle-shanks, but what was in reality genuine and valuable furniture -of the Chippendale period. Many old and very discoloured family -portraits covered the walls, and the carpet, once a warm crimson but now -almost threadbare, gave the only touch of colour to the place. The -table was beautifully set, and the silver on it was fit for a king's -table. - -The Mackinnons were very poor, but there were certain dignities of life -which they never ignored or made light of. Whatever the fare might -be--and on most occasions it was simple enough--the table was always so -laid that the best in the land could have been welcomed to it without -shame. The damask was darned, but yet it had a sheen like satin on it -such as they do not achieve on the looms of the present day. - -Isla closed the door and, steadying herself against it, spoke to the old -man who had served them as boy and man for five-and-forty years. - -"There is a letter from Mr. Malcolm, Diarmid. He is on his way home." - -Diarmid set down his tray rather suddenly, so that the glasses rang as -they touched one another. - -"Yes--Miss Isla?" he said almost feverishly. "But why will he come -home? Is it leave he is having already so soon?" - -"No, Diarmid. He is leaving the Army for good. I am telling you, -because you love us all so much and understand everything. This news -must be kept from the General." - -"Yes, Miss Isla--but how? If Mr. Malcolm comes home he comes home, and -the General will see him." - -"Oh, yes, but he must think only that he is home on furlough. We must -make up something that will satisfy him--for a time, at least." - -"Yes, Miss Isla, and if Mr. Malcolm is to come home what will he do here -in the glen, for sure he is a great big, strong gentleman--glory be to -God--and it is not thinkable that he can be here doing nothing?" - -"I haven't got so far as that, Diarmid," said Isla, wearily. "My head -aches and aches with thinking. I sometimes wish I could fall asleep at -night and never waken any more." - -"Yes, Miss Isla, but then the sun would go down upon the glen for efer -and efer," said the old man with twitching lips. - -He had carried her as a baby in his arms, he had set her almost before -she could toddle upon the back of the old sheltie that now lived, a fat -pensioner, in the paddock behind the house; he had watched her grow from -sweet girlhood to womanhood, and his heart had rebelled against the -hardness of her destiny. She had never had her due. Other girls in her -position had married well, had happy homes and devoted husbands, and -little children about their knees, while she, the flower of them all, -remained unplucked. - -Diarmid, a religious man--as befitted one who had lived such an -uneventful and happy life--was sometimes tempted to ask whether the God -whom he worshipped had fallen asleep over the affairs of Achree. Of -late, his rebellion had become acute. In the silence of his dingy -pantry he had even been known to shake his fist over the silver he was -polishing and to utter words not becoming on the lips of so circumspect -a servant. - -"Say nothing to the others, Diarmid. Let them think that Mr. Malcolm is -only home on furlough," she pursued. "I must make it right with my -father somehow. I'll go to him now and tell him about the letter." - -"Yes, Miss Isla. And Mr. Malcolm, he is quite well, I hope?" - -"Oh, yes, he is always well. Perhaps, if he were not--but there, I must -guard my tongue. The days are very dark over Achree, Diarmid, and it -may be that its sun will soon set for ever." - -"God forbid! He will nefer let that happen--no, nor anypody else, -forby," he said vaguely. "Keep up your brave heart, Miss Isla. I haf -seen it fery dark over the loch of a morning, and again, by midday, it -would clear and the sun come out. It will be like that now, nefer -fear." - -But though brave words were on the old man's tongue, black despair was -in his heart. He was only a servingman, but he could read between the -lines, and he knew that this sudden and unexpected home-coming of the -ne'er-do-weel meant something dire for Achree. His hands trembled very -much as he proceeded with his table duties, while his young mistress -made her way across the hall again to the library, a queer little -octagon room on the south side of the house, with no view to speak of -from its high, narrow windows that looked out on the rising slope of a -heather hill which made the beginning of the moor of Creagh. It was, -however, the snuggest room in the whole house, for which reason it was -used almost entirely by the General as a living place. - -He was frail now, going to bed early and rising late, and seldom caring -to ascend the winding stairs to his bedroom after he had once left it. - -Isla entered softly, and his dull ear failed to apprise him of the -opening of the door. She was thus able to look at him before he was -aware of her presence. Once a very tall man, standing six feet two in -his stockings in his prime, his fine figure was now sadly shrunk. He -sat in a straight, high-backed chair--principally because there were -very few of the other sort in the old Castle of Achree, and because -there was no money to buy them with, but she could see the droop of the -shoulders as they rested against the small cushion that she had filled -with down to give him a little ease. He wore a velvet skullcap, from -the edge of which there showed a fringe of beautiful silvery hair. His -feet, in the big loose slippers of the old man, were raised on a hassock -and he was holding the newspaper high before his eyes. Isla observed, -from its continuous flutter, that his hands were a little more shaky -than usual. - -His face was very fine. In his youth Mackinnon of Achree had been the -handsomest man in West Perthshire, and he was reported to have broken -his full complement of hearts. Even now the classic outline of his face -was plainly discernible, and he reminded one of some old war-horse that -was past service, but that retained to the end all the noble -characteristics that had distinguished him in the heyday of his glory. - -"What news to-day, father?" asked Isla's fresh, clear voice. - -When he heard it he rose to his feet with that fine courtesy towards -women which had never failed him. - -She laid a hand in gentle reprimand on his arm. - -"Now, how often have I told you, old dear, that you are not to be so -ceremonious with me? You can keep your fine manners for the great -ladies who never, never now come to Achree. Your little Isla knows that -they are there, and she doesn't need ocular demonstration of their -presence." - -He smiled and patted her cheek. He was an old man, now in his -seventy-fifth year. He had been so long on foreign service that he had -not married till late in life, and he had then made a marriage which had -been the one mistake of his life, and into which he had been led by the -softness of his own heart. Yet in battle, and in the affairs of men, he -had been a terrific person, to be avoided by those who had offended him. - -The fruits of that marriage, unfortunately, had come out in the son and -heir in whose veins ran the wild blood of the woman who had broken -Mackinnon's heart. There was no fight in the General now. He was a -broken old man--very gentle, not altogether comprehending, a mere cypher -in his own house, though his honour and his prestige were more jealously -guarded by his household than they had ever been when he could guard -them himself. - -His health was frail, but he suffered apparently from no disease. The -doctor from Comrie who paid a weekly visit often assured Isla that, with -care, there was no reason why her father should not live for other ten -years. Only he mustn't have any shock. He so often insisted upon this -that Isla would ask herself after he had gone how, as circumstances were -with them now, shock could be avoided. Apprehension was in the very -air, and when Malcolm came home shock would most certainly be the order -of the day. - -"Where have you been, Isla?" - -"Down to Lochearn, and I stopped at Darrach to speak to Eppie. You know -how her tongue wags. Sit down, dear, and let me tell you something. -Have you had any interesting letters?" - -"I don't know," he said vaguely. "I looked at some of them. There is -one from Cattanach, but I don't understand it. You'll explain it to me, -Isla, and write what is necessary." - -Cattanach was the family lawyer, the head of a big legal firm in Glasgow -that had administered the affairs of Achree for many years. - -Isla seized upon his letter jealously, and read it even with a feeling -of foreboding. But as her eyes quickly covered the typewritten words, -lo! a great relief was hers. The thing she had dreaded now manifested -itself as a blessing--perhaps even as a way out. - -"Father, have you read this letter?" she asked, drawing her chair to his -side and still holding it in her hand. - -"I read it--yes, but I don't think I understand. He says something -about strange folks coming to Achree. You can write to him, Isla, and -tell him that we are not in a position to entertain, as we used to be. -We have not the folk about us to make guests comfortable--nor perhaps -have we the heart." - -"No, no; but that is not quite what he means, darling," said Isla -eagerly. "Let me read it over to you quite slowly, then perhaps you -will understand." - - -"ST. VINCENT PLACE, - "GLASGOW, March. - -"DEAR GENERAL MACKINNON,--I hardly like to approach you on the subject -of this letter, but a client of mine is so insistent that I don't seem -to have any alternative. - -"I write on behalf of Mr. Hylton Rosmead, an American gentleman who is -looking for a place in your neighbourhood to rent for the season. He -wants it for six months at least--from Easter to October, with the -option of stopping on if agreeable to both parties. - -"It seems odd that, with the whole of Scotland to choose from, he and -his family should hit upon Achree which, as I told him, is not in the -market. They saw it in course of a motor tour last autumn, and were so -struck with it, it seems, that it is the only place they would have in -the whole of Scotland. - -"I may say two things that may help you to a decision. They are -Americans of the best type, and he would pay a fancy price for the -place. - -"I have no alternative but to lay the offer before you and may I remind -you that the letting of places to people of this type has become so -common among the old families that it is the exception not to let them -at some time or other. - -"I shall be glad to hear from you at your very earliest convenience as -Mr. Rosmead is anxious to get settled. Hoping you feel yourself better -with the approach of spring, and that Miss Mackinnon is quite well,--I -am, dear General, yours faithfully, - -"ALEXANDER CATTANACH." - - -Long before Isla had reached the close of this letter the old man's -attention had wandered and, though his eyes had not fixed themselves on -the paper again, Isla saw that he was not in the smallest degree either -interested or comprehending. - -"You don't understand, dear, that some one wants to take Achree from us -for a few months and to pay a high rent--a very high rent--for it. Why -shouldn't we let it? Look how often Uncle Tom has let Barras. He has -told us he couldn't get on without letting it." - -"Oh, no, of course not. Read this account of affairs in Rhodesia, Isla. -It's the aftermath of the war. Heavens, we'll never get to the end of -that precious muddle! I said so at the time." - -Isla laid down the letter quietly, intending to return to it later. It -was part of the difficulty of her life, part of the hopelessness of the -present acuter stage in it, that she could not get her father to -comprehend facts and details which were of the utmost importance. -Either he could not or he would not understand--there were times when -she was at a loss to say which. - -As she laid Cattanach's letter down she drew her brother's from the -bosom of her blouse. - -"Did you remember that this is mail-day, father? You know you can't read -Malcolm's scrawl, which seems to grow more illegible with every letter. -Shall I read it out to you?" - -"No. Tell me what he says. His letters weary me. They are full of -words I don't understand and have no use for," he said with a sudden -touch of querulousness. "I can't understand why a boy that has been at -Glenalmond and at Sandhurst wants to fill his letters with -unintelligible jargon. How is he?" - -"He's quite well. He is coming home, father. He will be here very -shortly." - -"Coming home! Leave again! Far too much leave in the service now. -They have no time to lick them into shape. Seventeen years I served in -Northern India without a break--and never a murmur; and I've known men -who served thirty. Now it's leave every third or fourth year. It -doesn't look like five since he was last here, but I suppose it is. -Well, when is he coming?" - -"In about a month." - -"A bad time of year, too--nothing to kill but a stray rabbit. I think -I'll write to them at the War Office and stir them up about this -perpetual leave business. It's bad for the men, bad for the officers, -bad for the service all through, and accounts for its unpopularity and -inefficiency. In my day the Army was a man's business--the serious -business of his life. Now it's his play. How can a country be kept -together on these lines?" - -Isla betrayed no weariness, though she knew that he had started on his -interminable theme. It was the only one in which he retained any active -interest, for Mackinnon had been born a soldier, and the medals he had -won could not be pinned all at one time on his breast. But his failing -powers prevented him from being able to adjust his mind to the new -conditions of things. In his estimation, the old style of warfare was -best, and all the new methods were fit only to be criticized and partly -abolished. - -"He doesn't say anything about the duration of his leave. I, too, am -rather sorry he is coming home just now, father, for, as you say, there -is nothing to kill and Malcolm isn't a man of resource. I think I'll go -and see Cattanach and ask his advice." - -"Cattanach? Oh, yes. What did he write about, did you say? Anything -to sign? Or was he writing only for his own amusement to earn -six-and-eightpence? Terrible fellows these lawyers--even the best of -them are worth watching." - -He laughed gently but quite mirthlessly, and his eyes glued themselves -again to his paper, in which he at once became completely absorbed. - -Isla, knitting her brows slightly, turned away to the table to glance -through her father's letters, which he had not so much as touched. - -Everything was in her hands. Something whispered that she, and she -alone, must be the saviour of Achree. - - - - - CHAPTER III - - ISLA TAKES ACTION - - -Isla, already dressed for a journey, took in her father's breakfast-tray -next morning. - -"You are surely early afield, my dear?" he said, looking at the trim -figure with quick approbation. - -"Yes, dear. I am going to Glasgow to see Mr. Cattanach, because I found -when I started out to answer his letter that I couldn't say half I -wanted." - -"His letter wasn't very clear, I thought. Ask him why he doesn't learn -to express himself better. I thought that was a lawyer's business. But -it seems a long way to go to Glasgow to say that to him. When do you -get your train?" - -"Nine-thirty, and Jamie Forbes has come up from the hotel to drive me to -Balquhidder. So good-bye, dear. Diarmid will look after you till I come -back, and you may expect me about tea-time." - -He did not ask any other question. His mind was now curiously detached -from all immediate happenings, and he lived more and more in the past. -Even his reading of the newspapers was coloured by the tendency to -retrospect. - -Isla got away with a considerable sense of relief, and when she mounted -to the side of Jamie Forbes in the hotel dogcart her eyes even sparkled. -There was now no horse of any kind, nor was there any carriage in the -stableyard of Achree, though the old people, even Diarmid himself, could -sadly recall the time when it had been full. - -Isla was glad to be doing something. She had all the restlessness of an -active nature that could not endure a policy of drift. They had been -drifting so long with the ebb tide at Achree that she welcomed the -crisis which made it necessary to take an immediate step. - -She went ostensibly to ask the lawyer's advice, but her own mind was -made up as to the best course to pursue. Her judgment was singularly -clear, and she was not now in the smallest doubt as to the right--nay, -the only--thing to be done in the circumstances. - -At Balquhidder Station a few passengers were waiting for the Oban train, -and, slightly to Isla's chagrin, directly she appeared on the platform a -tall young man in a tweed suit and a covert coat came forward, with -evident signs of satisfaction, to greet her. - -"Good morning, Isla. This is an uncommon bit of luck. Are you going to -town?" - -"To Glasgow," she unwillingly admitted. "And you?" - -"Glasgow too," he answered joyfully. "I was cursing my luck as I drove -over the hill from Garrion, but if I had known, I should have driven -with a lighter heart." - -Isla scarcely smiled. She liked Neil Drummond very well as a friend, -for they had known each other since their childhood. But in the last -three years he had spoiled that friendship by periodically asking her to -marry him. The expression in his eyes now indicated that very little -provocation would make him ask her again on the spot, for he was very -much in earnest. He was two years younger than Isla, and she always -treated him like a young and very inexperienced brother, which incensed -him a good deal. - -He had just come into the property from his uncle, and wanted nothing -but a wife to make Garrion complete. He was a finely-built, good-looking -young fellow, with an honest, kindly face, with not a very high type of -intellect perhaps, but with sufficient common sense and sound judgment -to fill admirably the position to which he had been called. - -He and his sister Kitty, being orphans, had been brought up by their -uncle at Garrion, and had known no other home. Kitty and Isla were -friends, of course, though there was not so very much in common between -that dashing, high-spirited, happy-go-lucky girl and the more staid and -placid Isla. - -"How's Kitty? We haven't seen her for a long time," she said as they -began to pace to and fro on the platform--objects of much interest of a -significant kind to those who knew them. - -"Kitty's alone, but when are you coming to Garrion? Aunt Betty is always -asking why you don't come." - -"That's easily answered. It's five miles to Garrion, and I haven't -either a horse or a bicycle; but tell Lady Betty I'll walk over one of -these days." - -"You needn't do that, Isla--and very well you know it. All you have to -do is to say the word, and the best bit of horse-flesh in Garrion -stables is at your command." - -"I haven't much time," she said rather quickly. "Father seems to need me -more of late, and----" - -She hesitated, and then came to a stop, deciding that she would not just -yet mention a word about Malcolm's coming home. It was not that she -could not trust Neil Drummond, but the shame of that home-coming held -her back from speaking of it even to a friend of such long standing. - -"It is very unusual for you to go to Glasgow, isn't it?" said Neil, -looking down with a slightly rueful expression at the bonnie, winsome -face by his side. - -"It is very unusual. Last night father had a letter from Mr. Cattanach, -which we found rather difficult to answer, so I came to the conclusion -that it might save further complications if I went up and had a talk -with him about it." - -"Well, if that's all, you can come and lunch with me, can't you? St. -Enoch's Hotel, one sharp. I'm only after a horse. It won't take me -more than an hour." - -Isla hesitated, but finally promised. - -"I must get the two-ten train, and if anything happens to prevent me -from keeping the appointment, don't wait. I'll be there at one if I'm -coming." - -"All right," said Drummond joyfully. "This is a red-letter day--and no -mistake. Shows that a fellow never knows when his next bit of good luck -is going to turn up." - -He looked so young and boyish at the moment that Isla suddenly smiled -upon him. - -"What a boy you are, Neil! I don't believe anything will ever make you -grow up. Even being Laird of Garrion hasn't had the smallest effect. -Here's the train. Now I warn you I won't speak to you on the journey, -because I have heaps and heaps of things to arrange in my mind. -Remember, I'm going to a lawyer's office, and nobody goes there -unprepared." - -"All right. So long as I am sitting next to you, and preventing anybody -else from speaking to you, I shan't grumble," said Neil calmly as he -helped her into a corner of the third-class carriage. - -He had a first-class ticket himself, which he carefully hid from her. -Had he dared he would have paid the difference for the privilege of -having a compartment to themselves, but Isla would not have permitted -that. - -Shortly after eleven o'clock they arrived at Glasgow and, saying that it -was necessary for him to have a cab to take him to his destination at -the south-side, he put Isla in and drove her the short distance to the -lawyer's door. Then with the prospect of meeting her at lunch in little -more than an hour's time, he departed in the seventh heaven of delight. - -Miss Mackinnon, sending in her name, was not kept waiting an unnecessary -moment. Indeed, so much was she respected in the office that Cattanach -turned over a rather important client to his junior partner and at once -went to see Miss Mackinnon, escorting her to his private room. - -"I came in consequence of your letter to papa yesterday, Mr. Cattanach," -said Isla as they shook hands. "It was of such importance that I thought -I would come and have a talk with you about it." - -Cattanach was not an old man, and he bore his fifty years lightly. He -had a somewhat heavy yet keen face, was a little stern in repose. But, -when his genial smile irradiated his face, the sternness was forgotten. -His reputation in the city was that of being one of the first lawyers of -the day, and business simply flowed in upon his firm. - -His father had been at the helm of Achree affairs when they were in a -more prosperous state, and he had been a life-long friend and admirer of -the General. He had managed to communicate his sincere and sympathetic -interest to his son, who had done much more for the Mackinnons than they -could have had the right to expect from their man of business or than -could ever be repaid. He had indeed helped young Mackinnon out of -several scrapes for his father's and his sister's sake, though doing -that had been a service very ill to his liking. An interview with Isla -herself, however, was a pure pleasure, which, on this occasion, was all -the keener that it was wholly unexpected. - -"Yes, thank you, I am quite well and father too, though he is failing, I -think," she said rather sadly. "I came in answer to your letter and in -order to show you this." - -She had a small bag of curiously-wrought Moorish leather on her arm, -from which she produced the letter that had come yesterday by the Indian -mail. She did not immediately pass it over, however, or read any -extract from it, but, leaning slightly forward in her chair, she fixed -her clear, grave eyes on the lawyer's face as he stood in quite -characteristic attitude in front of his desk, leaning one hand slightly -on the table. - -"Won't you sit down, Mr. Cattanach? I'm afraid I must take up quite a -lot of your time this morning--an hour perhaps. I have to lunch at the -St. Enoch's Hotel at one." - -"Then I shall not have the pleasure of taking you to lunch myself." - -"Not to-day, thank you," said Isla, and he imagined her colour rose -slightly. "It is about your letter I first want to speak. My father -did not comprehend it, I am afraid. He sent the message to you," she -added with a faint, wandering smile, "that he was surprised that a -lawyer did not express himself better. But of course to me what you -said was perfectly clear. Tell me about this man who wishes to take -poor old Achree. Is he--is he at all a possible person?" - -There was just the slightest suggestion of hauteur in the question, -which, at another time, might have amused Cattanach hugely. Out in the -hard world of men and business things were called by their right names, -and there would have been small sympathy expressed for the Mackinnon -pride. - -But he understood. This fine creature, product of an ancient race and -embodiment in her own personality of all that was best in it, appealed -to him beyond any power of his to express. He was prepared to meet her -and to help her, not only to the best of his ability but even beyond -what his prudence and his better judgment would have permitted. And it -would not be the first time in the record of his transactions with -Achree that service had been rendered by Alexander Cattanach from purely -disinterested motives--service that had never found its way into the -columns of any ledger. - -"He is a very possible person indeed, Miss Mackinnon, quite the best -type of educated American--and the type is very good." - -"Is it?" asked Isla with a little shiver. "I have never encountered it. -The few specimens that come to the glen are not--are not what one would -call the best type. And the people who had Edinard for two seasons -running!--shall one ever forget them? Their flying motors with -screaming hooters, their impossible costumes, their disregard for our -quiet Sabbaths, their noise--all were indescribable. I should not like -such people as they at Achree. But, indeed, I don't suppose such people -would so much as look at it. Lady Eden told me that the first year it -cost her half the rent to put into the house what her tenants wanted. -They were so mean in regard to trifles that they would not buy the -simplest thing." - -Cattanach smiled understandingly. He also had some acquaintance with -that type. - -"I don't think you would find the Rosmeads like that. I should say -myself that they are simple gentlefolks and that, this summer at least, -they would be certain to live quietly. They wish the place for -retirement on account of Mrs. Rosmead, who is recovering from a long -illness, and for their elder daughter, who has just had an unpleasant -experience in the Divorce Court--one of those curious matrimonial -entanglements of which America seems to be full. She was here on -Tuesday with her brother. She is one of the most beautiful women I have -ever seen." - -"Poor thing--and had she a bad husband?" - -"I understand so, but, of course, the subject was not mentioned. There -is a younger daughter called Sadie, and there is also a boy at Yale or -Harvard, who would spend only his summer here. I think you would like -the family, and they would be willing to pay three hundred for the -house, and five with the shooting." - -"Five hundred!" murmured Isla, and her eyes had a sort of hungry look. - -Money for its own sake did not exist for her. She was naturally of a -generous, even of a prodigal mind, and she was certainly made for the -gracious dispensation of great wealth. But she had had to count the -pence so long that she had arrived, by many painful processes, at full -appreciation of their market value. - -"We could certainly live at Creagh on three hundred; then two could be -laid by, couldn't they, Mr. Cattanach?" - -He turned swiftly away, for there was something in the eager question, -almost childishly put, which gripped him by the throat. - -"Yes, of course. In the country life is simple," he said at last. "I -gather from what you say that you would be willing at least to consider -the offer of Mr. Hylton P. Rosmead." - -"I haven't any alternative now," she said, as she pulled the strings of -the leather bag again and produced her brother's letter. "Please to -read that, Mr. Cattanach." - -She passed over the thin, and now crumpled sheet covered with Malcolm's -sprawling undignified handwriting, which the lawyer's eyes quickly -scanned. The expression of his face as its full significance dawned -upon him quite changed and perceptibly hardened. When he refolded it -again it was a moment before the suitable word came to him. He knew -that words of pity or condolence would be quite out of place, if spoken -to Isla Mackinnon, and that the truest kindness he could show her would -be to accept the situation as a matter of course and do his utmost to -help, as he had opportunity, or could make it where he had it in his -power. - -"This makes acceptance of Rosmead's offer imperative, as you say, Miss -Mackinnon. Perhaps the best thing I can do is to send him to Achree to -see you. He is in the city this week. He has many friends here -connected with the engineering profession. I believe that in his own -country he is a distinguished engineer, and he certainly is a very -gentlemanly, well-informed man." - -He praised the American of a set purpose, deeming it best to direct Miss -Mackinnon's thoughts to the pleasant side of the inevitable. - -"Do you think they would wish a great deal of money spent on the house? -It is very bare, really, and rather dilapidated. But if he wanted even -a tithe of the things that Lady Eden's tenants asked for I'm afraid the -bargain would have to be off. I could not owe money myself, even to let -Achree." - -"I don't think there will be any difficulty. They are without doubt -very wealthy people, and, further, they are so anxious for the place -that they will take it at your terms. You spoke of the Lodge of Creagh -a moment ago. You would go there to live in the interval?" - -"Yes. It happens to be empty since Mrs. Macdonald died last autumn, and -if it were well fired and aired we could be quite comfortable there. Of -course, it is small, but I would give up the dining-room to my father, -and, so long as he is comfortable and does not suffer by the change, -nothing else matters much." - -"It is very remote," suggested Cattanach, "and the road across the moor -is nothing to boast of, if I remember it rightly." - -"Of course it is only a shooting-lodge--and a small one at that; but its -remoteness won't matter to me, and, as for my brother, perhaps it would -be a very good thing for him to be shut off by the moor of Creagh." - -Cattanach nodded gravely. - -Then she put another question to him of a more disconcerting kind. - -"Mr. Cattanach, why are men usually dismissed from the Army? What are -the offences, I mean? They must be grave, of course, because it is so -serious a thing to cut short a man's career at the very commencement." - -"It is a serious thing, and it is not done on trifling grounds," he -answered quietly, not dreaming of evading her question. "What your -brother says about injustice is, of course, nonsense. It exists in -small things in the Army, as elsewhere, but it would never reach the -length of, as you say, cutting short a man's career." - -She sighed a little as she rose to her feet. He had not specified, but -she was answered. - -"It is all very dreadful, and it would certainly kill my father if he -knew. Happily--how strange it is that I can use the word in relation to -what has been such a sorrow to me, but happily--his failing faculties -don't permit him to grasp the affairs of life. He understands that -Malcolm is coming home, and he is full of wrath at the amount of leave -allowed in the service in these days. It will thus be all right for a -little while, but if Malcolm is to live on as a loafer," she said with a -sad inflexion of scorn in her voice, "he will be troubled about it. Oh, -Mr. Cattanach, what is to be done with Malcolm?" - -Her brave voice shook, and again there was in her eyes that agony of -appeal which a far less kind-hearted man than Cattanach could not have -resisted. - -"Dear Miss Mackinnon, the trouble is very real and awful, but it is not -on us just yet. Let us get the question of the tenancy of Achree -settled, and then we shall have time to tackle the other. The Rosmeads -wish to get settled in the place before Easter. Would that be -possible?" - -"I shall make it so, and I want to be at Creagh before Malcolm arrives. -He would create all sorts of difficulties, and it will be far better to -get the people into Achree before then." - -"And your father?" - -"Ah, that will be difficult, but I have never been beaten yet, Mr. -Cattanach, though sometimes I have been very near it. Yesterday I -thought I was, but to-day, when I woke up, I felt quite strong and able, -and now, after your kindness, I am sure we shall get through." - -"I shall help to the very best of my ability. I can come down to Achree -if you think I can be of any use to you in persuading the General." - -"Thank you. I shall write if I think it necessary for you to come. But -he is so like a child! He will be quite pleased to go to Creagh, I -believe, and he will not understand why we have to leave Achree. I am -glad that it is so now. If he had been his old self it would have been -so difficult for him." - -"Undoubtedly it would." - -"And Malcolm's affair too! He must not be allowed to idle about -indefinitely in the glen, or I shall never have a moment's peace. I'm -going to talk very straightly to him when he comes. He has always got -off too easily. But this money--how is it to be found? If they begin to -press for it would they take Achree?" - -"We shall prevent that. You must leave this in my hands, Miss -Mackinnon. The best thing your brother could do would be to emigrate to -one of the new countries--to Canada, or the Cape, or even the Argentine. -As you say, it will not be possible to allow him to loaf about the -glen." - -"But he is so difficult, because, you see, he thinks nothing matters, -and his only desire is to have what he calls a good time. Even if he -has it at other people's expense he will have it. About this money he -owes? I will do my utmost to save for it out of the money the Americans -will pay. They will not do anything drastic about it, I hope--seize -upon Achree or any part of it," she repeated wistfully, as if yet -unconvinced. - -"I can deal with them, Miss Mackinnon. You must leave that part of the -business for your brother and me to settle between us. You may trust me -to do what will be absolutely for the good of yourself and your -brother." - -"Oh, I know," she said with eloquent eyes. "Thank you so much. You are -always so kind. Things seem easier when one has seen you. Good-bye, -then. And you will send the American man to view the land soon? I hope -I shall be able to please him." - -A clock on the mantelshelf struck, and she made haste to the door. - -"I have to lunch with Mr. Neil Drummond of Garrion at one. I must run," -she said. - -The lawyer himself escorted her to the street door, put her into a cab, -and, as he returned slowly up the stairs, rubbed his hands together -meditatively. - -"Drummond of Garrion! Well, well, perhaps it might be the best thing -she could do. Poor, poor girl, but game to the innermost fibre of her -being! Where would our old families be but for such as she--but for the -fine fibre of their women? Garrion! Garrion! By Gad, I must look into -it and see whether it would be worth her while." - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - THE AMERICANS - - -"Did you ever see such a shabby room, Peter? It positively reeks of -poverty." - -Thus did Sadie Rosmead deliver herself to her brother after the -drawing-room door had been shut upon them at Achree, and Diarmid had -gone to seek his mistress. - -On the Monday following Isla's visit to Glasgow, and, in consequence of -a letter from Cattanach, the Rosmeads had made a hurried journey out to -Glenogle for the purpose of making acquaintance with the interior of the -house that they so much admired, and, if possible, of coming to terms -with its owners. - -They were a handsome pair. Rosmead himself, a man of about thirty-five, -well, but quietly, dressed, and carrying his firmly-knit figure with -conscious ease and strength, had a strong, fine face, lit by pleasant -grey eyes that gave a very fair index to his character. He was a man -who, by his own effort, by the sheer force of his ability, which, in his -own domain amounted to genius, had achieved a distinction and a success -manifest in his very bearing. - -Once seen, Peter Rosmead would not be readily forgotten. He was a man -who could not be in any company without leaving the mark of his -personality upon it. - -His sister was small, but elegant; dressed with conspicuous plainness, -but in a style which has to be paid for with considerable cheques. The -feature of her costume was undoubtedly her veil, which, when worn by a -really elegant American woman such as Sadie Rosmead certainly was, -becomes a thing of distinction. It was only a long width of blue chiffon -attached to a small felt hat of the same hue, but it made a most -becoming setting to her dark, piquant face. - -"Yes--it positively reeks of poverty. Look at the darn in the carpet, -Peter!" she said severely. "This is a house of makeshifts, but it's -decent poverty, and I've never seen anything so clean in the whole of my -life. It would charm mother. How I wish she could have come to-day!" - -Still Peter did not answer. There was something about the room which -pained him, but he could not have explained what it was. It seemed to -him indecent that two strangers, such as they were, should have come to -view the poverty of the land. Cattanach had told Rosmead several things -that he had not mentioned to any of his women folks; therefore, he was -very eager and interested to see Miss Mackinnon. - -Sadie babbled on. - -"If it were not so clean it would be impossible. But there are some -awfully pretty things. Look at that bit of tapestry on the end wall and -at that coat of arms worked on the banner screen. It's just too sweet -for anything. Now, what are you looking at, Peter?--oh, the miniatures! -Anything good?" - -There was a small collection on the mantelpiece, framed in ebony and -standing on little brass tripods--very exquisite things in their way, -and part of the few remaining treasures of Achree. Rosmead was studying -them intently, and his sister was examining with interest the various -bits of old needlework in the room, when the door was opened by rather a -quick, nervous hand, and some one came in. - -Rosmead turned back from the mantelpiece, and Sadie dropped the cushion -with the peacock sewn upon its cover, and turned with a charming smile. - -"Don't be angry, Miss Mackinnon. We are not sampling anything, but we -are Americans--don't you know--and everything in this lovely old house -appeals to us. You are Miss Mackinnon, aren't you? I'm Sadie Rosmead, -and this is my brother Peter." - -It was charmingly done, and it brought a slight smile, in spite of -herself, to Isla's parted lips. She had been walking very fast, and the -colour was high in her cheek. Her jacket was thrown back to show the -neat flannel shirt belted trimly to her waist, and the black tie held in -its place by the silver brooch, curiously wrought and displaying the -arms of the Mackinnons, the same design being repeated in the buckle of -her belt. - -"I am so sorry you have been kept waiting. I was at the other side of -the wood, seeing a sick woman. How-do-you-do?" - -She shook hands with Sadie, but it was at the brother that she looked. - -And she was well pleased with what she saw. She was not concerned at -all about the impression she might be making on them. The only thing -that mattered was that the people who were coming to Achree should not -be objectionable. - -Just for a moment she had been a trifle dismayed by Miss Rosmead's very -obvious nationality--by the twang in her voice and by the familiarity of -her manner. Isla's own manner inclined to hauteur. She fought against -it, for the person who has goods to sell cannot afford to be too high -and mighty in procedure. Yet she carried herself, in spite of her -efforts to the contrary, like one who had a favour to bestow. - -An intensely good-natured person, overflowing with the milk of human -kindness, Sadie Rosmead did not even notice this characteristic manner, -but not a shade of it was lost on Rosmead himself. It did not, however, -either irritate or repel him. He had an immense gift of understanding, -and he knew what this interview meant to the girl before them, whose -face, now that the little flush of excitement had died from it, was -pale, and even a little haggard. - -"I am sorry you did not let me know, so that you could have been met at -the station and could have come to luncheon. Have you had any?" - -"Oh, yes," answered Sadie, "a very good snack at the station buffet at -Glasgow, hadn't we, Peter? We should like a cup of tea perhaps, by and -by, after we have seen the house. I have heard of your Scotch scones -and butter and honey. They have very good imitations of them at the -hotels, but we've been told--haven't we, Hylton?--that they don't begin -to taste like the real thing." - -Isla noticed the change of name, and she decided that the more dignified -one suited the brother better. "Peter" was certainly ridiculous, and -yet it had a kindly human sound and she preferred to think of him as -kindly to thinking of him as dignified at the moment. Achree so much -needed kindness, and she--poor girl!--more than all, though she was -hardly conscious of her own need. - -Rosmead was fully conscious of it. He had never in the whole course of -his experience met with anything that touched or appealed to him more -than the sight of this tall, slight girl upon whose shoulders rested -what made her life a burden--the whole responsibility of the house of -her fathers. Cattanach, a discerning man, had told him just sufficient -to arouse his compassionate interest. Though he spoke so little, Isla -felt comforted by his presence. The thing that had been a nightmare -resolved itself, under his kindly touch, into something that might not -only be possible, but might also prove good. - -This man, of alien race though he was, would never harry Achree, nor -would he bring to it strange new ways of life and thought. He looked -strong, generous, and simple--as the truly strong always are. - -While this subtle bond was being established between these two thus so -strangely brought together, Sadie did the talking. - -"Yes, we would like to see the house--every bit of it--but not to poke. -Only, however, if it is convenient and only what you are willing to -show--eh, Peter? We don't want to rush Miss Mackinnon, and we can -easily come out another day and bring Vivien." - -"Vivien is your sister?" said Isla inquiringly, as she laid her jacket -down on the end of the high-backed old sofa. - -Sadie nodded. - -"She had a headache. She is not so very strong, and she can't stand -racket. I'm the untirable, uncrushable, wholly inextinguishable member -of the family. But not a bad sort--eh, Peter?" - -Peter indulgently smiled. - -"I hope General Mackinnon is quite well?" he inquired. "I have heard -from Mr. Cattanach that his health has not been good of late." - -"No--he is not so very strong. To-day, because it felt really like -spring, he has gone for a little walk. I was with him. But, yes--he is -quite all right. One of the men is coming back with him. If you don't -mind, will you come and see the library before he returns? It is the -room he sits in chiefly, and I am afraid it will be a little difficult -for him to understand what you are doing in it if he should see you -there. We can come back here, of course, for tea." - -She led the way down the winding stair and across the flagged hall, -which Sadie mutely pointed out to her brother as they silently followed -their guide. All the windows in the library were open, and the cool, -fresh air met them on the threshold. Again the same note of shabbiness -and painful care was evident, but the room was well-furnished with -books, which completely lined the walls. - -"I suppose they are centuries old," said Sadie in an awe-struck whisper. -"There--Peter, surely now you will be able to read your fill." - -"Some of them are very old, I believe, and there are first editions -among them," answered Isla, in a matter-of-fact tone, as if unaware that -she talked of treasures which could be exchanged for gold. "You see -this is quite a good room, and everyone likes the shape of it. It is so -warm in winter, and so cool in summer." - -It was duly admired, and they made their way from it again to the -dining-room. They also took a quick glance at the servants' premises, -where Sadie's sharp eyes took in most of the details. - -"Now--upstairs," said Isla with evident relief. "And on the first -landing, where the little door opens, just here is the dungeon-room. It -has a trap-door and a stair going right down from it." - -Sadie's eyes grew positively wide with excitement. - -"A dungeon-room," she repeated again, in an awe-stricken whisper. "And -where does this stair lead to? Can anyone go down?" - -"Oh, yes. It leads to the dungeon, and there used to be--about the -fourteenth century--a passage from it going both ways, one to Killin and -down to the Earn, but it has not been opened for hundreds of years." - -"Do you hear that, Hylton Rosmead? The fourteenth century! Where were -we then? How do you see down?" - -"If Mr. Rosmead will be so kind----" - -She stooped to pull back the faded strip of home-made carpet, and so -revealed the rusty hinges set level with the floor. - -Rosmead stooped also and, with one swing of his strong arm, he raised -the heavy door, so that they could look into the depths beneath. A -curious odour met them, and Sadie, her imagination now wrought to a high -pitch, fancied she heard mysterious sounds ascending from below. - -"I should love to go down, but we can explore later when we come to live -here. Fancy a place like this right in the middle of one's house and -stairs and passages leading all over the country! It's positively -creepy, but most fascinating. And a room with a bed in it too! I wonder -whether I should get any sleep in it if I took it for my own?" - -"It is rather small, isn't it?" said Isla with a smile. "It was used as -a sentinel's or guard's room chiefly in the old days, I fancy. Now, -will you come up and see the bedrooms?" - -"I'll take a turn outside if I may," said Rosmead. "My sister will -accompany you, Miss Mackinnon. I'm perfectly satisfied with what I have -seen." - -"Can you find your way? There are two staircases, but you can get out -by either," said Isla, and they stood just a moment on the narrow -landing till Rosmead had found his way out. - -He passed out into the mellow sunshine of the afternoon with a sense of -relief. The old house saddened him. It seemed to be peopled with dead -hopes and with old memories and to have no kinship with the warm and -happy life of men. - -As he stepped on the gravel the sound of wheels broke the stillness, and -a dogcart, in which was a beautiful, high-stepping chestnut horse, was -rapidly driven up to the door. It contained two persons--a man and a -woman, both young--who had evidently come to pay a call at Achree. - -Raising his hat slightly, he turned aside to walk round by the gable-end -of the house in order to see it from the back. - -Just beyond the rolled gravel he came upon another pathetic sight--the -old General in his Inverness cloak and with his bonnet on his thin white -hair, leaning heavily on his stick and watching the antics of a little -brown dog in front of a rabbit-hole. He was quite alone; and Rosmead, -in whom reverence for the old was a passion as well as a virtue, -involuntarily took off his hat. - -"Come back, you little vixen!" the old man called with a little chuckle -to the brown dog. - -And, just at the moment, Janet, conscious of the approach of a stranger, -gave a short, sharp bark and ran back. - -The General looked round and, seeing the stranger, took his bonnet from -his head. Rosmead had then no alternative but to introduce himself. - -"My name is Rosmead, sir. I am here owing to correspondence with Mr. -Cattanach." - -"Cattanach? Oh, yes--very decent fellow, Cattanach, but not a good -writer. Have you seen my daughter, and has your horse been put up?" he -said with all the fine dignity of the hospitable old laird, always ready -to welcome the stranger within his gates. - -"We have only a hired trap, and it is waiting in the stable-yard. We -have to get back to catch the four-thirty train." - -"Oh, yes. Well, you will see my daughter, and you will at least have -some tea before you go away. Can I direct you back to the house? I was -taking my walk in the sun. I am not so strong as I was, and I have to -choose my days. That is what we have to come to, sir,--we choose our -days, when they are not chosen for us. Well, if you can find your way -back to the house, I shall continue my walk." - -He touched his bonnet and turned away, as if he had dismissed the man -and the incident from his mental vision. - -Rosmead immediately grasped the whole facts. He saw that the old man -was wholly detached from the affairs of life, and more and more his -heart ached with compassion for Isla Mackinnon. He walked right round -the house, admiring its outline, even the huddled little towers touching -his fancy, and he made up his mind on the spot that this should be his -future dwelling-place. No matter what should be the price, he would pay -it, because something told him that here was a place in which his money -could be of use. - -There was something deeper, however--the conviction that destiny had -willed it that his life was somehow to be bound up with this old house -and its inmates. The idea appealed to him and gave him a quickened -interest in the place. - -When he returned to the drawing-room in about ten minutes' time he found -that it now contained four persons--his sister and their hostess and the -two who had arrived to call. - -"This is Mr. Rosmead, Kitty," said Isla, in whose face the pink spot of -excitement burned again. "Miss Drummond, Mr. Neil Drummond, Mr. -Rosmead." - -Rosmead gravely saluted, but though Kitty beamed upon the handsome -stranger, Neil was hostile. His face positively gloomed, and he had -hardly a word to say. - -His manners did not show to advantage that day. He seemed a boor beside -the smooth, polished man of the world that Rosmead, by contrast, -appeared. When tea was brought, it was Rosmead who established himself -by the table, leaving his sister to chatter to the Drummonds. He did -this of a set purpose, because he wished to say a word in Isla's private -ear, and there did not seem to be any opportunity--unless he made -one--of saying it. - -"Miss Mackinnon, Mr. Cattanach has told you that we are anxious to get -settled soon on account of my mother's health. Do you think you could -give me a definite answer as to what you intend to do regarding the -letting of the house to-day?" - -"Yes, easily. If you care for it, now you have seen it, please take -it," she answered without looking up. - -The tone of her voice slightly disconcerted him, because he knew that -her depth of feeling must be occasioning her the greatest pain. - -"We would not hurry you--or seem to embarrass you in any way. My mother -is the kindest and most reasonable of women, and I hope that you will -permit her to know you if she comes to Achree. Are you likely to stay -in the neighbourhood?" - -"Yes," she answered, and her breath came a little faster. "We are going -to the lodge at Creagh, at the other side of the moor." - -The information seemed to please him. - -"Then, perhaps you will write to Mr. Cattanach when your arrangements -are made." - -"Yes, I will do so, but there is something I must say first. I tried to -say it to your sister, but somehow I could not," she said, still -hurriedly and with her eyes on her tray. "I am sure that you will find -that the house needs many things. We have been so poor that it has not -been replenished, as it would have been in different circumstances. -That must be taken into consideration in settling the question of the -rent to be paid. I will tell Mr. Cattanach so. I hope I make myself -plain?" she said, lifting her eyes to his face when he gave her no -answer. "I am saying, Mr. Rosmead, that we can't spend any money on the -house, and that whatever you find it lacks you will supply for -yourselves." - -"I quite understand that. Pray, don't speak of it--it is not worth -mentioning. I understand that it is a sacrifice for you to let us have -the house at all. I wish I did not realize that so keenly." - -She looked at him again, and the expression in her eyes wholly changed. -The child-look came back--the look of trust, of ingenuousness, of -innocent sweetness, and it moved Rosmead profoundly. A very reticent, -self-contained, observant man, he was interested and drawn by the -tragedy, the unfathomable sadness of this girl's life. To possess -Achree, and thus to come within sight and possible touch of Isla -Mackinnon, had suddenly become to him a matter of personal moment. - -But it was not so with Isla; she liked him; she was grateful to him for -his reticence and his consideration, but to her he was simply the man -who wanted Achree, and for whom they must leave it. - -"You are very kind, but in a matter of this kind business must be the -basis," she said presently, with a sudden return of her original -hauteur. "I shall write to Mr. Cattanach to-night, and ask him to -arrange things. Our removal to Creagh is only a matter of two or three -days for the gathering together of our few personal belongings--that is -all. I hope there will not be any difficulties in the way, and that you -will be able to come to Achree, for your mother's sake, at the time you -wish." - -His next words arrested her attention, in spite of herself. - -"If there are difficulties I shall do my best to overcome them. That -has been the business of my life up till now." - -"How do you mean?" she asked with an involuntary interest. - -"I am a builder of bridges," he answered. - -At this moment the Laird of Garrion, glowering like his own moor in a -snell winter day, came stalking across the room, his step and his manner -indicating that he considered that the stranger had already presumed too -much. - -Rosmead, in no way perturbed, drew out his watch. - -"Sadie, it's time we went if we are to catch that train," he said to his -sister, who, deep in girlish talk with Kitty Drummond, rose reluctantly. - -The good-byes were quickly made, and, though her more kindly impulses -prompted Isla to go down and speed the parting guests, she bade them -good-bye at the drawing-room door with the slightest suggestion of -stiffness, and left Diarmid to show them out. - -"Who are these people, Isla?" asked Drummond impetuously the moment the -door closed. "He's insufferable. Whence these airs of his? Who is he?" - -"A rich American, and they are likely to take Achree for six months, or -perhaps a year," answered Isla quietly, realizing that the thing could -not be any longer hid. - -Kitty gave a little exclamation of dismay, but on Drummond's face the -scowl rose again. - -"Let Achree! Heaven forbid! Isla, you won't do it. It's -unthinkable--it's--it's, I want to say it, only I mustn't. Kitty, go -down and find the General. I must speak to Isla alone." - - - - - CHAPTER V - - THE BRIDGE BUILDERS - - -Kitty did not look so surprised as might have been expected. She walked -with alacrity to the door in spite of Isla's rather eager protest. - -"It's my belief, Isla, that you shut up the poor old General to prevent -people from seeing him. I should not be at all surprised to find him in -the dungeon-room," she said saucily over her shoulder as she disappeared -round the sharp turning of the stair. - -Isla reluctantly re-entered the drawing-room, fully aware of what was -coming. - -"Don't, Neil," she said, lifting a deprecating hand. "It has got to be -done, so there isn't any use of talking about it." - -"But, Isla!" he groaned, "it can't be done. Why, it will kill the -General! Does he know what is in contemplation?" - -"I have tried to tell him, but he can't understand," said Isla -pitifully. - -"He'll understand quickly enough when it comes to the bit--when you take -him away from the old house. Why, it's the house he was born in, and he -can't leave it now when he is old and frail. It's worth any sacrifice -to let him have his last days in peace." - -"It is; but I have made all the sacrifices possible, and have reached -the end of my tether. If somebody could awaken the sense of sacrifice -in Malcolm it would be different." - -"Malcolm will be furious! Have you written and asked him, for after all -he's the heir, you know, and a step--a big, drastic, horrible step like -letting a property--can't be, or at least ought not to be, taken without -consulting the heir." - -Isla smiled drearily as she dropped into a chair. - -Her old friend's anger was quite understandable and natural; but, oh, if -people only knew how futile it all was! - -"Listen, Neil. I thought of telling you the other day when we went to -Glasgow together, but it was too new and raw then. Of course, that was -the business I had to see Cattanach about. It is Malcolm who has caused -this--who has wrought the red ruin of Achree." - -Drummond was silent before the poignancy of her tone. Nor could he say -that he was altogether astonished, since he knew Malcolm Mackinnon, and -was fully aware of part at least of his unspeakable folly and misdoing. - -"I may as well tell you now," went on Isla hotly. "Soon it will be the -common property of the glen. Malcolm has had to send in his papers." - -"My God, Isla, you don't say so!" said Drummond, and his fresh, kindly -face grew a little white under the shock. - -She nodded. - -"Yes--and he owes over two thousand pounds to money-lenders, and our -account is over-drawn at the bank. So now you know why the Americans -must come to Achree." - -She leaned back, and a small, very dismal smile just hovered about the -corners of her sad, proud mouth. - -Neil Drummond could scarcely have looked more thunderstruck and -overwhelmed had the disaster come to his own Garrion, nor could he have -felt it more acutely. He took a turn across the floor, and then he came -and stood in front of her, his broad shoulders squared, a sudden look of -strength and determination upon his kindly face. - -"Why didn't you let us know before things got to this stage, Isla? What -are friends for--that's what I'd like to know? Your silence just shows -what a poor place, after all, any of us have in your estimation." - -"No, no, Neil. But don't you see it was such a big, desperate, hopeless -thing that nobody could give any help in the matter? And the dearer the -friends are, the more impossible it would be to take money from them. -You must understand that. You do understand it--only it pleases you to -be denser than I have ever known you in the whole course of our -acquaintance." - -"The whole course of our acquaintance!" he repeated, half-eagerly, -half-wistfully. "It's been spread over a pretty long period of years -now, hasn't it, Isla?" - -"Yes, but it looks like centuries. To-day I feel a century old myself." - -"What you're needing, my dear, is somebody to take care of you," he said -with a great gentleness. "I must speak again, though I promised to be -silent till you gave me leave to speak. Won't you let me step into the -breach, Isla? Marry me, and I'll do my best to smooth things over, and -the General shall certainly not leave Achree. Garrion coffers are not -so very full just at present, but I think there might be enough raised -to prevent that unthinkable catastrophe." - -She shook her head. - -"I can't, Neil, I can't! Don't say another word about it." - -"I'm not asking anything," he said with the humbleness born of a really -unselfish love--"only the right to take care of you and shield you and, -if need be, fight for you. Malcolm is your brother, Isla, but I'd like -to get into grips with him just once to punish him for all these lines -that have come on your dear face through him. And if he comes back to -the glen I'll tell him what I think of him, even if it should be the -last word I speak in this world!" - -"It is easier to have one's men folk killed in wars, Neil," she said in -a low voice. "Last week Lady Eden was bewailing Archie's death, even -though she had his little V.C. on the table beside her. I could have -cried out to her to go down on her knees and thank God because he is -safe from all hurt and evil. She does not begin to know the meaning of -sorrow, as we know it here. I have only one consolation--that my father -will never now be able to grasp the real meaning of what has happened. -You'll have to help me to keep it from him--to talk and to act as if -nothing out of the common had occurred; and you must promise to come and -to bring Kitty to see us at Creagh." - -"At Creagh!" cried Drummond aghast. "You don't mean to say that you are -going to bury yourselves in that God-forsaken hole? Oh, my dear, -Garrion may be bad, but at least it is get-at-able. Shut up in Creagh, -with the General and with Malcolm when he comes home!--it will be the -death of you, Isla." - -"No, no, I take a lot of killing. Do be a bit more cheerful, Neil. I'm -sure you must have thought the Americans quite nice people. He is -charming, I think. He builds bridges in America, and Cattanach says that -he is a man of genius." - -"He may build what he likes, but if he comes to Achree, whatever the -price he pays, he commits the unpardonable sin," he said sourly. "Don't -let us talk about him. I'm waiting for an answer to my question. It -isn't much I ask, Isla. I promise not to molest you or to beg for your -love, though I'll do my best to win it. Why is it that you won't believe -in me?" - -"Oh, I do, Neil. It is because I like you so much that I won't marry -you," she answered frankly, but a little wearily. "You deserve -something so much better than a half-hearted wife." - -"I'd rather have the half or the quarter of you than the whole of any -other woman," he made answer in the reckless way of the lover. "At -least, promise me that if you should change your mind, that if things -should get desperate, you'll come to me? A word will be enough, -Isla--even a look. I'll fly to your bidding on the wings of the wind." - -"Oh, Neil, I wish that all this eloquence and this devotion could be -given to a better woman----" - -"She doesn't exist," put in the lover stoutly. "Now, tell me about -Malcolm. What is the meaning of this horrible thing that has happened, -and who told you?" - -"He told me himself in last week's letter. Oh, yes--he minds, of -course, but he thinks he has been unjustly treated. Somebody is always -treating Malcolm unjustly, you know; and, whatever happens, it is always -another person's fault." - -"But it must be very serious, my dear. Has there been any other -communication--anything from his Colonel, or the War Office for the -General?" - -"No--nothing; and when anything comes I shall intercept it," she replied -without the smallest hesitation. "What is concerning me most is that, in -about three weeks' time, Malcolm will be at home, loafing about idle in -the glen, and I shall never know a moment's ease of mind. That's the -redeeming feature of Creagh--it's at least five miles from everywhere. -But, of course, he can't be permitted to loaf about. He must find some -occupation. I wonder----" - -She stopped there, however, and Neil was left to conjecture what it was -that she wondered. He would not have been so well pleased had he known -that her thoughts had flown with a curious sense of restfulness and hope -to the man who had just left them. The hated man had said that the -business of his life was to demolish difficulties and to build bridges -where none had been before. Could he--or would he--undertake the -problem of Malcolm's life? - -Kitty returned while that question was still lingering in Isla's mind, -and, after a little more desultory talk, the brother and sister took -their departure. - -"Tell Kitty on the way home, Neil," whispered Isla as she bade him -good-bye, her fingers aching under his strong, almost painful, pressure -which was intended to convey all the thoughts of which his heart was -full. - -"Give Aunt Betty my love, and tell her that I will pay her a visit -before I go to Creagh," she added. "Yes, of course, tell her about -Malcolm too, but don't say too much about it, and, of course, outside -Garrion----" - -She laid a significant finger on her lip. - -Neil nodded, and, with gloom sitting on his brow, ascended to his high -perch on the dogcart and tucked the rug about his sister's knees. - -The next three weeks passed in a whirl of business for Isla Mackinnon. - -The very next morning after the visit of the Americans to Achree she had -Jimmy Forbes up from Lochearn to drive her to Creagh. The sun was -shining so brightly and the air was so soft and balmy that all of a -sudden she decided that the drive might do her father good. - -He had only just come down from his bedroom and was standing in the -doorway, enjoying the air, when the trap drove up, and Isla came down -the stairs. - -"Where are you for this morning, my dear?" - -"I'm going to Creagh. Will you go with me, dear? I have some particular -business to do at Creagh this morning, and it's so deliciously sunny and -warm and I think the drive would do you good." - -"Yes, I'd like to go," said the old man with the wistful pleasure of the -child, at the same time taking a critical look at the stout roan cob -that had come up from the hotel stable, well and fit for the rough road -over Creagh moor. - -It did not take Isla and Diarmid long to wrap the General up, and off -they went through the pleasant spring sunshine, mounting slowly all the -time until they reached the broad plateau of the moor of Creagh, which -was the one valuable asset of Achree and constituted its only claim to -the dignity of being a sporting estate. - -The Lodge stood at the far angle of the moor, about a mile across from -the road--a small, bare, ugly house which made no pretence to being -anything more than a shelter for sportsmen. It was well protected by a -clump of sturdy fir trees, and it had even a fertile bit of garden -ground behind, with a small glass-house, and excellent stables. It was -furnished throughout, and it was in the care of Margaret Maclaren, an -old pensioner of Achree and widow of a former keeper. - -She was a faithful servant who attended well to her duties whether her -employers were there to see her or not, and she was not at all put out -by the unexpected arrival of the trap from Achree. - -Bathed in the glorious noon sunshine, the place looked its best, and -even the interior did not seem at all amiss. All the windows were open -to the sun, and Isla's sharp eyes noted the complete absence of damp, -which was her chief enemy at Achree. - -"Father, isn't it pretty here?" she asked the General as they stood for -a moment in the porch before entering the house. "I should like to come -up and live the whole summer here." - -"It would not be amiss in the summer, child. Many a happy day have I -spent in Creagh and many a jolly night." - -She led him into the dining-room--a goodly-sized square room, not -unhandsomely furnished in oak, the carpet rolled up in the middle of the -floor, and faded chintz covers over the leather chairs. - -The open casement windows commanded a splendid and uninterrupted view of -the whole moor which, even in its bareness and in the wildness of the -winter, had a certain rugged beauty of its own. A low hill rose -immediately behind the house, from which a glorious prospect of the -whole valley of the Earn could be seen, with Ben Voirlich rising like a -buttress behind all the lesser hills in the valley below. - -The air was like wine, and Isla's spirits rose as she grasped the -possibilities of the simpler life there, in that remote lodge in a -wilderness. - -She quickly interviewed Margaret Maclaren, and in her company she made a -rapid survey of the dismantled house, the result of which showed her -that a very few days would suffice to put it in order for their -reception. - -"We have let Achree for the season, Margaret," she said in the most -matter-of-fact voice she could command, "and the new tenants want to -come in at Easter. You will thoroughly air and fire all the house, but -more especially my father's room above the dining-room. These two rooms -will be most exclusively his. We shall eat in the little room at the -back, while he has this for his library and sitting-room." - -"Yes, Miss Isla, and hoo mony will come up from Achree--of the servants, -I mean?" - -"Only Diarmid, Margaret. You and he must just manage. I will help all -I can. If we find it too much, your niece, Annie Chisholm, could be -got. Perhaps this will be necessary when we have Mr. Malcolm at home. -Yes--he is coming soon, and he will be here with us for a few weeks at -least." - -Whatever secret wonder may have been in the soul of Margaret Maclaren, -she suffered none of it to be expressed on her face. - -Isla was much pleased with her visit and with the possibilities of the -house, part of which she had forgotten. She saw that her father, too, -was pleased. He enjoyed his walk about the place and constantly spoke -of the beautiful view from the front of the house across the moor and -down to Glenogle. - -"I'll take the reins down, Jamie," said Isla to the hotel groom. - -When they were fairly out on the road she turned rather anxiously to her -father, talking to him in a low voice which there was no possible chance -of Jamie overhearing as he was rather deaf at the best of times, and was -almost entirely devoid of curiosity--a trait in his character worth -mentioning. - -"Father, I want to tell you something. Will you mind very much if we -come up to Creagh soon for the whole summer?" - -"No, I think I should like it," he answered, unexpectedly. "But you -would find it very dull, wouldn't you?" - -"I'm never dull anywhere. You saw the folk who came yesterday--the -Americans, didn't you? I saw Mr. Rosmead talking to you at the -shrubbery." - -"I saw them--yes. Who were they and what brought them to Achree? I -don't remember having seen him before." - -"You haven't seen him before. He's a stranger--a rich American, and I -have let Achree to him for six months." - -Her hand trembled a little on the reins, and she half-expected either a -petulant outburst or some other demonstration of feeling that would vex -and alarm her soul and would harm the old man. But when, made anxious -by his silence, she turned to look at him, his face only wore the -perplexed expression of a child's. - -"I don't know for what reason you want to let the place, Isla, or why -anybody should wish to take it. But have it your own way. I dare say -we could be very comfortable in Creagh unless, indeed, we have a wet -summer. Then we would get very sick of it. I suppose the new folk would -be willing to go out if we found it not possible to live up here." - -"They would be perfectly reasonable, I'm sure, father," said Isla. - -Her relief was so great that her features visibly relaxed, and her eyes -began to shine. She was getting on famously. If only the latter part -of the sad and sorry business should prove as easy to arrange as the -first had been--why, then, perhaps she had been torturing herself -needlessly. She had scarcely had a good night's rest since the arrival -of the Indian mail, and the strain was beginning to tell on her. - -"Well, I think I'll get you settled in Creagh comfortably with Diarmid -as soon as possible. Then, after you are feeling quite at home, I think -I shall go to Plymouth to meet Malcolm's boat. I haven't had a holiday -for four years, father, and in the letter I had from Aunt Jean the other -day she said they were all going up from Barras this week to Belgrave -Square. So I'll take a few days of London dissipation before I meet -Malcolm." - -The old man made no demur. So great were his faith and his trust in -Isla that he seldom questioned any of her doings. - -During that week the bargain was concluded with the Rosmeads by Mr. -Cattanach, after which a small correspondence began between Isla and -Rosmead concerning certain minor repairs in the Castle that he wished to -execute at his own expense. - -A few days before they removed to Creagh he came down himself, -ostensibly for the purpose of explaining to her that what he wished to -effect was only a few small improvements with a view to making the home -more comfortable for his mother. - -Isla at first had resented the idea. Her Highland pride even got the -length of tempting her to write and tell the man that he could either -take the house as it was or leave it. But she could not afford to do -that, so she relieved her feelings by writing the letter and then -consigning it to the fire. - -It was, however, a rather subdued and coldly aggressive Isla who met him -on the occasion of his coming to pay his second call. But when she saw -him, she was ashamed that she had written that letter and was glad that -she had had the sense to burn it. - -"I thought that I had better come instead of writing in reply to your -last letter, Miss Mackinnon," he said presently. "We were getting -adrift from the main issue. I want to explain that I don't propose to -make any structural alterations on the house. The stove that I wrote -about is an American invention for the heating of unsatisfactory country -houses where, for some reason or other, the ordinary heating is -difficult to arrange. It will greatly add to my mother's comfort while -she is here, and it can be taken away when we leave. It will not harm -the house but, on the contrary, will benefit it by drying it up. I -think you mentioned to my sister that it was a little damp." - -"It is very damp in parts," said Isla stoutly. "I am not seeking to -deny it. I am sorry I wrote like that about the stove. You see," she -added with her wandering smile which to him was wholly pathetic, "I am -new to the business of house-letting, and you must be patient with me." - -Her brief anger and irritation vanished under his clear, kind gaze, and -the immensity of comfort and strength that seemed to be created by his -very presence. - -"You may trust me to do nothing which would alter the house out of your -recognition," he said gently. "My mother is an old lady, and her chest -is weak. It is absolutely necessary that she be kept warm and that no -damp should be allowed to come near her. We are charmed with the house -and with the kindness which you showed to us that day we came. My -sister has never ceased to talk about it, and my mother is looking -forward very much to making your acquaintance." - -"Thank you, but at the moor of Creagh we shall be very much out of the -way," said Isla softly. - -"A quick and strong car annihilates distance," he reminded her. - -But she made a quick little gesture of dissent. - -"I think the moor of silence would beat it," she answered. "Well, I am -taking my father up to Creagh next Monday, and when I have settled him -in it I am going to London for a few days. The house will be quite -empty and ready for you from next Monday, and I hope that you will not -find it disappointing. At least I haven't embroidered any of the -facts." - -"You are going to London?" he said, as if surprised. - -"Yes, I have to meet my brother's boat at Plymouth. He is returning from -India." - -"A soldier?" he ventured to ask, remembering the General's rank and -wondering at the dull flush that rose to her face. - -"Yes. But I think he may leave the Army for good. My father's health is -so very frail. Nothing can be settled, however, till my brother comes -home," she answered, hating herself for the prevarication that her clear -conscience told her was nothing short of a lie. - -But the pride in her burned high, and she would not demean herself to -this man who, with all his pleasant ways and curious suggestion of power -and strength, was only a rich, new-made American, who could never be -expected to understand any of the feelings that lay deep in the heart of -a Mackinnon of Achree. - -As for Rosmead, he only smiled inwardly, attracted by her moods, which -were as changeful as the face of Loch Earn. He was a builder of -bridges, and the conquering of obstacles was, as he had told her, his -business. - -He could bide his time. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - THE HOPE OF ACHREE - - -When the "Jumna," an old troopship which had been fitted out for -second-rate traffic from India, slowly approached her mooring in -Plymouth Dock, Malcolm Mackinnon, smoking at the rail, ran his eyes -along the waiting queue of expectant people at the landing-stage without -the remotest expectation of seeing anybody belonging to him there. He -knew the limitations of life in Glenogle, and how very little journeying -to and fro on the face of the earth fell to the inmates of Achree. - -He did not resemble the Mackinnons in appearance. He was short and -thick-set, with his head set squarely on his shoulders, and he had a -ruddy, sun-burned face, a pair of light blue eyes, a shifty mouth, and -hair with more than a touch of red in it. He was very like his mother -who had wrought confusion in Achree. - -Isla, of course, did not know the full tragedy of her father's sad -married life. Only she did know that she had been often impressed with -the feeling and conviction that Malcolm was alien to Achree. - -He might have been a changeling, so much did he differ in everything -from any Mackinnon among them. Yet he had looks of a kind and a certain -way with him which won people and made them, even against their better -judgment, forgive him. This is a dangerous possession for a man who is -not endowed with a very high sense of responsibility. It may at once be -said that on more than one occasion Malcolm Mackinnon had traded on this -happy-go-lucky, winning way of his. - -When he saw Isla waving to him he gave a great start of surprise, which -was almost chagrin. He had made several appointments in London, where -he had intended to spend a few pleasant days before his liberty should -be curtailed at Achree. His sister's presence would make these days -difficult, if not impossible. Then the wild thought flashed through him -that perhaps it meant that something had happened to his father. A -month is a long time in a frail old man's life, and no one knew what a -day might bring forth. - -But Isla was not in mourning, and her face was as serene as usual. It -would be unjust to say that he wished for his father's death, but -certainly had he arrived in Scotland to find himself Laird of Achree, -instead of merely heir to it, it would have made a material difference -to his immediate comfort as well as to his prospects. For his affairs -were in a tangle from which he did not know how he was going to -extricate himself. - -But now he had to meet the first stage in the coming of the inevitable -Nemesis in the shape of Isla, whose frank tongue he knew of yore. He -was fond of her in a way, and admired her greatly. He even wondered -what all the men were thinking of that she remained unmarried at -twenty-five. When he got nearer to her he saw that she had aged but -little, while he himself had grown fat and gross, as will a man of his -build who is fond of drink and of good living. - -"Isla, how awfully good of you to do this! I never expected to see you -or any of our ilk here," he exclaimed in greeting. "How on earth did -you manage it, and how is the old man?" - -"Father is very well. I thought I had better come to meet you, because -there are heaps of things to explain; and besides, I felt that I wanted -just a few days' change. I'm at Belgrave Square." - -His face immediately fell. He did not like his Barras cousins, nor did -they like him. Nay, they highly disapproved of him and all his works, -and it was, he felt, positively cruel of Isla to have laid him open to -the cross-questioning of the whole clan at the very moment of his -arrival in England. - -"In the circumstances you might have spared me that lot, Isla," he said -with the gloom on his face that she remembered so well. "I won't go to -Belgrave Square--so there!" he added positively. "There is a small -cheap hotel off the Strand will do me--that is, if I don't go up north -to-night." - -"I haven't told them anything," said Isla quietly. "They only know that -you are coming home, and, fortunately for me, they don't seem a bit -curious. Aunt Jean was the only one who remarked about your getting -leave so soon again. You can please yourself about going to the little -hotel to sleep, but I promised that you should dine at Belgrave Square -to-night." - -"Oh, well, if they don't know anything and won't ask awkward questions," -he said with a breath of relief, "I don't mind going." - -"I had some difficulty in preventing Marjorie and Sheila from coming -down. If they hadn't had a fitting for a Court frock they would have -insisted on it. Sheila is going to be presented at the next -drawing-room--on 7 May." - -"Oh!" said Malcolm, but his interest was of languid order. "Well, I'd -better see about my stuff. I haven't much. I sold out all I could -before I left. There are always hard-up beggars in the regiment willing -to buy, and I knew I shouldn't want much in the glen." - -Again he spoke with airy inconsequence, as if nothing was of any great -importance. Isla was quite conscious of a vivid and growing resentment. -As she watched his strong, well-knit figure busy among the few traps -which he was instructing one of the porters to collect, she wondered how -he dared to be so regardless as he was. A grown man with a man's -strength and ability of a kind--yet nothing but a burden and a care to -other folks, to frail folks like an old man and a young woman. The -inequality and injustice of it imparted a most unusual hardness to her -face. She was hardly disappointed, however, because Malcolm had always -held his sins of omission and commission lightly and feared only their -consequences. - -But in his heart of hearts he did feel his latest disgrace. A certain -dogged dourness, however, would not permit him to show it. - -After his meagre baggage had been collected there was still no sign of -the boat-train leaving, so they paced the platform from end to end, -talking together in low, eager tones, indicative of the deep interest of -the subject under discussion. - -"How long do you intend to stop in London?" he asked. - -"I only came down to meet you. I thought we might go home on Friday." - -"Oh well, if you like," he said, but she saw his face fall. - -"I don't like to leave father any longer. He was very good about my -coming, and Kitty Drummond was to go over to Creagh every day while I am -away." - -"To Creagh, you say! Who's there now, then?" - -"We are. I have let Achree to some rich Americans, and they went into -residence yesterday, I believe, or at least partly. They are doing a -lot to the house, but their tenancy dates from Easter." - -Malcolm stood still on the wooden pavement and stared at her in genuine -dismay. - -"You've let Achree, you say! In Heaven's name what for, and who gave -you leave?" - -"Nobody gave me leave. I took it; and you are the last person who ought -to ask why," she made answer rather passionately. - -"But--but--" he stuttered, "whatever did the governor say?" - -"He said very little one way or other. I'm not even sure if he grasped -the fact. But at least he was quite pleased to go to Creagh." - -"To Creagh--to that little one-horse place! Do you mean to say that you -propose to live there, then?" - -"We are living there," she answered steadily. - -"And you did this on your own, Isla? Well, I think you had a jolly good -cheek. The decent thing would have been to wait till I came home at -least. You won't deny, surely, that I have a say in it." - -"I don't know about the say. What I did know was that if you came home -the bargain would probably never have been concluded." - -"But what was it for, anyway?" - -She turned her small proud head to him, and her clear eyes flashed. - -"Malcolm, I do really wonder what you are made of." - -"Flesh and blood like other folks, and I can't get away from this. How -much are they paying?" - -"Five hundred a year with the shooting, and we propose to live on three -and to lay bye the other two to help to pay off those terrible -obligations you spoke of in your letter, which has kept me awake more or -less since ever it came." - -He laughed airily. - -"Now that's just like a woman--to imagine that the practice of small and -most beastly uncomfortable economies could do any good! Have you -reckoned out that it will take ten years at the rate you speak of to get -me clear? Most of us will be dead by that time." - -"The train is going, thank God," said Isla in a high, clear, outraged -voice. "Let us get in. I don't want to talk any more to you, -Malcolm--either now or at any other time. You--you are outside the -pale." - -"Now take it easy, old girl. I made a clean breast of it all just to -show you that I was really penitent; and of course I wasn't to blame for -getting chucked. Any fool in the Thirty-fifth will tell you that. But -this little attempt to pull the financial wires does strike a chap as -rather comical. What did old Cattanach say? I suppose he's still at -the helm--worse luck for me." - -"Yes, he is. I gave him your letter, Malcolm." - -"The deuce you did! Then you shouldn't have done it. He's a -fossil--knows nothing about life. But there--don't let us quarrel about -such things. I am jolly glad to see you, old girl. And now I'll -relieve you of all these beastly sordid cares. But Creagh, good -Lord!--and not a bit of horse-flesh on the premises, I could bet my -bottom dollar! I think I must try and rake up a motor-bike before I -leave town; otherwise it will be like being buried alive." - -The guard was calling London passengers to take their seats, and they -made haste into the nearest compartment, which quickly filled up so that -no further talk of a private nature was possible. Isla was glad of it. -She had had enough. - -As she sat opposite to her brother who, immediately the train started, -composed himself in his corner for a sleep, she had ample time to study -his face. That study filled her with a great and growing sadness. He -was just over thirty, and in all these years there were few well-spent -days. As a boy he had been a care and trouble to his people and to his -schoolmasters, and, in these respects, the boy had been father to the -man. - -She thought again with a little, faint, passing sight of envy of the -gallant boy whom the Edens had given to their country, who had died a -hero's death upon the field. She told herself that had such a fate been -Malcolm's she could have thanked God for it. Then she drew herself up -with a little shudder, remembering sharply certain Bible words which had -no uncertain sound--"Whoso hateth his brother is a murderer." - -She did not hate him--only her heart was very tired and full of fear for -the future. - -That night, at the hospitable table of his uncle in Belgrave Square, -Malcolm shone with the best of them. He was on his mettle, and he -exerted himself to please, showing a nice deference to his stately aunt -as well as to his jolly uncle, and he made himself perfectly adorable to -his cousins. - -Isla felt herself quite put in the background, but she did not mind. It -was even a relief not to think, but just to sit still and let Malcolm's -false light shine. Soon enough they would have to know what had -happened, and then she knew that her Aunt Jean would never forgive him. - -She came into Isla's room that night when the girl was brushing her -hair, and, touched by the expression on her face, put a kindly question. - -"What is it, dear child? Don't you feel very well? You haven't looked -like yourself all day." - -"I'm all right, Aunt Jean," Isla answered, but she did not meet her -aunt's eyes. - -"Malcolm is simply splendid! How improved he is! What charming manners! -After all, the Army is the place for boys like Malcolm. Do you remember -what an anxiety he used to be to your father in the old days? How proud -of him he must be now!" - -Isla did not answer--she simply could not. She felt as if she must -scream out loud. - -"Your uncle is delighted. They've been having a long talk in the -smoking-room. Must you really hurry away on Friday, dear? We should -simply love to have you and Malcolm for another week. I could get up a -little dance for Malcolm. That sort of impromptu affair is often most -enjoyable and it really seems a shame to go and bury him in Achree, or -rather in Creagh, for so long." - -"I can't stop, Aunt Jean. You know how father is. He is really quite -frail, and I should not have an easy mind after Friday, but Malcolm can -stop if he likes." - -"I must ask him. How long has he, do you know?" - -"You can ask him that, too, Aunt Jean," answered Ida very low. - -"He isn't at all pleased about the letting of Achree. From his point of -view, it does seem a little hard. Why did you do it, Isla, when you -knew he was coming home this year? Surely it could have waited at least -till the autumn." - -"It couldn't wait. We had no money to go on with, Aunt Jean," answered -Isla. - -"Oh but, my dear, your uncle or I would have come to the rescue. What -are folk for if they can't be made use of in that direction?" asked Lady -Mackinnon almost playfully. - -"It didn't matter about the letting, auntie. Everybody does it, and as -for Malcolm, he is the very last person who ought to complain." - -The voice was so hard that it slightly wounded the woman who heard it. -She stepped forward and lifted the girl's chin in her hand and looked -down into her face. - -"Don't get hard, Isla. It is so unbecoming to a woman. I know that you -have had a lot to think of, but now that Malcolm has come home roll it -off on to his broad shoulders. It is what broad shoulders are given to -our menfolk for. And, above all, don't get thinking that nobody can do -things except yourself. Don't you think you're just a wee bit inclined -that way, Isla?" - -"Yes, I am all that way," answered Isla stolidly. "I fully admit it. -But don't imagine I like it, Aunt Jean. The thing that I most want in -this world is peace, and I can't get it. Good night, auntie. I'm sorry -that I'm so disappointing." - -Lady Mackinnon kissed her fondly, yet with a little regret. - -"Isla's getting hard, Tom," she said to her husband when he came up a -little later. "It's very bad for a girl to lose her mother, though in -Isla's case, of course, it would have been worse if her mother had been -spared. Don't you notice how hard and dull she has got to be of late? -What a pity she couldn't marry! She used to be quite pretty." - -"Used to be, Jean! What are you talking about?" asked Sir Tom rather -irritably. "She's pretty yet, with the sort of beauty that a man -doesn't tire of, and she's clever too. Depend on it, if Isla's hard she -has had something to make her so. Malcolm's charming, of course, and -much improved, but just once or twice to-night I felt that he didn't -ring true." - -"Nonsense, Tom. We have been out of the world too long and haven't -marched with the times. I should like them to stop for a week or two, -but Isla won't hear of it. She says she must go on Friday." - -"Let Isla alone. She knows her own business best. As for Malcolm, -please yourself, but I haven't got at the bottom of the meaning of this -leave of his yet. It's unusual. I shouldn't wonder to hear that there -is something behind it." - -Lady Mackinnon did not take her husband's words at all seriously. She -had no son, and her heart warmed to Malcolm, and she fell asleep, -thinking how blessed she would have been among women had he been hers. -Another of the mistakes this into which poor humanity, seeing through a -glass darkly, is so liable to fall! - -Next morning Isla left the house about eleven o'clock to go to an -obscure street on the other side of Bayswater for the purpose of calling -on an old servant at Achree, who had married a butler, and who now -conducted a small boarding-house off the Edgeware Road. - -It was a lovely spring morning, and she said she would prefer to walk -across the Park. She greatly enjoyed that walk. The wide spaces of the -Park, the enchanting glimpses through the trees which, though still -bare, were beautiful with the sun upon their delicate tracery of branch -and bough, seemed to fill her soul. - -She did not greatly care for London life, and she often wondered a -little at her cousins' enthusiasm over balls and routs, and all the -treadmill of fashionable society. They were so excited over their Court -frocks that their dreams were haunted by chiffons and festoons of lace -and Court trains hung from slender shoulders. - -Isla indeed was far too grave for her years. She had been cheated of -her youth. Even she herself did not know what possibilities for -frivolity and fun her nature held, nor how gay she could have been had -not care, like a gaunt spectre, walked so long by her side. - -Her discomfort about Malcolm was keen this morning. Even the gracious -influence of the sun could not altogether banish it. But it helped, and -her face looked very sweet under the brim of her simple hat, and more -than one pair of eyes filled with admiration as she passed. - -She left the park at the Marble Arch, crossed the road, and made her way -along the Edgeware Road to Cromar Street, where Mrs. Fraser lived. It -was not her first visit, and Agnes having been apprised of her coming, -was on the doorstep to welcome her. - -"There ye are, Miss Isla--a sight for sair een! I have been so put -about wi' joy all this morning that I have not been able to do my work. -How are you, and how is all at dear Achree?" - -"So, so, Agnes," answered Isla with a smile as she grasped the faithful -servant's hand and passed across her hospitable threshold. "You look -wonderfully well. I hope that Fraser is too, and the children, and that -everything is going right with you?" - -Isla possessed to the full the faculty of binding those who served her -to her with hooks of steel, she was so sweetly kind and interested in -everything concerning them. Yet she held their respect, and no servant, -even the least satisfactory, had ever been known to presume in the -smallest degree upon any kindness shown. - -She sat down in Agnes Fraser's ugly, heavy dining-room, which reeked of -stale tobacco smoke, but which represented the greater part of her -living, being let, with bedroom accommodation, to two permanencies who -paid her well. And there Isla listened to the whole recital of the good -woman's affairs. It occurred to Agnes only after Isla had gone, at the -end of an hour's time, that she had really heard very little about -Achree. - -As Isla had risen to depart, she had said with a smile: "If you are -coming to the glen this summer, Agnes, you will have a longer walk to -get to us. We have gone to live at Creagh for the season, and Achree is -let to some Americans." - -Agnes looked the dismay she felt, but abstained from comment and only -remarked that she hoped they had made Creagh comfortable, and that they -would not find it too dull. - -But after the door was shut upon her visitor she wept tears of sorrow -because the glory was departed from Achree. - -Her last duty done, Isla's thoughts as she left the house began to -revert with persistent longing to the glen. She had neither part nor lot -in cities, and she could not understand the craze that people had for -this great, overgrown London, where folk were always in a hurry and -falling over one another in their haste. - -Mrs. Fraser's house was well up the street, and Isla, walking quite fast -and wrapped up in her own thoughts, had no eyes for any of those who -passed her. But presently she came to the corner house of a little -street near the Marble Arch end of the road. The door opened as she -passed, and two persons came out, so close upon her that she could not -but notice them. - -Then her heart gave a sickly bound, and she sped on without once looking -back. - -It was Malcolm who came out of that house, and there was with him a -woman, an impossible woman--that was the impression Isla carried away--a -large, tall person, with an abundance of yellow hair and an enormous -black hat perched upon it. Handsome in a way she might be, and her -smile as she had made some jesting remark to her companion had been -dazzling. - -But it did not dazzle Isla. She grew cold all over, and, without -waiting on her better judgment, which might have urged some quite simple -explanation, she jumped to the conclusion that Malcolm had some -entanglement which was at the bottom of his downfall. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - THE HOME-COMING - - -Having been made free of his aunt's house, Malcolm arrived at Belgrave -Square that afternoon in time for tea. The room seemed quite full of -people, for the young Mackinnons were a gay crowd, never happier than -when surrounded by their friends. Somebody had said that the London -season was to be Scottish that year, and there were heaps of their own -immediate friends already settled in town. - -Isla was greatly in request, and it was about twenty minutes before -Malcolm got a chance of having a word with her. He came up to her -jauntily with an air of the utmost unconcern, and, as he might have -expressed it, took the bull by the horns. - -"Why were you in such a hurry this morning, Isla, and what were you -doing in the purlieus of the Edgeware Road? Don't you know that's the -wrong side of the Park altogether?" he said teasingly. - -"I might say the same to you," she answered a trifle tartly, and her -eyes, which seemed to have acquired a distaste for his face, did not -meet his gaze. - -"I was doing my duty--and a beastly fagging bit of duty it was too, a -little commission for a pal in India--and, as I'd made up my mind to go -north with you to-morrow if you really are bent on going, this was my -only opportunity." - -It sounded a perfectly plausible explanation, and Isla suffered her -somewhat unwilling eyes to dwell for a moment on his smiling face. -Never did man look more innocent and ingenuous. There was not the -flicker of a lid or a tinge of colour to condemn him. Knowing perfectly -well that her scrutiny was judicial, he met it without flinching. - -"I did not like the look of the woman, Malcolm," was all she said. "But -please, I don't want to hear any more about it." - -It can hardly be said that she was convinced, but only that she realized -the utter futility of trying to get to the bottom of Malcolm's mind or -of ever reaching his real self. What that self would be like when she -reached it she did not ask. - -But a little later, watching his matchless manner with his aunt's guests -and the way in which he held his little court of admiring womenkind -about him, she marvelled at his powers. So long as he possessed such -faculties of pleasing and could attract those with whom he came into -contact, nobody need wonder at his gay aplomb. Nothing could greatly -matter, for whoever might suffer or go under, it would not be Malcolm. -He would sail--a little unsteadily perhaps, but still successfully--on -the crest of the wave, and only those who knew him intimately and who -had suffered through him would ever probe the depths of his colossal -selfishness. - -This was the estimate of her brother at which Isla had now arrived. The -trials and hardships of the last three years had wrought a great change -in her outlook upon men and things and had made her judgment a little -merciless. In fact this was a very critical moment in the history of -Isla Mackinnon, and but for the timely introduction of some fresh forces -into her life she might have become a really hard woman. - -Malcolm airily declined his aunt's rather pressing invitation to stay a -week. - -"I'll return, dearest aunt, a little later, when the Glen begins to -pall," he whispered with that little air of personal devotion and -interest which even old women found so charming. "Behold the gloom on -Isla's face! She represents my duty. I shall take her home to-morrow, -Pay my humble respects to the old man, and syne, if you will have me, -I'll be only too glad to come back." - -Lady Mackinnon nodded, well pleased. - -"Come up in time for the Court. Marjorie and Sheila will never be -satisfied till you see them in all their bravery. And we'll give a ball -for you if you do come!" - -"All right, my lady," said Malcolm with extreme satisfaction. "Fix the -date and I'll come." - -"I'm so sorry about Isla. I keep telling her not to take life so -seriously," said Lady Mackinnon, her kind eyes wandering in the -direction of her niece. "As I told her last night, it is you who ought -to bear the burden of Achree. It's robbing her of her youth. She has -changed greatly in the last year, don't you think?" - -"Yes, and gone off decidedly, but there----" - -He gave his shoulders a little shrug which expressed much that he did -not say. - -He dined at Belgrave Square that night and showed another side of -him--the grave, quiet, attentive side, which pleased his relatives -equally, if not even more. - -"Why am I distrait?" he asked, when Marjorie twitted him with his -quietude. "Well, the windbag was pricked last night. I couldn't sleep -in my hard hotel bed for thinking of all the gas I had let out. It was -pure exuberance of joy at again finding myself in such an atmosphere -after hard service and a month on that beastly boat. Here's to our next -merry meeting! Uncle Tom, Aunt Jean--the best of luck and nothing short -of coronets for these fair heads." - -Then they all laughed, and the last memory of the evening was as -pleasant as possible. Next morning the whole family were at Euston to -see the brother and sister off, and they duly departed in the full odour -of family farewells. - -"Well, that's over, thank goodness," said Malcolm as he dropped into his -corner. A judicious word and a tip from Uncle Tom had secured them a -compartment to themselves, in which they could talk of their private -affairs. "Now, it'll be the tug-of-war--eh, Isla? Don't look so glum, -old girl. Believe me, there isn't anything in life worth it." - -"I don't want to be glum, but I have felt rather mean these two days, -Malcolm. Perhaps we ought to have told Uncle Tom and Aunt Jean. Didn't -you feel that we were there under false pretences? They would have felt -differently, I mean, if they had known that you had sent in your -papers." - -He shrugged his shoulders, tossed his cap to the rack, and took out his -cigarette case. - -"Do you mind if I take a whiff? I suppose it would have made a -difference, but why intrude unpleasant topics until one can't avoid -them? That's a pretty good and safe philosophy of life, Isla--to lie -low and keep dark about what can't be helped." - -"They will know before you go back to London again, that is, if you were -serious about going to them in May." - -"Anything may happen between now and the month of May. The thing is to -grease the ropes. Now, what earthly good would it have done to have -told them the real state of affairs? It would only have depressed them -and made us all most beastly uncomfortable. By the by, as we are on the -subject, may I inquire how many people in the Glen you have told?" - -"Only Neil Drummond." - -"That young, unlicked cub! And why, in Heaven's name, should you have -told him? Are you engaged to him--or what? There must be some reason -why he should be taken into the family's most private counsels." - -"I had to tell somebody, and it was in a manner forced on me," she said -rather coldly. "But you need not be afraid of Neil telling anyone. He -feels it too much." - -"Very kind of him, I'm sure. Well now, tell me something about this -American chap. Is he a bounder, like the rest of them?" - -"No, he's a gentleman, Malcolm." - -"It's an elastic term. Do you mean that he wears good clothes and that -sort of thing?" - -"No. I don't mean that." - -"Then, he's a thorough good chap that a fellow might know?" - -Isla, with a vision of Rosmead's calm, strong, fine face in front of -her, sat back suddenly and began to laugh. - -"What's the joke?" asked Malcolm, mildly surprised. - -But she did not give him any satisfaction. She felt tempted to say that -very probably had Rosmead known the facts of the case he might have -declined the honour of Malcolm's acquaintance. She told herself, -however, that she must try not to break the bruised reed. Yet there was -not much of the appearance of the bruised reed about the airy Malcolm, -who looked as if he had not a care in the world. - -He was very kind and amusing on the journey, telling her lots of stories -of his Indian experiences. More than once she felt herself almost -completely succumbing to his spell and inclined to accept without -reservation his own estimate of himself. - -It was dark when they reached the station at Lochearnhead, where the -wagonette from the hotel was waiting for them. - -Malcolm elected to sit on the driver's seat and to take the reins from -Jamie Forbes, and so Isla was left to her own contemplations in the -roomy space behind. She was not sorry that it was so. Once more back -in the Glen, she experienced a return of all her cares, accentuated, -because the biggest one, embodied in the flesh, was in front, carrying -on an animated conversation with Jamie, from whom, in a few minutes' -time, he wrested the whole gossip of the Glen. - -He learned that the hotel business was flourishing exceedingly, now that -the making of the new railway line was coming near the head of the Loch. -It had been started only a year when Malcolm last went away, and now -they were at work on the viaduct, which had just escaped being built on -Achree land. - -"If only we'd been a mile lower down the Glen, Isla!" he looked round to -say. "We might have had a haul off the Railway Companies, but that's -just our luck all through. We miss it every time by the skin of our -teeth. Do you mind if I just stop at the hotel and pass the time of day -with Miss Macdougall?" - -"Don't stop long, then, Malcolm. I want to get home to father as -quickly as possible." - -She sat with what patience she might for ten minutes while he was inside -the hotel getting a drink, and soon after he had resumed his seat they -began the gradual ascent of Glenogle. She was conscious of a quickened -heart-beat as they came near to Achree; and presently the blaze of its -lights could be seen through the trees. - -"By Jove, Isla--no stint there!" he called over his shoulder. "Achree -has never been illuminated like that within the memory of man. What are -they saying about the new folk in the Glen, Jamie?" - -"They like them not that pad, sir. They are fery civil-spoken and kind, -forpy peing likely to spend a heap of money. They are fery anxious that -whoefer hass things to sell in the Glen shall pring them to Achree. -There are not many like that come now to the Glen, Maister Malcolm. The -most of them do nothing put send for big boxes to come from the store. -They will pe well likit, I'm thinking." - -"Oh, yes, it sounds idyllic," said Malcolm drily, the meaning of which -adjective Jamie did not grasp. - -"It seems a shame to pass by the old place. I'm down to-morrow if I'm a -living man, Americans or no Americans," said Malcolm to Isla. "Has he -any women-folk?" - -"I'll tell you about them later," she answered, and her voice shook a -little, for she too felt a qualm as they passed by the gate and the -little lodge. - -It was a long cold climb to the Moor of Creagh, and she was heartily -sick of it before they drew up at the unpretentious white gate from -which a straight, short drive led up to the house. - -Diarmid was in the porch to meet and welcome them, and, though there was -an odd shrinking in the old man's eyes as they travelled with a look of -anxious reproach to the young Laird's face, Malcolm himself seemed quite -unaware of it. He grasped the old man's hand cordially, asked for his -welfare, and then passed in to where the old General, holding himself -rather erect and proudly, though leaning hard on his stick, was peering -through the dim light for sight of his son. - -There can be no man who is wholly bad, and the sight of big father--that -pathetic and yet noble figure, a brave soldier who had spent himself for -his country, shook Malcolm Mackinnon as his sister's appealing eyes had -altogether failed to do. He now realized that if his father was ever -able to grasp the fact of his dismissal from the Army it would kill him. -He should never know, Malcolm swore to himself, as he bent low and -ashamed over the outstretched hand and saw the quiver of the thin, pale -face. - -"How are you, sir?" faltered Malcolm. - -And Isla, seeing his expression and noting the tremor in his voice, -placed that bit of genuine feeling to his credit and wiped something off -the slate. - -"Glad to see you home, my boy, though this is a queer little house you -are come to. Ask Isla about that. She's the culprit, but it's a very -comfortable place, and I like it well. We'll have some happy days here, -my son. Welcome home." - -"Glad to see you well, father," answered Malcolm, though in truth he did -not think the old man looked long for this world. - -Then there was a greeting of sheer affection for Isla, and a look passed -between father and daughter which told of a most perfect understanding. - -Malcolm had a sniff of scorn for the cramped little house and, when -presently, with the grime of his journey washed off and his -dinner-jacket on, he came to the queer little room for the evening meal, -he looked round rather grimly until his significant gaze rested on his -sister's face. - -"You'll never be able to stick it, Isla," he said in his most aggressive -tones. "There isn't room in it to swing a cat." - -The old man was in good form. The coming of his son seemed to awaken -him for a little space to a fresh interest in life. - -"Was there anything brought up from Achree cellar, Diarmid?" he asked as -the old servant passed the plates. - -"Yes, sir," answered Diarmid, not daring to say how very low the cellar -at Achree had fallen and how its precious store had been diminished -without the smallest hope of replenishment. - -They were very abstemious folks at Achree, and the General, being -forbidden all stimulants except a little whisky when he needed it, had -hitherto asked no questions. - -"A bottle of Pommery, then, to drink Mr. Malcolm's health," he said, -with the air of old times, when there had been big parties round the -table at Achree and when the wine had flowed at his bidding. - -Diarmid looked desperately--imploringly at his young mistress, who rose, -smiling slightly. - -The Pommery had long since disappeared; but, in anticipation of this -reunion, she had laid in one bottle of champagne in order that her -father might not be disappointed. So it was brought and duly drawn by -Diarmid, who filled the glasses and then helped his master to his feet. - -"Welcome home, my son. Long life, good health, and honourable -prosperity to you and to Achree. God bless you and make you a blessing. -Isla, my dear, your best health." - -Isla's eyes suddenly swam in tears, and Malcolm had the good feeling to -bend his head in honest shame. The General did little more than taste -from his glass and then set it down with a little sigh of -disappointment. - -"It is bad for good wine to be shifted," he said. "Never mind, Malcolm. -When we go back to Achree you shall have your pick of the cellar." - -The wine was good. The change was in his palate, which had lost its -verve. He was very tired after dinner, and his rambling thoughts could -not be kept in check. He babbled a good deal of old days, for which -indeed Isla was thankful, since it kept him from asking questions about -the present ones. - -She had dreaded what might happen on the night of the home-coming, but -she now clearly saw that her father was less and less likely to disturb -himself about any untoward happenings. He accepted everything--a -circumstance which certainly considerably relieved the strain. - -"He looks jolly bad, poor old chap," said Malcolm, when Isla came down -about ten o'clock from seeing him safely in bed. "He can't last long. -It was a pity that you didn't let him see it out at Achree." - -"He has not got any worse in the last six months that I can see. Of -course the excitement to-night wore him out. He will be brighter in the -morning." - -"I still think it was a beastly shame to bring him up here. There isn't -even decent comfort. This is the only room worth mentioning." - -"Well, he has it. He is quite comfortable," said Isla, stoutly. "We -must take what is left." - -"In wet weather, of which Glenogle has its full share, we shall fight -like Kilkenny cats," said Malcolm with a grimace. - -Isla passed over the vulgarity of the remark in silence, and, after a -moment, said quite straightly. "But surely you won't stop long in the -Glen, Malcolm. You'll try to get an appointment of some kind." - -"I'd be glad if you'd mention the sort of appointment I'd be likely to -get," he answered carelessly. "I must say it's very cold cheer you have -for a chap, Isla, after three years' absence. If I weren't the most -unsuspicious of men I might suspect you of having underhand motives." - -Isla, staring hard into the crackling embers of the peat-fire, answered -nothing. - -"It strikes me from all I can gather that the place wants a good deal of -looking into. I'll make that my first business. I thought them all -slack when I was home before, and Heaven only knows what they'll be like -now. Then, I must be on the spot on account of the way the old man is. -I shouldn't like to be out of the way if anything should happen." - -Isla rose to her feet and bade him good night. She had had just about -as much as her tired body and strained mind could stand. - -"Dead men's shoes" were the words that beat upon her brain through the -hours of a restless night. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - MALCOLM'S PROSPECTS - - -It is the mission of the morning to clear the air, and next morning -things looked brighter. The sun shone out gloriously, and the air was -soft and balmy as a child's kiss. - -Isla slept late and rather heavily after a restless night, and she was -horrified when she awakened with a start to find that it was nine -o'clock. She sprang up, threw her window open to the sun, and leaned -over it for a moment to inhale the delicious breath of the morning. She -had taken one of the attic rooms for her own, Margaret Maclaren -occupying the other one, while Diarmid had made shift with a bed in his -pantry. - -The attics had storm-windows on the roof, from which you could see -across the angle of the Moor and get a glimpse of Glenogle. Also from -that high coign of vantage there was a fascinating view of Ben Voirlich, -on whose peak still rested the cap of morning mist. But all the little -hills huddled around and below were clear, and the day gave promise of -being fine. - -Margaret, who had been up twice to the door, now appeared with her hot -water. - -"So glad you had a good rest, Miss Isla. I thought you looked terrible -tired last night. The General is still sleeping. Diarmid says he has -hardly moved all night." - -"Oh, I am glad of that--and Mr. Malcolm?" - -"Been out since the back of six and had his porridge with Diarmid and -me," answered Margaret proudly. "Now he is asking for his breakfast and -inquiring when you are coming down." - -"Serve the breakfast. I'll be as quick as I can," said Isla. - -She plunged into her dressing with a will. When she got down to the -dining-room she found Malcolm in a tweed knicker-bocker suit, discussing -the Loch trout that had been sent up from the hotel with Miss -Macdougall's compliments. - -"I'm surprised at you, Isla. I thought you would have been down at six -anyway, giving us all points," he said gaily. "I've been up for two -hours and a half and had a tramp across the Moor. It was glorious. -Seen father?" - -"Yes, he's just waking up after a good night" - -"He doesn't come down to breakfast?" - -"No. Diarmid is taking it to him now." - -She passed round to her place at the tray, and Malcolm admired her trim -figure with its slender, well-belted waist, the poise of her head, the -glint of her hair, and the clear red-and-white of her complexion. - -"You look better here than you did in London, Isla. London doesn't suit -you, and that old black frock you had on at Aunt Jean's in the evening -was an unbecoming rag, if you'll excuse me for saying it. You could -wear vivid colours. I'd like to see you in emerald green--shimmery soft -stuff, don't you know?--with trailing draperies round you?" - -Isla laughed outright. - -"I'm afraid the chances of that are small. The old black rag has been -my only evening frock since you went away, and I believe I've had it on -only about half a dozen times." - -"Poor old girl, what a shame that it can't get pretty clothes! Now, if -I were you I'd have them. By Jove, I would, and let pay who will." - -"Yes, I know," she answered quietly. "But I've got into the habit of -paying for my clothes before I wear them. Well, what are you going to -do to-day?" - -"Well, the first thing undoubtedly is to rig up a horse and trap of some -kind. I'll go down to Lochearn presently--on my feet, that haven't done -much walking of late, you bet, and see whether Miss Macdougall can fix -me up. It's quite obvious that Creagh isn't livable in unless one is -provided with some means of escape from it. What about the post? Do -the old primitive arrangements still hold good?--half the day gone -before the bag comes in?" - -"It's half-past twelve before the postman gets here. I generally walk as -far as Little Shuan to meet him." - -"I'll get farther than that this morning--probably all the way," he -said. "What are you to be about? I suppose you have things to see to -in the house after having been away?" - -"Yes," said Isla. "I want you to be careful about the letters while you -are here, Malcolm. There are only some my father cares to see, and even -these do not always interest him. But he has gleams of comprehension -and of most disconcerting clearness of vision. Dr. Blair says it is most -imperative that he should not have a shock of any kind, however small, -and in the last year I have been keeping almost everything back from -him. He grasps one bit of a thing, you see, and confuses the rest, and -so might very easily work himself up into a state about nothing." - -"I understand," said Malcolm. "So, between us, we have to keep him in -the dark. That's what it amounts to, I suppose." - -Isla nodded. "I hate to see it, but it does amount to that." - -"I'll make a note of it. But, now that I'm home, the chief cause of -anxiety may perhaps be removed," he said airily. "Well, I'll go, and -don't keep my luncheon for me. If I want anything I'll drop in at the -hotel. It's possible that I may call at Achree as I come up. Of course -it is necessary that I meet this American chap and have a talk with -him." - -"I suppose so, but you can't do anything, Malcolm, even if you see -things you don't like at Achree. He has paid the half of his money." - -"And where is it." - -"In the Bank at Callander, in my name." - -Malcolm whistled. - -"Rather high-handed, isn't it, Isla?" - -"There wasn't anything else to be done. Father can sign cheques, of -course, but I banked Mr. Rosmead's money in my name on Mr. Cattanach's -advice." - -"But surely now you'll let me take over the business part of the show, -Isla?" - -He pushed back his chair and took out his cigarette case as he put the -question. - -Isla looked uncomfortable, and her face even paled a little. She hated -the position in which she was placed, but past experience had shown her -the folly of trusting Malcolm in money matters. He had certainly not -the money-sense nor yet the sense of honour where money was concerned. - -"I don't think I can do that, Malcolm. Remember, it is all the money -that we have to live on until the rents become due again at Martinmas." - -"Don't any of them pay now?" - -"One or two--Roderick Duncan and the farmer at Little Shuan. But these -are crofts, their rent amounting to only a few pounds." - -Having lit his cigarette, Malcolm proceeded to turn out his pockets. - -"A few coppers, some Indian coins, and two half-sovereigns!" he said -ruefully. "I'm stonybroke, Isla. Have I to come to you for the few -pence that I shall need in the Glen? By Gad I can't do that! I must -speak to the governor about it." - -Isla's face reddened where it had been pale before. - -"It's a horrible situation," she said almost passionately. "But don't -you see I can't help it? It isn't my doing. Since you left we have -lived on next to nothing at Achree. We haven't bought any butcher's -meat hardly, but have had rabbits and fowls and game of our own killing -and the everlasting trout. I never get any new clothes, as you have -already observed and remarked upon." - -"But now that the American has paid you should be a little rougher." - -"I'm going to save that money to pay off the mortgage and the--the other -money you owe," she said quite quietly, and he had no idea what fires -blazed beneath that calm exterior. "You'll have to find something to -do, Malcolm, and that soon. You must see that for yourself." - -"I see that I'm to have a jolly rotten time here," he said gloomily. "I -must write to Cattanach and tell him to look out an agent's place of -some kind for me." - -"But you don't know anything about land or estate management, Malcolm." - -"I know as much as some of the fellows of my acquaintance who fill fat -billets. Meanwhile, I simply must have a fiver, Isla. I shan't spend -it, but a fellow can't go about with empty pockets." - -She rose and, unlocking the old bureau, counted out five sovereigns from -the little cash-box in the secret drawer. He took them without shame -and even with a twinkle in his eye. - -"Pay Saturday! Well, good-bye, old girl. I'll go out on the hunt and -see whether I have any luck. I don't mind telling you I'm rather -building on this American chap. If he's a millionaire I must try and -coax him to disburse a little in this direction. I'll ask him quite -frankly whether he doesn't want a handyman about the place. I could -take on that job and fill it to a T." - -Isla did not demur, but her pride rose again in revolt at the thought of -what Malcolm might do. She thought she did not wish to see anything -more of the Americans. She would keep strictly to the letter of their -bargain and leave them at Achree in peace. But if her observation was -to any purpose she told herself that Malcolm would not make very much of -Peter Rosmead, who was far too hard-headed a man to be taken in by his -specious ways. - -She had a good many uncomfortable moments during the day, however, while -contemplating possible interviews between Malcolm and Rosmead, all of -which fell short of the actual happening. - -Malcolm went up to spend half an hour by his father's bedside, making -himself so charming that the old man was full of it when Isla came to -see how he was getting on. - -Then he left the house and set off with a long swinging step to cover -the distance between Creagh and Lochearn. He did not keep to the road. -There was not a hill-path or a sheep-track in the district with which he -had not been familiar since his boyhood. He came out just below Achree, -deciding that he would go on to meet the post first and take it as he -returned. About a quarter of a mile from the Lodge he met Donald -Maclure driving some black-faced ewes in front of him, and he stopped to -pass the time of day. - -Donald was a large, slow man, with a stolid face and a shock of red hair -sticking out from under his broad bonnet, and he presented a sharp -contrast to his trig and sonsy wife. Indeed, many had wondered how -Elspeth had ever come to marry him and, above all, who had done the -courting, Donald being the most silent man in the whole of the glens. - -"Hallo, Donald, how is the world using you?" cried Malcolm cheerily. - -"No sae pad, Maister Malcolm," Donald was forced to answer. "I heard ye -gae by last nicht--at least Elspeth did. She wass oot wavin' her hand." - -"I must go in and give her a kiss for that--eh, Donald? Where are you -taking that nice-looking herd to?" - -"The other side of the little hill," answered Donald briefly. - -"Coining money off the sheep--eh, Donald? It's you farmers who haul in -the shekels in these days. What with taxes and reduced rents and what -not, there's little left for the poor landlord. You needn't shake your -head, my man. We'll thrash it out another day, however. But you can't -get away from the fact that we can't afford to live in our own house." - -Donald pulled his forelock and passed on with a mysterious Gaelic -direction to the sheep-dog, which was attended with magical results. He -was neither convinced nor deceived by Malcolm's small hints. He knew -him of yore; also Elspeth, having the most perfect faith in her big, -silent husband, had not failed to confide to him the true story of the -Americans' coming to Achree. - -A few steps further on Malcolm saw in the distance two ladies, walking -together, with shepherds' crooks in their bare hands and with no hats -upon their heads. - -Their bearing and carriage at once riveted his keen interest. Wherever -there was a petticoat Malcolm Mackinnon was interested, and these ladies -were evidently strangers to the Glen. - -One was very tall and slender, the other short in stature but neatly -built, and both wore most workman-like country attire with a grace that -he had never seen excelled. - -As he came nearer the face of the taller of the two attracted him still -more. It was exquisitely beautiful, being chiselled on pure classical -lines, and the skin was soft and clear, the colour so pale and delicate, -without giving the smallest suggestion of ill-health, that he had never -seen anything like it. The abundant dark hair, slightly waved in front -and worn simply parted over her ears, gave a look of Madonna-like -simplicity to the face, which, to Malcolm's eyes, seemed most alluring. - -The other was more ordinary, though her face had a certain piquant -charm. He wondered who they were and whether he dared make any remark -as they passed, but they solved the difficulty by bidding him a pleasant -good morning. - -Instantly his cap was in his hand, and he would have stopped, but they -immediately passed on, evidently slightly surprised at his intention to -detain them. He waited only until they were over the brow of the next -little hill, and then he deliberately entered Donald Maclure's pasture -and crept back after them in shadow of the few scanty trees and shrubs -that lined the road--and all just to watch where they would go! - -From the next hillock he could see the gate of Achree in the hollow, -and, having waited sufficiently long, smoking another cigarette the -while, he had the satisfaction of seeing them turn in at the Lodge. -Then did an immense content steal over Malcolm Mackinnon. With two such -charming inmates at Achree, life which had promised to be like a desert, -suddenly began to blossom like the rose. - -He hastened on without stopping at the farm-house to pass the time of -day with Elspeth Maclure, and presently his attention was diverted by -the sight of the new railway track which had gradually crept up the side -of the Loch, and which was about to culminate in a big viaduct over the -burn at the lower end of Glenogle. He had not a very keen sense of -beauty, but, somehow, he did not like the ugly scars on the hill-sides -and all the unsightly paraphernalia of the work, though he knew very -well what a boon it would be to them when all was finished. - -He was still contemplating it when the post-gig drove up, and then there -was another stop and an exchange of greetings with David, while the -letters were handed over. He glanced at them with a sort of careless -keenness, and, deciding that there was nothing affecting him, he handed -them back and told David to deliver them at Creagh. - -Finally he landed in the Hotel, where he spent a good hour at the bar, -hearing all the gossip of the Glen and, incidentally, a good deal that -he wished to know about the new folk at Achree. - -"I think I met them, Miss Macdougall. Have they passed by this -morning?" - -"Yes. They have been in here, sir--the two young ladies, but they do -say that the big tall one is a married woman that has divorced her -husband. I don't know the story rightly, but that's what they say. She -is very quiet and seems sad-like. The other speaks most of the time and -is very lively. The old lady I have never seen, but they do say that -they are a most superior kind of folk and not like some of them we get -in the Glen in the shooting season." - -"Do you happen to know whether Mr. Rosmead himself is in the Glen -to-day?" - -"No, he iss not, sir, for the motor went by with him for the nine -o'clock train and syne came back empty." - -"Well, I'm not supposed to know, so I think I'll call at the place as I -go up. I have a good enough excuse anyhow, as I have been away so -long." - -And thus it came about that this bit of information did not deter -Malcolm from doing that which he had in his mind. - -About half-past twelve he passed through the familiar gateway to Achree -and made his way to the house. His pulses scarcely stirred as he did -so. The place of his fathers made no appeal to him. It was merely -stone and lime, and if it had been in his power he would have sold it -for hard cash to any purchaser. In fact, the thought uppermost in his -mind as he approached the door was that, having once caught the -millionaire, he might find it worth while to keep him. He determined to -make himself, somehow, master of the law of entail in order to discover -whether there was any loophole of escape from the disability to sell it. -Not in his father's lifetime, of course. But when Isla and he should be -left, of what use would this great, rambling, uncomfortable old house -and its attendant acres of hungry moor and hill be? Far better convert -it into the money with which they could enjoy life, making choice in the -whole wide world of a place of abode. - -A woman-servant opened the door to him, and in answer to his inquiry, -informed him that Mr. Rosmead was not at home. Malcolm's sharp eyes -noted in the hall beyond the flutter of a petticoat, and as he turned to -go he purposely raised his voice. - -"I am sorry that I've not a card on me. Will you be so kind as to tell -him that Mr. Malcolm Mackinnon from Creagh called to see him and that he -will call another day?" - -"Yes, sir," said the girl. - -But at that moment the figure within came towards the door. It was -Sadie, who, having heard the name, advanced with an insatiable -curiosity. She extended a very frank hand. - -"So you are Mr. Mackinnon that was expected home from India," she said, -showing her dazzling teeth in her smile. "Won't you come in and have a -bit of lunch with my sister and me? We shall be alone, as my mother -does not yet come down." - -"Thank you, Miss Rosmead. But that would be presuming on a very slight -acquaintance--in fact, none at all, wouldn't it?" - -"Oh, but we know your sister and that perfectly dear old father of -yours, and, anyway, this is your house and you must want to have a look -at the old place after having been away so long. I've no doubt you are -hating us for being here. Come in. Oh, Vivien, do come here! It was -Mr. Mackinnon whom we met on the road, and I am asking him to lunch." - -Malcolm passed into the house, hat in hand, and was duly introduced to -Mrs. Rodney Payne. Seen at closer quarters, she was even more beautiful -than he had thought. The still repose of her manner contrasted strongly -with her sister's vivacity and seemed from the first to cast a sort of -spell over Mackinnon. - -"We shall be happy if you will stay to luncheon, Mr. Mackinnon," she -said, obeying the instructions from Sadie's eyes. "My brother will be -very sorry to have missed you. He has gone to the Forth Bridge to-day -to meet the contractors there and have a talk with them. It seems it is -the annual inspection--or something. Anyway, Peter had an invitation to -go. He won't get back till quite late, perhaps not even until -to-morrow." - -Malcolm Mackinnon did not care. He was in no hurry to meet Mr. Hylton -P. Rosmead so long as there was such a charming substitute to take his -place. He wouldn't have hesitated about making this glib compliment to -another woman, but there was something about Vivien Rosmead which -repelled any attempt at even the slightest familiarity. She held -herself aloof, and her mouth, made for sweetness, seemed as if it were -chiselled in marble. Malcolm wondered what the experience had been that -had given her that petrified expression, and he longed to be the man to -melt her heart. - -Sadie, as usual, did the talking and proved herself an admirable -hostess. But while he answered her gay badinage it was Vivien who had -his whole admiration. He noticed how little she ate and that her eyes -had in them a far-away look which seemed to detach her from the common -things of life. Yet she was not dull. A word now and then indicated -that she was not by any means dead to the possibilities of life or to -the interests of everyday. - -"We like your sister so much, Mr. Mackinnon," she said with a sudden -warm flash of interest when Sadie left a moment's breathing space. "We -hope that she is going to allow us to be friendly with her." - -"Oh, yes, of course. Why not? She will be only too pleased, I'm sure," -murmured Malcolm eagerly. - -"She was so kind about letting us come here in a hurry that we can never -forget it. And it is so lovely to see her with your father." - -As she spoke of the old General, Vivien's eyes grew large and pitiful, -more and more like those of the Madonna. - -"It's even more lovely to find how adored she is in the Glen, in all the -glens," said Sadie the irrepressible. "Everywhere you hear nothing but -her praises. Don't you find it a little hard, Mr. Mackinnon," she added -with just a little malicious flash, "to live up to such a sister?" - -"Sadie, Sadie, do be careful!" said Vivien softly. "That is not quite -kind." - -"It's true, Vivien, and I see from Mr. Mackinnon's face that he admits -it. You and I must be pals, Mr. Mackinnon, for I'm just like that with -my sister. She's so frightfully good that she ought to have a halo, and -she makes all common folks who approach her feel worship in the air." - -"I am sure of that," said Malcolm with a queer little bow in the -direction of Vivien who, though she laughed, was a little vexed. - -"Mr. Mackinnon will think us very frivolous, Sadie. Suppose we change -the subject and ask him to tell us something about India. Your British -rule in India is so splendid! It stands, just like a great rock, immune -from the assaults of criticism. I'm sure all this talk about sedition -and unrest means nothing. Perhaps you can tell us about it." - -Very little did Malcolm Mackinnon know about British rule in India--as -little indeed as any Tommy in the ranks. - -"Well, you see," he said with rather an awkward laugh. "I was only a -bit of the system--don't you know?--a small--very small spoke in the big -wheel. My part was to make forced marches in the night and keep an open -eye after stray bullets, and to be all ready when occasion rose." - -Sadie's eyes positively glowed with excited interest. She loved the -Army, investing it with colour and romance, and in Malcolm Mackinnon she -pictured to herself a heroic figure--a replica of the fine old father, -of whose valour the Glen had many tales to tell. - -But Vivien, the more discriminating of the two, had already decided in -her own clear and quiet mind that the son of Achree occupied a lower -moral plane than the daughter. Her instinct was very swift and fine, -and the feeling of distrust born of that first meeting was never -afterwards wholly dispelled. - -Sadie, with her elbows on the table, wagged her unconventional tongue -and asked so many questions about their guest's life in India that he -gave her a very highly coloured version of the same, playing up to her -for all he was worth and deepening her impression of the soldiery who -had upheld Britain's prestige all over the world. - -In the midst of this fascinating talk which proceeded almost entirely -between Malcolm and Sadie, Vivien merely listening with an odd air of -cool detachment which was almost critical, a servant entered the room -with a message which she delivered to Sadie. Since Vivien's return to -her mother's house she had taken a secondary place, and, though she -resumed her own name, it was Sadie to whom were accorded the privileges -of the elder daughter. - -"Please, Miss Sadie, Mrs. Rosmead would like very much to see Mr. -Mackinnon before he goes if he will come to her room." - -Malcolm would have declined if he had had any excuse, but Sadie jumped -up immediately, saying that she would show him the way. - -Vivien did not accompany them, and when, after a brief interview with -the beautiful, white-haired old lady who had Vivien's eyes, Sadie and he -returned to the hall-place, she was nowhere to be seen. - -"Must you go, Mr. Mackinnon? I don't know where Vivien is. She's like -that, poor dear. Her troubles have quite taken the life out of her. -You'll come again, won't you? In the name of the whole Rosmead folks I -make you free of your own house." - -She was so frankly kind and her eyes so beamed on him that Malcolm would -not have been Malcolm had he not made quick response. - -He bent low over her white, outstretched hand and murmured certain words -which somewhat heightened Sadie's colour and brought an odd softness to -her eyes. - -"I like that man, Vivien. He's perfectly lovely, I think, and all the -things they say about him in the Glen are lies. Don't you think so?" - -But Vivien, whom sad experience had made wise, answered not at all. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - THE MESSENGER - - -As Malcolm strode up the Glenogle road a little later, well pleased with -his day's achievement, he was overtaken by a smart drag and a pair of -swift roan horses handled by Drummond of Garrion, whose sister Kitty was -by his side. - -Neil drew up of course, and there was an odd look on his face as the -greeting passed. Malcolm's manner was perfectly cool, even a little -defiant. It would certainly have been better had Isla held her tongue, -but he was not going to eat humble pie before that big, sheep-faced boy -who had nothing but his money to recommend him. - -He took off his cap to Kitty, however, who smiled sweetly upon him. - -"We're going to Creagh--no, not to call on you, Malcolm, so don't think -it. We only wanted to know whether Isla had come back." - -"We returned last night," he answered. "Well I'll see you later." - -"Nonsense. You'll get up, Mackinnon," said Drummond so shortly that -Kitty turned reproachful eyes on him. - -There were heaps of stories about Malcolm in the glens, but after all, -nothing had been proved against him. And, anyhow, it was not the -province of friendship to turn a cold shoulder. - -"I'd walk, Malcolm, if I were you. Wait a moment, and I'll get down to -convoy you." - -"No you don't, my lass," said Drummond firmly. "Get up, Mackinnon. The -brutes won't stand--you see how fresh they are." - -Malcolm did not hesitate longer. It was three good miles to Creagh yet, -and a man doesn't walk so easily after a good meal as before it. He -swung himself to the back seat and settled himself so that he could talk -to both, but chiefly into the ear of Kitty, whose looks, he decided, had -improved. - -"Neil's manners, as I dare say you have observed, have not improved of -late," said Kitty airily. "He has been such a bear to-day that I am -forced to the conclusion that he must have something on his conscience." - -Malcolm laughed. - -"If it comes to that we've all got something on our consciences--more or -less," he answered gaily. "Don't let it put you down on your luck too -much, old chap. It's good policy to wait till the clouds roll by." - -As to what Neil thought of him Malcolm did not care a fig, but he wished -to stand well with Kitty, having proved that women were generally a -man's best friends and would champion him, often against their better -judgment. It was a favourite jest with him that he would prefer a court -martial of women to anything in this world, and that he would never -despair of getting off. - -Drummond had told his sister only a judicious amount about Achree -affairs, and it is to his credit that he had kept the fact of Malcolm's -dismissal from the Army entirely to himself even when sometimes tempted -to tell what he knew. - -It was for Isla's sake that he had kept silence--Isla, whom he loved -with a dog-like fidelity that was capable of any sacrifice and any -suffering in order to make her happy. - -Malcolm was unaware of Drummond's sentiments towards his sister, and if -he had known them they would only have amused him. He despised Neil as -a man of the world might despise and belittle a boy who had seen nothing -of life. Neil, on his part, had the heartiest contempt for Malcolm -Mackinnon, and cherished such an honest rage against him that it would -have relieved him to have given him a good thrashing. - -"You won't like Creagh, Malcolm," said Kitty sympathetically. "I can't -help thinking that Isla was in too big a hurry to rush the Americans in. -They were so frightfully keen on Achree that they would have waited your -time." - -"That's what I think, but I don't grumble," said Malcolm. "I've been to -lunch with them to-day, and they're quite decent--upon my word they -are." - -"Been to lunch already, have you, Malcolm? You don't let the grass grow -under your feet. And what do you think of them? I really think we must -call, Neil. Why not this afternoon when we go down?" - -"No," answered Neil shortly, "I'm not needing any truck with such folks. -If they must swarm into Scotland, then, let them, but they'll get no -encouragement from me." - -"Touch me if ye daur," whispered Malcolm with his eyes full of laughter. - -Kitty laughed out loud. - -On the way down she took the opportunity of asking Neil what had made -him so disagreeable to Malcolm all the afternoon. - -"I'm sure he's very nice and has greatly improved. His manner to his -father is beautiful, I think--such a nice mixture of deference and -devotion." - -"Fiddlesticks, Kitty!" said Drummond in his grumpiest tones. "You don't -know what you're talking about." - -"Do you?" she asked saucily. - -"It takes a man to know a man like Malcolm Mackinnon. I wonder how he -can bear to loaf about idle--great big hulking fellow that he is!" - -"Loaf about? But he's on leave, Neil, and he has had a hard year of -skirmishing. You should hear him tell about it." - -"Don't want to--shouldn't believe it if I did," said Neil, biting his -lip and conscious that he had very nearly let the cat out of the bag. - -He had not had an opportunity of private speech with Isla at Creagh, -because he and his sister had found the Edens in the little drawing-room -and had left them still there when they went away. The whole afternoon -had been a disappointment, and when, as they neared the gate of Achree, -Kitty had again ventured to suggest that they should pay a call he -refused point-blank. - -It seemed as likely as not that Malcolm was to become a bone of -contention in the Glen and that very soon there would be two -factions--one that believed in him and another that discredited him in -everything. - -Malcolm himself was the least concerned of them all. - -The weather continuing beautiful and spring-like, he went out early and -stayed out late, and they saw very little indeed of him at Creagh. - -Isla now heard less of the news of the Glen, for it was a long walk down -to Lochearn and her father seemed more than ever reluctant to let her -out of his sight. These were rather trying days for Isla, because her -father talked almost incessantly about Malcolm, praising him to the -skies and predicting a glorious future for him. - -As the days went by and no letter or communication of any kind came from -India or from the War Office, and as no intimation regarding Malcolm's -withdrawal from the Army had been seen in any of the newspapers, Isla -began to cherish the hope that they had heard the last of it. Of course -Malcolm might have intercepted any that had been sent, but if he had -done so he did not tell her. They saw little of each other and there -was not much brotherly or sisterly confidence between them. They were -indeed working at cross-purposes and, without knowing it, each was -jealous of the other. - -Nobody would have been more surprised and indignant than Isla had anyone -told her that she was jealous of Malcolm's frequent visits to Achree: -yet that was the truth. Also, she was keenly disappointed that Rosmead, -after all his considerate kindness at the beginning, had never made the -smallest effort to see her again. She would not go to Achree unless she -was specially invited. So she remained at Creagh, living out the dull -and narrow days, her heart full of vague discontent and unrest and -forebodings which she could not have put into words. - -Four weeks passed away--certainly the longest four weeks of Isla's life. -She did not like Creagh though nothing on earth would have induced her -to admit it. She missed all the cheery, pleasant gossip of the Glen and -the little village, the daily intercourse with her own folk, the give -and take of a social life which, if limited, was at least very sincere. -Achree and Creagh were evidently two different places in the estimation -of her circle, for nobody but the Edens and the Drummonds took the -trouble to look her up, and even they did not come often. All the fun -and all the social life apparently fell to Malcolm's share. - -She was thinking of all this one morning as she sauntered down to the -gate to meet the post-gig. She was a little late, she found by the -watch-bracelet on her arm, and wondered as she glanced down the long -white line of the road, on which there was not a single moving object -visible, whether she had missed David Bain. - -She had been over at the keeper's house about half a mile distant, -inquiring after a woman who had had a new baby and, meeting the doctor -from Comrie there, had stopped a little to talk with him. She had -assured him that he need not call at Creagh, unless indeed he -particularly wanted to see her father--as he had not been so well for -years as he had been since they came up to live on the Moor. - -Presently she saw something in the distance--a man on horseback, rather -a rare spectacle on the moorland road at that season of the year. She -thought at first that it must be Neil Drummond, who was the only -horseman that ever came to Creagh. But a nearer glance assured her that -the figure was a heavier one than Neil's, and, besides, she did not -recognize the horse, though she could see that it was a good one. - -She waited a few minutes longer, and as the horseman drew rapidly nearer -she recognized the figure as that of Rosmead. This surprised her very -much. Somehow, she had never imagined that an American man, though even -a distinguished builder of bridges, would ride a horse and look so well -on it. - -Having no doubt that he was coming to Creagh, she opened the gate and -stood by the white post until he came up. She admired the ease with -which he sat, proving thereby that he was no novice on a horse's back. -He looked uncommonly well-pleased to see her, and before he reached the -gate he saluted her and threw himself to the ground. - -Catching the reins over his arm, he took off his hat and kept it under -his arm until she had given him her hand. - -"It's a case of Mahomet coming to the mountain, Miss Mackinnon. I am -here to-day on my mother's behalf and with a message from her." - -"Yes?" said Isla, and her smile was bright and very sweet. - -She had felt left out in the cold, and that feeling of neglect accounted -for the little glow at her heart which had been kindled by the sincere -cordiality of Rosmead's greeting. - -"Do you know that she feels quite aggrieved," said he, "to think that -she has been a month in Achree and that you have never called once to -inquire or to make her acquaintance." - -"I am very sorry. I did not think--" replied Isla a little confusedly. -"And since, as I understand, my brother has paid many calls at Achree I -did not think it necessary that I should call. Besides, I am very much -tied here on account of my father's health----" - -"I understand that," he said gently. - -"And it is a long way to Achree," she continued, "and we have no horse -or trap of any kind. But I will come one day very soon and make my -apologies. I hope that you are pretty comfortable in the house, and -that your mother likes it." - -"She loves it. She has settled down, and from present signs I don't see -that we shall ever get her out of it again," he answered with a laugh, -watching at the game time the mobile face beside him. - -He thought it the sweetest face that he had ever seen and--almost he -could have said--the dearest. Yet Hylton Rosmead had seen many fair -women, among whom he might without doubt have made his choice. - -"I am so glad," said Isla a little wistfully. "And your sisters--do -they, too, like it?" - -"They do. Glenogle and Lochearn in such a spring as this leave little, -I think, to be desired in the way of winsomeness. I myself feel as if I -belonged here, which, I dare say, you consider great presumption on my -part." - -"Indeed no," said Isla, with a swift, kind glance. "I feel very glad to -know that that is how you regard Achree." - -"I came with a message from my mother and also, I must confess, on my -own account to tell you that I have to leave Scotland for a few months." - -"Oh!" said Isla, and her face unaccountably fell. - -But Rosmead was not yet sufficiently acquainted with the play of its -expression to understand that his news had disappointed her. Neither -was he vain enough to imagine that her expression had altered because of -his announcement of his impending departure. - -"Where are you going?" she asked a moment later. - -"Back to America. The object for which I came to this country is -accomplished, and I really have no excuse for remaining longer here." - -"Oh!" said Isla again, a little dully. "Somehow I imagined that you -were going to settle in Scotland, though of course that was a very -absurd supposition on my part." - -"Not so very absurd. It is what I should like to do--what I hope to do -one day. But, in the meantime, I must not forget that I am a partner in -an American business and that I am expected to go back with my report." - -"What report?" - -"You have forgotten, of course, that I told you I was a bridge-builder. -Why should you remember it?" he asked lightly. "I came over to meet the -engineers and the contractors who have to do with your splendid bridges -here, and in the fall I shall have to go down south, where my firm has -undertaken to build one of the biggest cantilever bridges in the world." - -"Oh!" said Isla a third time. "And you will not come back?" - -"I hope that I shall return later in the year--probably to spend -Christmas with my mother and sisters." - -"They will remain here, then? You wish to extend the term of your -tenancy of Achree? Do you remember it was to be for six months?" - -"With the option of remaining for a year. That was made very clear, I -think, at the beginning, and, as I said, my mother will not be easily -ousted from Achree. She is of Scottish parentage, you know. Her mother -was a Farquharson, so she imagines that she has a special claim on -Scotland. Happily your brother does not mind the extension." - -A sort of chill fell on Isla at mention of Malcolm's name, though why -she could not have told. She had no fear that he had not made himself -pleasant or agreeable at Achree; but, somehow, disaster seemed to -associate itself with his name. She feared to pursue the subject. But -Rosmead, quite unaware of her feeling in the matter, none of the gossip -of the Glen having reached his ears, went on quietly. - -"We've had several long talks about it, and practically it is arranged -that we take the place on a two years' lease." - -"You have arranged that with Malcolm!" she said a little faintly. - -"Yes," said Rosmead. "He has been most kind about it. He tells me he -has resigned his commission on account of his father's health but that -he intends and hopes to get some estate management. I appreciate his -kindness to us all the more on that account." - -Isla, who heard all this for the first time, felt a natural thrill of -indignation because she had been kept in the dark. - -"I don't see that there is so very much kindness," she said quickly. -"You pay very handsomely for the house." - -"It is worth it," he said heartily. "The old Rosmead place in Virginia -my mother has lent to her youngest sister, lately made a widow. She is -looking after all the servants, and we have not the smallest anxiety -about it, so you see, things have arranged themselves very nicely for -us." - -"Your home is in Virginia, then?" said Isla in tones of deep interest, -which flattered Rosmead not a little. - -"Yes. My grandfather was a big planter there, and had many slaves. Of -course the war changed all that, but the place remains the same. I -should like you to see Virginia, Miss Mackinnon, and my old home. It is -a beautiful place." - -"It seems odd that you should be so willing to leave it!" - -"It had sad associations for my mother and also for my sister Vivien, -who was married in the neighbourhood and was--and was--not very happy. -But there--I have all this time been talking about myself, and not at -all about you. Your father, I hear, is very well. I dare say, your -brother's return has helped him greatly." - -"Yes, I think it has," said Isla, trying to be cordial as well as loyal. -"And Creagh suits him. It is very high and clear up there, and he is -able to potter about just as he likes. You will come in and see him? -Even his mind is much stronger. Certainly he now grasps the fact of -your residence at Achree, and, I am sure, he would like to make your -acquaintance properly." - -"I should like to come in and see him, if I may," said Rosmead. "But -before we go in will you promise to go sometimes to see my mother when I -am gone? I don't know why I should ask this, but I do." - -"I shall be sure to go, Mr. Rosmead. But when do you leave Scotland?" - -"Next Thursday. My boat sails from Liverpool on Saturday afternoon, and -I have some business in London on the Friday." - -"I shall come before then, of course, and I am very sorry I have been so -rude and unneighbourly," said Isla, and she meant what she said. "Do -you mind walking round with me to the stable and putting your horse in? -The accommodation is quite good, but there is no groom," she added with -a small, pitiful smile which touched him inexpressibly. - -Her whole personality appealed to him. The grave, unimpressionable -Hylton P. Rosmead, accounted by his colleagues one of the hardest-headed -men of his time, was so moved by this woman, whom he had seen so few -times, that he could have taken her in his arms there and then, and -asked nothing better than to keep her for the rest of his life and hers. - -She was so sweetly natural and womanly, so altogether devoid of -pretension that she appealed to every fibre in his being. He hated the -artificiality of the women of his set--the smart women whom he had met -in New York society and who were ready to make much of the -"Bridge-builder," as they called him--and to pour the incense of their -flattery upon him. But the atmosphere had always impressed him as being -insincere, and he had often told his mother that if he ever married it -would be in some very unexpected place. He knew now that he had found -the place and the woman. - -All unconscious of what was passing in his mind, Isla led the way to the -stables, stood by while he tied up his horse, and then walked back with -him, pointing out the beauty of the situation and the incomparable view -from the little plateau on which the house was built. - -"Now I wonder whether David Bain has ever come. I suppose you saw -nothing of him on the road, Mr. Rosmead?" - -"Nothing. He was ahead of me, I am sure, because he is the most -punctual person I have ever heard tell of. I have heard that in Glenogle -they set their clocks by David." - -Isla passed into the house with a smile on her lips and, crossing the -narrow hall, opened the door of the dining-room which her father used as -a library and sitting-room. - -And there she stood just a moment as if frozen upon the threshold. Her -father was not in his accustomed chair, but lay on the hearthrug, where -he had evidently fallen with the page of an open letter grasped tightly -in his hand. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - THE HOUSE OF WOE - - -Isla sprang forward and knelt down in a silence that could be felt. The -old man lay slightly on his side, and Rosmead, as he too knelt down, saw -at once that all was over. - -Isla's white face and terrified eyes turned to him in swift appeal. - -"Will you take your horse and ride quickly for Dr. Blair? I left him at -the keeper's house at Rofallion. Any of them here will tell you where it -is. And even if he is gone from there the people will know what -direction he took." - -Rosmead rose to his feet, and on his face was a great and sad -gentleness. - -"I will go if you wish, my dear, but it is useless. He is dead." - -Isla sprang up, and her eyes flashed. - -"Dead! How dare you say that? He can't be dead--it is impossible. He -was quite well this morning--better than he has been for years. I told -Dr. Blair so when he wished to come and see him this very morning. Oh, -if only I had let him come!" - -Her hand on the shabby old bell-pull sent a hundred echoes through the -house and brought Diarmid, shaking and apprehensive, to the door. - -Isla turned to him sharply. - -"Come, Diarmid. The General has had a fit--or something. Help to lift -him up, and carry him to his room. Will you, Mr. Rosmead? Oh, thank -you very much. Then if you will ride for the doctor it will be the -greatest service you can render." - -As they would have addressed themselves to their task she stooped and -tried to release the sheet of paper from the fingers that held it like a -vice. But the effort was useless. As she knelt there she was able to -read the address on the one side, and, on the other, which she turned -with a shaking finger, the signature of Colonel Martindale. - -Then she knew what had happened. - -She left the room and flew up the stairs to see that the bed was ready, -and, as she heard Margaret Maclaren clucking to her handful of poultry -at the kitchen door, she wondered how all the work and business of their -little world could go on as before, while her life was over. - -The bed was straight and the fair linen sheet turned back when Rosmead -and the serving-man appeared with their burden. Even then Isla noted -the extreme gentleness and power displayed by Rosmead, and from that -moment he seemed, as it were, to take over her case and to legislate for -her. - -They laid the poor old General on his bed, and Rosmead very gently drew -the lids over the staring eyes that seemed to have a great horror in -them. - -"Oh, go for the doctor--go quickly, for God's sake!" cried Isla--"or it -will be too late." - -"It is too late now," he said. - -And, stepping to the toilet-table, he lifted the General's small -shaving-glass that had been carried through many a campaign and laid it -against his lips. There was not the faintest sign of a misty breath on -it. - -"It is the infallible sign, my dear. God help and comfort you! I will -send your woman to you and then go after the doctor. It will be well -that he should be here even if he can do nothing." - -Isla, now almost convinced that her father was indeed dead, did not cry. -But Rosmead never forgot the despair of her face. She bent over the -prostrate figure and once more essayed to remove the letter from the -gripping fingers. - -Rosmead stepped forward to help her and, after a small effort, he -succeeded in releasing it. She smoothed it out, folded it, and put it -inside the bosom of her gown. Her face seemed to harden then till it -became set like marble. - -"I will never forgive Malcolm Mackinnon this!" she said under her -breath, "never while I live." - -Rosmead, guessing some tragedy beneath, decently turned away and went -down to get his horse from the stable. As he left the house the keeper -appeared, having been instructed by Isla to call for some soup for his -wife. - -"The doctor, sir? Yess, he iss at my hoose whatefer. At least his -bicycle iss there, and he iss calling at another hoose not far away. I -can bring him?--yess, inside of ten minutes. I hope there iss nothing -wrong at Creagh whatefer?" - -"General Mackinnon has had a seizure of some kind," answered Rosmead. -"Can you go as quickly on your feet as I on my horse?" - -"Quicker. Forby, there iss no need," answered the man, and he was off -like lightning across the moor. - -But in less than ten minutes' time he was back to say that the doctor -had gone and that nobody knew the way he had taken. - -Then Rosmead ascended the stairs once more, to find that they were -standing about helplessly, wringing their hands, while Isla, with the -desolation of death on her face, was looking out of the window. - -He motioned the servants from the room, and went up to her, gently -touching her arm. - -"My dear," he said, and she did not even notice how he once more -addressed her. "I am afraid we have missed the doctor. I will get him -for you soon, but meanwhile I want you to grasp the fact that, even if -he were here at this moment, there is nothing to be done. I have some -knowledge of such things, and I have seen many die. It is all over, -and, save for the pain to you, we ought to be glad that he suffers no -more." - -"Suffer!" she cried shrilly. "You don't know--no one will ever know -what he suffered just then." - -Unconsciously her hand touched the fold of her blouse where the letter -lay. "He had a shock--yes, and it was the one thing to avoid. Oh, I -have watched him all these years so that nothing came near him! But I -was powerless against this evil thing that killed him at the last!" - -Rosmead made no answer, understanding that she was distraught and spoke -freely of that which her normal self would not have so much as mentioned -in his presence. - -His one concern was to get her out of the room, so that the last sad -offices might be done and Mackinnon of Achree composed in the dignity of -his last sleep. He managed it at last, for even with all his gentleness -he was masterful. Then with his own hands he helped, guiding the -tearful, but anxious and willing servants so that in a short time the -death-chamber was prepared, the fair linen ready, and all done decently -as it ought to be. - -When he got down to the library Isla was sitting by the table, with her -elbows on it, staring into space. The expression on her face hurt him. -It was not woebegone, nor yet was it grief-stricken. It was only hard -like the nether millstone. He understood that he had come within touch -of the tragedy of these broken lives, but not an atom of curiosity -stirred in him. His only concern was for her. - -She looked round with a little shivering breath, and her lips essayed to -move. - -"I too seem to be stricken! I wish only one thing at this moment, Mr. -Rosmead--that I could be lying dead beside my father." - -"Yes, yes, I understand. I was only fifteen when my father -died--through a gun accident that might have been averted, and I -remember the horror of it yet. But yours was an old man and full of -years and honours. You should see him now! He reminds me of the shock -of corn fully ripe. You must think of how he was beloved in all the -glens, and how, after his long service, he has received his crown from -the King." - -He spoke quite simply, and the hardness on Isla's face slightly relaxed. - -"How kind you are! I shall never forget it!" - -"I have done nothing that the merest stranger might not have done -better," he made answer. "What I feel now is that I dare not leave you -here alone. If you could send some one down to Lochearn--or if you know -where your brother is I will find him for you. It is imperative that -you should not be left here alone." - -"I don't know where he is, and he shall not come in here!" she cried a -little wildly. "You don't understand! Nobody understands except me, -but he must not come in here." - -Rosmead did not know what to say, for tragedy was in the air. - -"Come," he said gently, laying a slightly compelling hand on her arm. -"Let me take you upstairs. It will do you good. He looks so beautiful -and so gloriously at rest. If only you will let your mind dwell on -that, half the bitterness will be gone--on that and on the fact of your -long and beautiful devotion to him, which has been the wonder of all the -glens." - -Rosmead hardly knew himself, and certainly those who knew only one side -of Peter Rosmead would have been amazed to hear him now. - -Isla obeyed him without the smallest demur, and when she entered the -room with the drawn blinds, and looked at the still figure on the bed -with the majesty of death on the noble face her tears began to flow. -And for that Rosmead thanked God. - -She was like a little child in his hands then, begging him not to leave -her; and his tenderness, his forethought, his encompassing care were -like those of a kind elder brother. - -But that came to an end with the sudden, swift arrival of some fresh -person at the door and with the sound of Malcolm's loud--somewhat -aggressive--voice, calling his sister by name. - -Rosmead stood aside while she walked steadily from the room, and he very -heartily wished that it were possible for him to escape by some back -staircase. He had no desire to witness what he felt must come. - -Isla sped swiftly down the stairs, and on the downmost step she paused -and pointed an accusing finger at her brother. - -"Murderer!" she said. "Don't come a step farther. You have no right in -this house, which you have destroyed!" - -Malcolm looked thunder-struck, and the sight of Rosmead a few steps -higher up the stair did not help to lessen the mystery. - -"Why, what has happened, and why is Mr. Rosmead here? What is it?" he -demanded peremptorily. - -Rosmead hastened past them and went out by the door without a word. He -knew that the time had come for him to go--that with what now passed in -the Lodge of Creagh between the brother and sister no stranger might -intermeddle. But he left the woman whom he had learned to love--left -her with a pang. - -Rosmead was no fool, and he guessed that the letter that had been in the -General's dead hand must, in some way, have concerned his son, and that, -whatever news it contained, it was the shock of it that had killed him. - -This also Isla knew, and Malcolm would have to answer to his sister, to -his own conscience, and to his Maker for his sin. - -Rosmead's heart was heavy as he took his horse from the queer little -stable of Creagh, and, mounting, rode slowly down Glenogle. The mystery -of life, its awful suffering--so much of it preventible--oppressed his -healthy mind like a nightmare. And always it was the innocent and the -good who had to bear the full brunt. - -As he rode through the clear beauty of the summer morning he took a vow -that he would do what he could to make up to Isla Mackinnon--that if she -would permit him he would devote his whole life to making her happy, to -effacing the memory of the bitterness that her young life had known. - -Only he must not be in too much haste, because the quick pride of her -would resent any assumption of right on his part. Isla must be slowly -and laboriously wooed. But how well worth the winning! Rosmead's -outlook upon life had undergone a swift change, and now it was bounded -east, west, north, and south, by the deep quiet eyes and the beautiful -face of one woman. - -The love that had come to him late would be the great passion of his -life--a passion such as few men know. He had kept himself singularly -pure and wholly detached from women. His capacity for affection had -never been dissipated by lighter loves. He brought a virgin heart to -lay at the feet of the woman he loved. And, in spite of the sorrow and -the woe to which he had been a witness, life promised fair to Peter -Rosmead that summer morning as he rode through Glenogle and watched the -sheen of the sun upon hill and water and heard the birds singing their -heart out in the crystal clearness of the upper air. - -He would go to America and attend with a single mind to his business -there, leaving the dear woman in peace. Then, when he returned at -Christmas, he would see. His heart would tell him then whether it was -time to speak. Few misgivings were his. He believed that Isla -Mackinnon was the woman that God had given to him and that she had been -kept for him through all the years of his strenuous young manhood, and -that for her dear sake he had been able to live without blame and -without reproach. - -For that, above all else, he gave God thanks in his heart. - -Meanwhile, in the Lodge on the edge of the Moor of Creagh the storm rose -and raged. Malcolm, a little stupefied, kept demanding what had -happened. - -"He is dead!" cried Isla, in the shrill, hard tone that had no kinship -with that of her usually sweet low voice. "And the thing that killed him -was the letter from India--Colonel Martindale's version of the story." - -"Give it to me!" said Malcolm, with an air almost of menace as he -stepped to her side. - -"No, I will not," she answered clearly. "It is not yours. It was -father's, and now it is mine. To think that after all our watching, it -should have fallen into his hands at last!" - -Malcolm, very white and haggard now, moved with a step that was very -unsteady into the library, Isla following, for it suddenly dawned upon -her that it was unseemly to wrangle there within a step of the chamber -of death. - -"Tell me what has happened," he said hoarsely. "Surely you will not deny -me the right to know." - -"There it very little to tell," said Isla drearily. "I went out early, -and before going to meet David Bain, I went to the keeper's house at -Rofallion to ask for Mrs. Dugid. Then while I was waiting at the gate -for David Mr. Rosmead came up." - -"And David had delivered the letters, I suppose, while you were at -Rofallion?" - -"Yes, of course, and father opened that one, and, though he might have -looked at a dozen others without comprehending their meaning, he knew -the meaning of that one at once," she said. - -And her face set again like the nether millstone. - -She had no pity for Malcolm, she did not even in that moment of awful -bitterness give him credit for one spark of decent feeling. She hardly -observed that he was trembling like an aspen and that his face had grown -haggard about the mouth, like that of an old man. - -"Isla, I want that letter. I must have it," he said in a low voice. - -She heard him as she heard him not, and his tone became more desperate. - -"Did you read it, Isla?" - -"No." - -"Will you read it?" - -"No." - -"Then give it to me." - -"Oh, what does it matter? The fire is the place for it--the very heart -of it, where it will be consumed quickly, now that it has done its -deadly work," she said drearily "Do you understand what has happened, -Malcolm? Our father is dead, and it is you who have killed him, just as -surely as if you had put a bullet into him." - -"For God's sake, hold your tongue, Isla! You would drive a man to the -edge of despair." - -"What about me?" she cried in a kind of frenzy, throwing her -self-control to the winds. "It is all of self you speak. Don't you -understand that it is a martyrdom and nothing else that I have suffered -in the last five--no, in the last ten years, ever since I was able to -know the meaning of the things that happened? Through you our souls, -our hearts, and sometimes our bodies have been starved in Achree, and -the old place has been suffered to sink into the dust, and has finally -passed into the hands of strangers. All this would not have mattered if -only you had been good and brave and a little like what you ought to -have been. We could have borne poverty with a smile. But it was your -misdeeds, your squandering of Achree that poisoned existence for him -until slowly his mind gave way. And I had to stand by and see it and be -glad of it, because in that way he suffered less. But I suffered more. -If there is a God in heaven He must judge this day between you and me, -Malcolm Mackinnon." - -"For God's sake Isla, hold your tongue!" he repeated, but his voice -sounded weak and almost faint. - -He was no coward in some directions, but the look on his sister's face -was awful to see and her words seared themselves upon his brain. He had -no idea until now of the red-hot fires of passion glowing beneath her -quiet exterior. But now he knew, and the revelation never afterwards -passed from his remembrance. - -"I must speak just this once, for we are going to part, Malcolm; now the -last bond between us is snapped. I will never forgive you. You broke my -father's heart, and mine is in the dust, where it will lie till the end. -I hope that you are very proud of your work." - -He turned away with a deep groan and covered his face with his hands. - -"Now you are the Laird of Achree," she continued, "and there is none to -hinder you from making its devastation complete. As for me, I will pass -away from Glenogle and never come near it any more." - -He turned to her then, and his eyes looked for a moment as hers -sometimes had done, full of a most wistful appeal. - -"Hold hard, Isla! Don't you think I've had enough? I don't want to -justify myself. I admit that the letter gave the shock, and that is -punishment enough for me. Don't rub it in. Far less has sent a man to -the lower-most hell." - -She did not seem to comprehend the words--or even to hear them. - -She appeared suddenly to be possessed by a new idea, and, undoing the -pearl button of her blouse, she drew forth the letter and held it out. - -"Take it. There is no use for me to keep it. I don't want to read it. -It is yours." - -She opened the door, passed him by, and went, bare-headed, into the -drowsy sunshine, and a lark in the clear blue of the sky seemed suddenly -to mock her with his wealth of full-throated song. She walked blindly, -yet her feet guided her away to the great spaces of the Moor of Creagh, -where she could be alone under the clear canopy of heaven and where the -messengers of the Unseen were free to comfort her. - -Malcolm, still shaky and trembling, looked about with the air of a man -who does not know which way to turn. Then he sat him down and braced -himself for the effort of reading the letter which had fallen like the -crack of doom upon the old man's heart. - -It was such a letter as one true friend might write to another, -carefully worded so that it would not inflict any unnecessary pain. It -was a letter which had cost its writer several sleepless nights--a -letter of duty and friendship for a man whom he had never met, but whose -name was still honoured in the service that he had adorned. - -Had the Colonel known of the old man's state of health that letter would -never have been written. But it told the truth--the whole truth, -without varnish or embroidery, in the simple language which is all that -a soldier has at his command. - -Malcolm Mackinnon set his teeth as he read it, and surely in that awful -moment he expiated part at least of his many sins. - -After what seemed a long, long time he picked himself up heavily, -crushed the letter in his hand, and threw it into the fire, where he -watched it caught by a greedy flame and consumed to the uttermost edge. - -Then he left the room, passed by, unseeing, the doddering Diarmid in the -hall, and slowly mounted the narrow stairs. - -He did not pause or falter at the door of the chamber of death, but -opened it swiftly, closed it again, and walked to the side of the bed. -There, for a moment, he stood in silence. Then Diarmid, listening -below, heard a cry which he never forgot. It was that of a soul in an -anguish which cannot be uttered. - -"Forgive!" was the only word that fell brokenly from his lips as he -knelt, sobbing by the bed, and laid his aching and throbbing head on the -snow-white gloss of the coverlet. - -The dead answered not, nor made any sign. But the peace upon the -beautiful old face was that of one who has passed over, and who -understands. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - VIVIEN - - -It was three o'clock of the afternoon before Rosmead got back to Achree, -and he had not eaten any lunch. In the stable-yard he met his sister -Vivien, who had gone round to look at some Aberdeen puppies, arrived -that very morning. - -"We have been wondering about your absence, Peter," she said with her -quiet smile. "Have you had any lunch?" - -"None. I have been up at the Lodge of Creagh. The old General is dead. -Come back to the house, and I will tell you about it." - -A groom came forward to take the horse, and Rosmead, linking his arm in -his sister's, walked her away. They were devotedly attached to each -other, and the wreckage of his dear and beautiful sister's life at the -hands of an unprincipled man had cast a deep cloud over Rosmead which -could never wholly be lifted. For every time he looked at her face, -every time he thought of the possibilities of her kind nature and of the -long years of loneliness in front of her his soul was filled with a holy -rage. On such occasions he would have killed his brother-in-law, and -thought this no sin. - -Vivien Rosmead, made for love, uniting in her sweet nature all that is -best in womanhood, all that makes for the precious things of life, had -been cheated on its very threshold. But why had she been so blind, you -ask? Why had not her finer sense warned her of the risk she ran? The -answer is the one which has come from the lips of a vast army of sad -women who have believed that their love could win and keep a man from -his evil ways. In this some few have succeeded but a multitude have -failed. Vivien had failed, and the irony and the misery of it had -embittered Peter Rosmead beyond all telling. - -"The old General dead!" echoed Vivien in astonishment. "But he was not -even ill. His son has been here this morning and said he was very -well." - -"He had a shock, and he died on the spot. Heart failure, I suppose. -You are needed up there, Vivien. I want you to go to-day." - -Vivien looked at him questioningly, and seemed to shrink. - -"But I don't know Miss Mackinnon, Peter. I've never even seen her. She -has shown us very plainly that she does not wish to know us." - -"That is of no consequence. This sorrow lifts the things above all such -considerations. She is a woman in need--a woman suffering acutely and -terribly, and she is almost utterly alone. If mother were able she -would go--you know that. You must take her place. May I go back now and -order a trap." - -"There is plenty of time, Peter," she said, visibly shrinking yet. "It -is never quite dark in these long, delightful days. Tell me what -happened. Were you there with her when her father died?" - -Rosmead briefly explained how the death had occurred. - -"And she thinks that it was the letter that killed him? How strange and -sad! Did she give you no inkling as to what it contained?" - -"No. But I have my own opinion--or rather suspicions. It has something -to do with her brother. As I left the house and he entered it I heard -her call him a murderer." - -"Oh, how dreadful and how unlikely!" cried Vivien in deepening -bewilderment. "Malcolm Mackinnon does not strike one at all as that -sort of person. He is so transparent--just like a big, jolly schoolboy. -I like him so much." - -Rosmead was not surprised to hear it. Malcolm Mackinnon had paid many -visits to Achree, where he had shown the very best and most lovable side -of him. He had jested with the gay Sadie, had been serious and kindly -and responsible when talking to Vivien, and had sat like an attentive -son by Mrs. Rosmead's invalid couch. To Rosmead himself he had been -simply a good comrade, and, on the whole, the American had no fault to -find with him. Yet, somehow, these words, falling from Vivien's lips, -disquieted him not a little. - -"I'm afraid there's something behind it all. Probably Mackinnon has -sowed his wild oats, and this is the aftermath. Anyway, the old man is -dead, and she is in a dreadful state. Her eyes haunt me. It is a woman -she needs--mothering, in fact, and if you could bring her right down -here to mother it would be a Christian act. Where's Sadie?" - -"Miss Drummond came to lunch and has taken her away to Balquhidder to -show her Rob Roy's grave. Then they are going to Garrion to tea. What -a bright creature she is! She kept us laughing right through lunch." - -"I'm rather glad, on the whole, that Sadie is not about. Well, dear, -while you are getting ready I will see mother. I took a message from her -to Creagh. Would you like me to go up with you, to drive you and wait -outside, perhaps?" - -"Just as you like. But perhaps, as you've only just come down, I had -better go alone. We don't want to overwhelm her with Rosmeads." - -He nodded understandingly, and they parted on the stairs, Rosmead -proceeding up one of the winding ways to his mother's room. - -They had not altered the interior of the old house in any way. They had -only spent money to make it comfortable, covered bare stairs and -passages with rich carpets of neutral tints, and gathered about them all -the comforts and refinements which are at the command of wealth. - -Mrs. Rosmead occupied the General's chamber, which had a large -dressing-room adjoining, and from its quaint little windows she could -see the Loch and the hills beyond. - -She was a gentle, frail old lady, very small and delicately built, but -her sweet face in its frame of snow-white hair had great strength. - -It was from her undoubtedly that Rosmead had inherited his decision of -character, his deeply-rooted principles, his inflexible will. He was -very like her physically, and he worshipped her. Up till now no woman -had ousted her from the shrine of his heart. The relation between them -was indeed idyllic and did much to keep the softer side of Rosmead in -the foreground. - -Her keen, fine black eyes, so like his own, lifted themselves -inquiringly to his face as he entered. - -"Well, as you have taken such a long time to carry out my behest, I take -it that you were well received, my son." - -"Yes, I was, but that is not what delayed me," he answered as he bent to -kiss her. - -Then in a few words he made her acquainted with the tragedy of the -morning. As she listened, full of grief and sympathy, she, -unconsciously to herself, watched her son keenly. She saw that he was -moved far beyond his wont, that his voice, when he spoke of Isla -Mackinnon, vibrated with an entirely new note. And she wondered, and -her desire to see the girl was quickened. - -"She is the most desolate creature on God's earth, mother, and if only I -could wrap you up in my arms and carry you to Creagh you could heal her -with a touch, as you have so often healed your other children." - -The expression "your other children" impressed her. Could it be possible -that already Peter's thoughts and longings had flown as far as the day -when he should give another daughter to her heart? - -"You must bring her to me, dear. It is the only way." - -"Vivien is going up. Next to you, she will be the best to help her. It -is a woman that she needs. All her life long apparently she has been -fighting side by side with men." - -"Fighting!" repeated Mrs. Rosmead with a slight wonderment in her tone. - -"Well, you know, she has had to do everything for and to be everything -to the old man." - -"But how? He has a dear son, Peter. You must not be unjust to young -Mackinnon. Oh, I have heard that they say things here in the Glen about -him, but when he comes here and sits by me, I believe none of them. He -only needs a little guiding, and I think I have gathered from him that -his sister has been a little hard on him at times." - -Rosmead with Isla's most bitter cry in his ears, remained wholly -unconvinced. - -"The ins and outs of the story we don't know, mother. Perhaps we shall -never know them. But of this I am sure--that Isla Mackinnon would be -hard on no man without a cause. She is a splendid creature, and----" - -"Peter, come here." - -The sweet voice was peremptory, the swift, humorous black eyes were -compelling. He came obediently, as of old, to her side. - -"Look straight at me--no, not like that!--very straight, Peter Rosmead. -Is this to be the woman?" - -"Yes, mother," he answered, with the simplicity of a big child. "Please -God, it is." - -"Then bring her to me quickly, my son, that I may get to know and love -her--ay, and to learn whether she is worthy of Peter Rosmead. I have -never yet seen the woman who is." - -Peter laughed, in no way uplifted by her loving pride. His nature indeed -was singularly unspoiled. - -"It can't be done in such a desperate hurry. She is cold and fine, and, -like her own hills, she is difficult of approach. I shall have to walk -warily and win her slowly. But win her I shall or go unmarried to my -grave." - -Thus did Peter Rosmead quite quietly dispose of the biggest thing that -had come into his life. And his mother, watching the firm set of his -square chin, the invincible light in his eyes, gloried in his strength, -and had not the smallest doubt that he would attain the desire of his -heart. - -Was any pang of disappointment hers? To every mother the moment when -her son takes another woman to his heart is one of supreme pain. This -is as inevitable as the law of life. - -But Mrs. Rosmead desired her son to marry, and she had kept him at her -side a long time. - -"So Vivien will go up? Is she getting ready now?" - -"I think so." - -"Well, bring my writing-block and pencil, and I will write a message for -Miss Mackinnon." - -He obeyed her, but she did not show him what she wrote. Nor was he -curious to see it. He had never in all his life known her to do the -wrong thing or speak the wrong word. - -She was a woman in whom grace was developed to a very high degree. - -Vivien came in presently, her slender, graceful figure enveloped in its -capacious coat of Harris tweed, and a small neat toque of green velvet -crowning her beautiful head. - -"Peter has been telling you, mother. Do you think it is the right thing -for me to do--to go to Creagh, I mean? I confess to a little -hesitation. I am so afraid of intruding on her. Even the pride of old -Virginia must pale before that of Glenogle." - -"Your heart will dictate the fitting word, my child. Give this to the -poor girl, and if she will come to us here to rest awhile in the house -where she was born we shall try not to make her feel that we have taken -her home from her." - -Rosmead tucked his sister in, and, just as the horse was about to start, -he spoke again. - -"You won't be discouraged if it is a little difficult at first, Vivien? -Try to think only of her desperate need." - -"Poor old Peter," she said whimsically. "I never saw him so much in -earnest about anything. I do believe he would like nothing better than -to be going back himself." - -Their eyes met in a smile, and she drove off, waving her hand. - -He drifted about the place all the afternoon, conscious of a growing -restlessness that he could not shake off, his thoughts all the while -following Vivien to the Moor of Creagh. - -When she arrived at the small plain house, which she now saw for the -first time, a vast pity filled her heart. Creagh had beautiful -surroundings, but nothing could make it a home. It was bare and -uninviting--a mere shelter; and Vivien, who loved beautiful places, and -who had the whole art of the Home Beautiful at her finger-ends, wondered -how Isla could have borne to exchange the old-world charm of Achree for -this. - -She had not heard the whole story of the transaction. Rosmead had -preserved a singular reticence regarding the terms of his tenancy of -Achree, and Vivien merely thought that the Mackinnons either wanted the -money badly or had some other family reason for letting their ancestral -home. - -The blinds were all down, but, as she directed the man to stop outside -the gate, she could see the open door at the end of the short avenue. - -"Wait here, Farquhar. I will not disturb them by driving up to the -door." - -She left her heavy coat on the seat, and in her neat, plain suit of blue -serge walked up the short approach to the open door, where Diarmid, who -had heard the rumble of wheels, stood waiting to receive her. - -"Not at home," were the words ready on his lips, but something in -Vivien's face arrested his attention. - -"I am Mrs. Rodney Payne, Mr. Rosmead's sister, and I have come at my -brother's request to see Miss Mackinnon. Do you think she would see me -for a few minutes?" - -Diarmid hesitated for a moment. Then he was wholly vanquished by the -light in the strange lady's eyes. - -"Ma'am, if you'll step inside, I'll see," he said respectfully. "She's -sittin' up there in the room with him, and we can do naught with her. -Maype, if she would see you, it might be better for her." - -"Where is her brother?" - -Diarmid shook his head. - -"He hass been out of the house for 'oors, ma'am, and we are all to -pieces here in Creagh, and there's nothing but dool and woe upon my -folk." - -Vivien's eyes became moist at this expressive phrase which, falling -pathetically from the old servant's lips, adequately summed up the whole -affairs of the Mackinnons. - -"I am afraid," she said very gently, "that if you take my name to Miss -Mackinnon she will not see me. I am going to take a great deal upon -myself. If you will just show me the way I will go to her without -announcement. She can only send me away." - -"Yes, sure, an' that is so, but I do not think, seeing you, ma'am, that -she will do that," said Diarmid earnestly, and he held open the door for -her to pass in as if she had been a queen. - -They trod the narrow stairs very softly. On the half-landing Diarmid -paused and stood aside while he pointed with finger that trembled -slightly to the closed door of the room where Mackinnon slept his last -sleep. - -Vivien braced herself, for the thing she was about to do was not only -unusual, but might very easily be misconstrued. She took a little quick -breath as her fingers closed upon the handle of the door. The next -moment she turned it, slipped in, and closed it behind her again. - -The blinds of the front window only were down, but the sun, now veering -westward, shone in at the window in the gable-end and lay in a soft -yellow flood upon the quiet room. A shaft of sunshine even lay athwart -the bed, touching as it passed Isla's motionless figure, where she sat -upon a chair by the bed-side, her hands lightly clasped on her lap, her -eyes staring straight in front of her, unseeing, uncomprehending, a look -of almost hopeless misery upon her face. At sight of a strange woman in -the doorway, however, she sprang up, quivering with indignation. She -would have pointed to the door, to which she tried to hasten, but -something in Vivien's beautiful face--some unimagined quality of rarest -sympathy deterred her. She stopped with the very words of dismissal -frozen on her lips. - -Vivien approached quickly, laid a tender hand on her shrinking shoulder -and spoke. - -"My dear, my dear! I am Vivien Rosmead, I too have suffered. Come out -into the sunshine and let us talk. If even we do not talk we can cry -together, and that will help us both." - -Isla was powerless to be angry. Her brief indignation at the intrusion -of a stranger upon her most sacred privacy passed as a tale that is -told. - -"It is very kind of you, but--but--I hardly know you, and there is -nothing to be said or done. Everything is over--that is all." - -"I too have thought so, dear," said Vivien softly. "Come, my poor -darling. He does not need you any more. Come, and let us talk and -think of those who do." - -Isla suffered herself to be led away. - -Afterwards, looking back upon that incident, she was amazed at herself, -at the quiet compelling power which Vivien, in common with all the -Rosmeads, seemed to possess, and against which ordinary folk could not -stand for a moment. - -Vivien's arm was about her slender body as they descended the stairs. -She it was who guided her out into the flood of the sunshine which, -meeting them at the door, seemed to envelop them in a quiet radiance. - -Isla, as if dazzled, put up her hands to ward it off. - -"It is cruel," she said in a low, difficult voice. "How can there be -any brightness when I am like this? It is very cruel." - -"Where shall we go?" asked Vivien softly. "Shall we go to some spot -where we shall be very, very quiet and undisturbed? I should like you -to forget who I am, even what has brought me, and just to be as if I did -not exist. If you feel like talking, then talk. But if you want to be -quiet, I can be quiet too. Oh, my dear, I can be very, very quiet. I -have been through the deeps, where there is nothing possible but dumb -silence." - -Isla then remembered the tragedy of Vivien Rosmead's life, and her own -pity and sympathy which in times past had never failed any in need, -awoke to newness of life. The frozen springs of her being leaped again -with life, and, with an almost unconscious desire to help, she slipped -her hand through Vivien's arm. - -"Why is it that life is so full of hideous suffering for women?" she -asked with a vague passion. "I used to believe in God--in all things -beautiful and good. Now I believe nothing." - -"Your faith will come back. Even I say that," said Vivien softly. "I -don't want to belittle your suffering, dear, but it is of an impersonal -kind. The woman who cannot be blamed if she loses faith is the one who -has been cheated in her own self, whose womanhood has been flouted and -scorned, whose love has been trampled on and despised. That is where -the silent deeps are. May I say just what I will?" - -"Surely," answered Isla, lifted clean out of herself by something tragic -and mysterious in that other woman's face. - -"Your father was an old man, full of years and honour. His life had -become a little burdensome to him, and though I never saw him, I know -that his fine spirit must have fretted at his forced inactivity. What -you must do now is to dwell upon his rejuvenation. He has gone where -there is no death, where his powers will be restored, where once more -all things are possible." - -Isla's hungry eyes never for a moment left the speaking face of the -woman at her side. - -All the time they were moving slowly, but surely, away from the house up -to the wide spaces of the great moor where the great silence dwelt. - -"Tell me more," was the mute question of Isla's eyes and lips. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - THE HAND IN THE DARK - - -"It is all true--what you say," said Isla with a little shiver. "But -what is to become of me? He was my life, my work, my all. I have -nothing further to do in the whole wide world. My life is over." - -"There is your brother," Vivien ventured to say. - -She immediately saw that she had made a mistake--that here undoubtedly -lay the sting and the crux of the whole sad situation. - -Isla impatiently shook herself, almost as a dog might shake from him the -element of water he dislikes. She made no remark, however, except to -move her head in impatient dissent. - -"I have no money, no prospects, no friends, I shall have to go out into -the world and earn my bread. But how? That is the curse of people in -our position--we are taught nothing, we are trained to take for granted -that the world exists for us, that we are in some sense a privileged -class. Then there is a crash, and if we go under is it to be wondered -at or are we to be blamed?" - -Vivien listened in the sheerest wonder. She had no idea that things -were at such a low ebb with the Mackinnons. Remembering Malcolm's airy -inconsequence and his jokes about his hard-up state, which seemed to sit -lightly enough upon him, she was even inclined to think Isla must be -exaggerating. - -It was not easy for Vivien Rosmead to realize poverty. She had been -reared in a luxurious home, and had married a millionaire, and, though -she had never lacked in sympathy or benevolence towards the poor, she -had not known one ungratified whim. She knew that poverty existed, but -it was impossible to associate its more sordid aspects with Isla -Mackinnon. - -"But, surely out of the estate there must be ample provision for so -small a family?" she ventured to say. "Achree is not a small place. The -rent of it alone----" - -"It is mortgaged to the hilt," interrupted Isla with a sort of dull -scorn. "I could not and would not take a penny from it." - -"But surely you have relatives. Is not Sir Thomas Mackinnon of Barras a -relative of yours? Some friends of ours had Barras for two seasons -running." - -"He is my uncle, but I couldn't be dependent on him. He is not rich, and -he has his own family to provide for." - -"He cannot be poor. I saw the account of his daughters' presentation -frocks in the fashion papers last week," said Vivien with a slight -smile. - -"Oh, that means nothing! They got the loan of a house for the season, -and a very clever maid of Aunt Jean's, married in London, made their -frocks. You are so rich in America that you haven't an idea of the -makeshifts some of us have to practise here," said Isla, waxing -amazingly eloquent and convincing for Vivien's enlightenment. - -Vivien did not care what the theme, so long as it roused even a passing -interest in the girl's mind. - -"Well, I am sure that something will happen to provide a way," she said -hopefully. "It is impossible to imagine Glenogle or any of the glens -without you. Have you any idea, I wonder, just how they regard you? I -do not go about very much, but my sister Sadie, who has made friends for -miles round, is always bringing home some fresh tales about the devotion -of the people to their dear Miss Isla. Only yesterday she said quite -dolefully, 'We may as well give up the ghost, Vivien. If angels and -archangels came to bless Lochearn and Glenogle, they would have to walk -behind Isla Mackinnon.'" - -In spite of herself, Isla smiled. - -"It does not mean so very much--only that I have lived all my life among -them." - -"It means everything," said Vivien clearly. "It means that you are in -their hearts, that none of them could bear hurt or sorrow to come near -you." - -"Oh, but that is the hurt of it all!" cried Isla most pitifully. "The -more we love people the more it hurts us to know that we are powerless -to keep suffering or sorrow away from them. I would have laid down my -life for my father, but I could not prevent Mal----I could not prevent -others from breaking his heart." - -"You did what you could, though," said Vivien, again struck by the -bitter allusion to Malcolm. "Now I want to give you a message from my -mother. She wishes very much to see you. If only she had been able she -would have come to-day instead of me. What she wishes to say is that if -you would like to take your dear father down to Achree for the last few -days we can go out. It seems an odd thing to say--but we should be glad -to go out. We can go to the hotel, or even back to Glasgow for a few -days, or even weeks. My mother came down so comfortably in the motor -that it would not be a trouble, or even a risk for her to return in it. -So, dear, just say the word, and we shall be gone to-morrow so that you -and your dear ones may come home to your own place. This is a note from -my mother to you in which she proposes this!" - -Isla took the note with a murmured word of acknowledgment. She was much -moved. She stood still on the green tops of the heather, and something -indescribable swept across her face. She stretched out her arms so that -they fell on Vivien's shoulders, and when she was drawn into her tender -embrace she laid her head down on her breast. - -"Oh, now I know what dear people you are! God bless you! I should like -to do that if it would not hurt or trouble you. Then all the people he -loved and who loved him can come and see him before they take him away -to Balquhidder. Oh, thank you, thank you, I want to come and see your -dear mother. I will go back with you now if you will take me." - -She was like a creature transformed, and while the sight touched Vivien -Rosmead inexpressibly it also filled her with a great sadness. For, if -this was how Isla Mackinnon regarded the house of her fathers, what must -it be to her to see strangers in it and to have before her eyes the -prospect of losing it altogether? - -"Come, then," said Vivien with alacrity. "The evenings are so long and -golden now that we can easily bring you back before dark. My brother -will drive you himself." - -"I am thinking," said Isla, and as they turned to go, it almost seemed -as if the spring had come back to her step, "I am thinking why should -you go out? There is plenty of room for us all. If you would only lend -us one or two rooms for a few days and let us have the freedom of the -house----" - -"It would not be the same at all," said Vivien decidedly. "What you want -is to shut the door upon the outside world and forget all about us, to -have only your own people about you and to have to consider nobody but -them. It is only in this way that my mother will arrange it. I am sure -that you will find that this is the best arrangement?" - -"It is a great thing for you to do," said Isla breathlessly. "I have -never heard or known of anybody who would think of a thing so -beautiful." - -"Oh, nonsense. There are many far more beautiful things done in the -world every day, and nobody hears of them. It will cost us nothing, you -see. And, moreover, it is the right thing to do. It would be clearly -wrong for the Chief of the Mackinnons to be carried to his last rest -from this lonely and inaccessible place, beautiful though it is. He -ought to be--he must be, borne from the house of his fathers." - -"Yes, yes," said Isla, with a little sob in her voice. "To think that -you feel like that, that--you understand everything! Now, I'm so very -glad that you have Achree." - -Her hardness had melted and the desperate hunted look had gone from her -eyes. Once more she was alert, full of affairs, thinking of all there -was to do and ready for all emergencies. - -As she drove down Glenogle beside the smart groom on the front seat of -the dogcart her face did not once lose its uplifted look. - -Her eyes swam in tears as Vivien and she swept through the familiar -gates of Achree. - -"Tell me, dear Mrs. Rodney Payne, was it your mother her own self, who -thought of this--this beautiful thing?" - -"No, my dear," answered Vivien quietly, "it was my brother. He is like -that. He thinks always of the thing that will make most people happy -and of how to do it in the happiest way." - -"I thought he was like that when he was up at Creagh with me to-day," -said Isla simply. "What it must be to have a brother like that--a -brother who thinks of others first!" - -But she paused there, and it was as if she rebuked herself. - -Peter Rosmead, from the window of his dressing-room, where he was -getting ready for dinner, was thunderstruck by the vision of Isla -Mackinnon driving up to the door. - -"Bravo, Vivien!" he said to himself, and his pulses quickened as he made -haste with his black tie, achieving a bow less pleasing than usual to -his fastidious taste. - -He had reached the bottom of the stair when his sister and Isla came in -by the hall door; and, seeing him for the first time in evening dress, -Isla was immediately struck by his air of distinction. - -"I have come to see your mother, Mr. Rosmead," she said simply. "I -can't say any more. Your sister must explain and say all that is -necessary for me. Where shall I find your mother?" - -It was Peter who took her to the door of his mother's room, nay, who -entered it with her. Isla herself saw no significance in that simple -and natural act, but Peter, who intended it to be significant, felt a -high courage, an indefinable joy at his heart. - -"Mother, this is Miss Mackinnon. Vivien has been so fortunate as to get -her to come down." - -Isla stood still just inside the door, looking wistfully--even -questioningly at the small elegant figure on the couch, at the -beautiful, softly-coloured face framed by its white hair, and her eyes -had a yearning look. - -She had never known her mother and, though Aunt Jean had been passing -kind, there was little softness about her. Certainly she had never -sought to mother the self-reliant, independent Isla, even when she was -only a long-limbed girl, needing guiding and making many mistakes. - -Sweetness and love had been the rule of Mrs. Rosmead's life. By these -she had won and kept her children so near and close to her that they -kept nothing hidden from her. - -Her eyes, too, were full of questioning as they travelled to the girl's -pale pathetic face. Peter had been no common son to her, and it was to -no common woman that she could give him up. - -"Come here, my dear. You have no mother. I have room for you in my -heart," she said. - -And Rosmead, with smarting eyes, went out by the door and closed it very -softly behind him. - -"God bless her! God bless them both!" he said very softly, under his -breath, as he went down to Vivien. - -"I am all blown to pieces by the winds of the Moor of Creagh, Peterkin," -she said. "If you are very good you can come up and sit in my -dressing-room while I make myself decent. Then I can tell you what -happened." - -This dear intimacy, so precious to them both, had never been more -precious than on that night. Half an hour later Isla sat down to eat -with them in the old familiar room, and by that time the distress, the -strain, the awful hopeless misery had gone from her face. She talked -quite rationally and naturally of all the affairs of the Glen, and when -she said that she would like to go home as soon after dinner as they -could conveniently let her away, Peter asked whether he might have the -privilege of driving her. - -She thanked him with her eyes. - -"Where I have to be grateful for so much there are not any words left," -she said simply. "I will say good-bye to your mother, if you please, -only until to-morrow." - -"You are coming back to Achree to-morrow, then?" said Rosmead, when, -with exceeding care and gentleness, he had tucked her into the -comfortable cart. - -"Yes, to-morrow. May we talk of it as we go up? I don't know how to -thank you for so kindly driving me home. When I think of what otherwise -it would have been like, I am quite speechless." - -"So much the better," he answered with a smile. "Look back, dear Miss -Mackinnon. The girls are waving to you." - -Isla turned round in her seat and blew a kiss on the wings of the -evening breeze. - -"Is it Mrs. Hylton P. Rosmead--eh, Vivien?" said Sadie whimsically. -"Did you ever see anyone more mightily pleased with himself than our -Peterkin?" - -Vivien smiled, but said neither yea nor nay. - -"What have you arranged with my mother, then?" asked Rosmead. - -"We are to come down to-morrow evening, Mr. Rosmead. She says you will -take her to Glasgow in the car to-morrow. Are you quite sure it can be -done comfortably?" - -"Quite. Then, you and your brother will bring him down to Achree -to-morrow? I suppose Mr. Mackinnon will make all the necessary -arrangements." - -Isla was silent, a little chill creeping all over her and causing her to -shiver. Her companion bent over her anxiously. - -"I had forgotten Malcolm," she said quite frankly. "I have always been -used to arrange things for my father, you see." - -"I understand. But now your brother is the head of the house," said -Rosmead gently. "Probably I shall see him when we get up to Creagh, and -can make the final arrangements with him. I should like to tell him -that the Achree stables are at his disposal. We shall all go to-morrow -by the car, and so you will be perfectly free of the house." - -"Thank you very much," said Isla. - -But her voice was very low, and the spiritless note had crept into it -again. Rosmead found the sudden change difficult to grasp, and it -confirmed him in the opinion that there was some serious breach between -the brother and sister. - -"When do you propose that the burial shall take place, and where will it -be?" - -"The Mackinnon burying-place is at Balquhidder, of course," she said, as -if surprised at the question. "I have not thought about the day, but -probably now it must be Monday." - -They became silent then, driving in the track of the young moon towards -the hills and the moor of the great silence. Isla felt no need of -speech. A great sense of peace and comfort was hers as she nestled -there by Rosmead's side, the thick frieze of his driving-coat making for -her a buttress from the wind. She, who had so long cared for others was -fully conscious of the sweetness of being cared for. She was in no -haste for the drive to end. - -Up at the Lodge of Creagh there was desolation and woe--and there also -was the brother between whom and herself there was a great gulf fixed. -She had not seen him since she had driven him forth from her presence -with hard words, and she had no idea of the dreary vigil he had kept, -wrestling with remorse and shame up there on the heather of Creagh. - -Rosmead was perfectly happy. He loved this woman with a great and -growing love, and her nearness to him filled all his being. To render -her the smallest service was such a joy to him that just then he asked -for no more. All the chivalry of a singularly chivalrous race, all the -fine gallant tenderness of the best in old Virginia was uppermost in -Rosmead that night, which for both was a night of remembrance. - -"I shall always think of this night," said Isla very low as they drew -near to the gate of Creagh. "This afternoon I thought it would close in -despair. It is you and your dear people who have lifted me out of it, -and God will bless and reward you. I never can." - -Rosmead, greatly daring, took the small gloved hand which lay outside -the rug and raised it to his lips. But no word did he speak, good nor -bad. - -Presently Isla made a little exclamation of surprise. - -"There is a machine of some kind at the door, Mr. Rosmead. Don't you -see the lights?" she said rather excitedly. "I wonder who it can be at -this time of night. It must be nearly nine o'clock.' - -"Close on it. Probably it is some neighbour calling on your brother." - -"It might be Mr. Drummond from Garrion. I know of nobody else who would -take the trouble," said Isla. - -A minute later she proved her surmise to be right. The high-stepping -Garrion roans were champing their bits and pawing the ground in front of -the narrow doorway. - -Rosmead sprang down and with great tenderness helped Isla to alight. - -"You will come in of course, as you wish to see my brother." - -"I will come in if you desire it, but I do not forget that older friends -may have the prior right, Miss Mackinnon." - -"I do desire it. It will be a help to me," she said. - -And together they passed over the threshold. Diarmid hastened out to -meet them, and behind, from the library, came Malcolm and Neil Drummond. - -Rosmead, while apparently observing nothing, took note of two -things--the curious, half-shrinking, half-defiant expression on Malcolm -Mackinnon's face, and the distinct antagonism that marked the manner of -Neil Drummond towards himself. - -"So you have come back, Isla?" said Malcolm awkwardly. "Neil and I were -just discussing whether we should come to Achree to fetch you." - -"Mr. Rosmead was so kind as to bring me up, and I think he wishes to -speak to you, Malcolm," said Isla. "Good evening, Neil." - -Neil came forward with outstretched hand, his honest eyes full of -deepest sympathy and compassion. - -"I need not say what I feel about this, Isla. I heard it at Strathyre -this evening, at six o'clock, and I couldn't believe it. I was only on -my bicycle, so I went home straight and got the horses. My dear, this -is a terrible thing." - -Isla nodded and, seeing that Malcolm had disappeared into the library -with Rosmead, she asked Neil to come to the little dining-room which he -and Malcolm had recently left, and where the remains of Malcolm's -evening meal still stood on the table. - -Drummond closed the door, and Isla sat down, as if very weary. He was -surprised to behold her so calm and self-possessed. - -"What took you away to Achree, Isla?" he asked jealously. "Malcolm has -been frightfully anxious about you." - -"He needn't have been. I left a message with Diarmid," she answered -listlessly. - -"But it seemed odd for you to go there to these new people. They are -not your friends, Isla. We have a better right." - -"Not my friends!" she said in tones of wonderment. "You say that because -you don't understand--because you don't know what they are. I think -there cannot be many people like them in the world, Neil. Do you know -that they are all turning out of Achree to-morrow--even the frail -invalid mother--and going right back to Glasgow on their motor-car in -order that we may have Achree to ourselves for the funeral?" - -Drummond looked the surprise he felt. - -"Are they, though? That is uncommonly good of them," he admitted, -though only half-heartedly. "Then, you go back to Achree to-morrow with -the poor old General?" - -"Yes. Mr. Rosmead is arranging the whole matter with Malcolm now, I -expect. I am very tired, Neil. I think I shall have to go to bed -soon." - -"Yes, of course--poor dear girl, you must be! Kitty sent her love. She -would have come over with me, she said, only she was not sure whether -you would be able to see people. She will come over to-morrow if you'll -give her leave." - -"Very kind," murmured Isla, thinking of the woman who had not waited for -leave--who had come of her own free will and gathered her to her heart. -"I don't think she should come to-morrow, Neil," she said, rousing -herself with an effort on perceiving his disappointment. "I shall be -busy most of the day, you see. To-morrow night, perhaps--if you don't -mind. It will not be so far to come to Achree as up here. Give her my -love." - -Drummond shifted rather restlessly from one foot to the other. - -"Isla, I hate to say it, but it is what I feel. I'm beastly jealous of -these American outsiders. You must not let them absorb you. Of course -we know that their money can do a lot of things. We can't all afford -thousand pound motors for quick transit, but our hearts are in the right -place and we'd go down on our knees to serve you--every one of us." - -Isla's eyes suddenly filled with tears. - -"I know, Neil. Don't trouble about it. They have been very kind. Of -course I know that if you had had Achree you would have done just the -same thing. Was that Malcolm calling? We had better go out." - -Neil opened the door, and they passed into the narrow hall again, where -Malcolm and Rosmead stood together. - -For just the fraction of a moment nobody spoke. - -"Mr. Rosmead has told me of their great, unheard-of kindness, Isla," -said Malcolm in a queer strained voice, "and we have arranged it all. -To-morrow afternoon--late about six o'clock we shall take him down to -Achree. Mr. Rosmead is to run his fast motor to Callander in the morning -in order to make the necessary arrangements. I have told him we can't -thank him." - -"No," answered Isla very low, "we can't." - -"That's all right," said Rosmead cheerily. "Good night then, Miss -Mackinnon. Go to bed and have a good sleep. Good night, Mr. Drummond." - -"Good night," said Neil, and he affected not to see the outstretched -hand. - -Rosmead took no offence. He was too big-hearted, and perhaps he had an -inkling of how it was with the young man. - -"I had better go, too, I suppose," said Neil a little stiffly, and Isla -bade them both good night. - -When Malcolm returned from seeing them off he could not find Isla, and -when he went upstairs her door was shut. - -He tapped lightly at it, and she opened it just a few inches. - -"You'll excuse me to-night, won't you, Malcolm?" she said gently but -coldly. "I am very tired. I couldn't discuss anything to-night. -To-morrow we can talk things over, but I want just to say that I am -sorry I spoke as I did this afternoon. He would not have liked it, I am -sure." - -Malcolm had not a word to say. He murmured good night and went -downstairs to the lonely hearth, where he tried to extract some comfort -from his pipe. - -But his quiet was disturbed by the low sound of his sister's sobbing -from the room above. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - THE PASSING OF MACKINNON - - -A chamber-maid at the St. Enoch's Hotel in Glasgow brought a sheaf of -letters to Rosmead along with shaving-water on Monday morning at -half-past seven. - -He glanced over them with quick carelessness, and, finding one small, -square, black-edged envelope, addressed in a handwriting that he did not -know, he quickly broke the seal, which bore an unfamiliar coat of arms. -Once more his pulses beat high, for this was the first time Isla -Mackinnon had written to him, and over a man in love the handwriting of -the woman he loves wields a surprising power. - -Thus did Isla write to Rosmead, and the few simple words meant more from -her than whole pages of words from most women. She did not possess the -gift of expression, but could only write of real things, and when these -were done with the letter came to an end:-- - - -"ACHREE, _Saturday night_. - -"DEAR MR. ROSMEAD,--I am writing to say that I hope--that we all -hope--that you will be able to spare the time to come out to -Lochearnhead on Monday to attend my father's funeral. - -"It is arranged for twelve o'clock from here, and will arrive at -Balquhidder Kirkyard at half-past one, which suits the trains from both -the north and the south. - -"Perhaps you do not know the customs of our country, but it would please -me if you would take one of the cords of the coffin as they lower it -into the grave. These are taken by relatives and friends only, and, God -knows, you have been a friend. It is arranged that if you are there -some one will give you your place. - -"My uncle, Sir Thomas Mackinnon, arrived from London to-day. He is my -father's only living relative. - -"Perhaps you will find it convenient either to come by the train or to -drive in your motor straight to Balquhidder, in which case I should not -see you. - -"Please to tell your mother that by Thursday of this week I shall have -gone back to Creagh or shall have gone away somewhere else. What I -really mean to say is that Achree will be ready for her return. I -cannot say more. - -"I am, sincerely yours, - "ISLA MACKINNON." - - -Rosmead forgot all about his shaving-water until it grew cold, and he -had to ring for more. - -He had longed with a great longing to go out to the burying of -Mackinnon, but he had not contemplated doing so without invitation. -And, lo! the invitation had come from Isla herself, couched in warm, -friendly terms which no man--least of all Rosmead--could resist. - -There was a glow at his heart as he stood before the mirror, attending -to the duties of his toilet, noticing for the first time, with a kind of -silent rage, the lines on his face and the evidences of middle-age -beginning to creep about his mouth and temples. He wanted to be for -ever young for her dear sake. - -She had, in the midst of her forlorn grief, taken time and thought to -write to him to offer him what he understood was a family privilege, and -he would go--oh, yes, there was no car fast enough to take him--right to -her door, to her very feet! - -Away with the train or car that would convey him only to Balquhidder -when Isla had expressed even the faintest desire to see him! It would -be their last meeting until he could return from America, for on -Thursday he must set out upon the journey which never in all his life -had he been so loth to take. - -He pondered on all the details of the day in front of him, and, by -copious use of the telephone in his room, had arranged them all before -he went down to breakfast. He did not wait for his sisters. There was -nothing to hurry them in the mornings in Glasgow, and generally they -breakfasted with their mother in her sitting-room. - -At nine o'clock, dressed in full motor garb, he tapped at his mother's -door. - -"I have had a letter from Miss Mackinnon this morning, asking me to go -out to the funeral at Achree, and I'm going now. It will take me quite -all my time to get there by noon." - -Mrs. Rosmead smiled upon him, well pleased. She did not ask to see the -letter. She only bade him take care of himself and give her love to -Isla, and to assure her that there was no need to hurry away from -Achree. He felt glad that neither of his sisters had yet appeared. He -left a message for them and went off to the waiting car, ready for what -lay in front of him. - -It was not a very pleasant day in the city. There was a light fog -hanging over it, through which a fine rain was beginning to filter -dismally. But when they got away from the river-bed the rain stopped, -and, though the sky remained grey and pensive, it was fair overhead. - -No sun shone all the way, and when he came to the hills Rosmead thought -it was an ideal day for a burying--just typical of the grief which -overshadowed a whole glen. The sky was grey and very soft, and a mist -lay upon the hills, while the heaviness of unshed tears was in the -soundless air. - -About eleven o'clock Rosmead, who had had a splendid run without mishap -or stop, swept by the incomparable beauty of Loch Lubnaig, through -bonnie Strathyre, and down upon the valley of the Earn. - -Long before he reached it he was struck by the signs of activity on the -usually quiet and lonely road. All sorts and conditions of vehicles -moved towards Glenogle, containing all sorts and conditions of people. -At the hotel door there was quite a medley of waiting traps. Rosmead -drew up there and went inside to remove his motor garb and to put on the -decent mourning, safely stowed at the back of the car. - -He looked graver and older in the tall silk hat and dark overcoat with -the black band on the arm, and he was respectfully recognized by many. - -The story of how of their own accord the Americans had vacated Achree in -order that the family might have it to themselves for such a great -occasion had got about in the glens. It had filled all who heard it -with a sort of personal gratitude and appreciation that was bound to -have an aftermath. They did not love the stranger--especially the -American stranger--in these remote Highland glens, though his money was -sometimes necessary to the comfort of their existence. They accepted -him as inevitable, like motor-cars, and new railway lines cutting into -their fair hill-sides and ugly viaducts spanning their wimpling -burns--all necessary evils which must be endured with fortitude. - -Driving very slowly towards Achree, Rosmead was astonished at the -increasing number of people both in vehicles and on foot. He was -unaware that in Scotland a burying--especially the burying of a great -chief--is a public event, in which every man, woman, and child of the -district takes a personal interest. Everybody came as a matter of -course to see Mackinnon of Achree laid to rest, and all were made -welcome, though no invitations, in the ordinary sense, had been sent -out. - -In some doubt as to whether he should take his car up to the house, -Rosmead addressed himself to a policeman--a most unusual spectacle in -Glenogle--who was on duty at the gate. - -"Mr. Rosmead, sir, I think?" said the man, touching his hat. - -"Yes, my man." - -"Then you are to go up, please. I had my orders this morning. They are -expecting you at the house." - -Rosmead gave the order to drive slowly, and presently he came within -sight of the house where the cortege stood before the open door. There -were two other cars, and the Garrion roans were conspicuous at the bend -of the avenue. - -Rosmead alighted and walked over to the door where Diarmid was on the -look-out. - -"Mr. Rosmead, sir. I haf a message from Miss Isla for you, if it pe -that she would not see you pefore you leave." - -"Yes, my man." - -"She says will you please come pack to the house if you can spare the -time after you haf peen at Balquhidder, as she would like to speak with -you, whatefer." - -Rosmead silently nodded. Had the American boat sailed that very -afternoon it is safe to say that one passenger at least would have -failed to take his berth. - -Diarmid, very respectful with a touch of gratitude in his mien, waited -upon Rosmead and finally ushered him to the library where a small -company were already assembled for the service that was to take place at -a quarter to twelve. - -Malcolm, very pale and slightly haggard, came forward immediately to -greet Rosmead, whom he introduced to his uncle. - -"Happy to meet you, sir," said Sir Tom, as his great hand grasped the -American's slender one in a grip of iron. "We, as a family, will not -readily forget your kindness at this time to the son and daughter of my -poor brother. It was a Christian act, sir--a Christian act." - -Rosmead asked him not to say more, passing it over as if ashamed that so -much should be made of it. Then he stepped back and looked about at the -people in the room. Some of them he recognized, but Neil Drummond, -sourly resentful of his intimate presence there, unaware, of course, -that he came by Isla's special invitation, did not suffer his eyes to -alight on his face. - -Rosmead was impressed by the circumstance that there were no flowers -upon the coffin--only the Union Jack and the old soldier's sword, to the -hilt of which was tied a bunch of white heather. All was simple, -severe, and impressive. The short service was quickly over. Then a -sudden, weird sound broke upon the listening ears--the wailing of the -pipes, which filled the soundless air with a melancholy music. - -All this time Isla had not appeared, and Rosmead strained his eyes in -vain for a sight of her. But it was denied him, and he had not even -asked for her welfare. - -It was a great burying, the like of which had not been seen in the glens -for many a year. As the cortege, half a mile long, slowly defiled -through Lochearnhead it was joined by a score or more of vehicles that -waited it there. And so it was all the way to the Braes of Balquhidder. - -Rosmead, who had left his car at Achree and entered one of the mourning -coaches, felt the impressiveness of the whole scene, and was almost -moved to tears when they turned away from the grave to the sweet -haunting strains of the "Flowers of the Forest". - -As the mourners fell away slowly from the grave-side some one touched -his arm. - -"I shall be glad if you will drive back to Achree with me, Mr. Rosmead," -said the voice of Sir Thomas Mackinnon. "I should like to have a little -talk with you." - -This was noted by the curious, and it was afterwards said that more -attention could not have been paid to the American if he had been sib to -the Mackinnons. But there was not one who added that the attention was -misplaced. - -"A sad affair, isn't it, for those who are left?" said Sir Thomas as -they drove slowly away, "for my niece especially. You see, her father -was her life-work, so to speak, and now that it is taken out of her -hands she will feel stranded for a bit." - -"Miss Mackinnon is one who will always find something to occupy her -heart and her hands," said Rosmead. - -Uncle Tom assented. - -"They tell me you have Achree on an option, Mr. Rosmead," he said--and -it was evident that that was the thing uppermost in his mind. "I hope -that you like the place, and feel minded to stop on." - -"I should like to, but I have not yet had any conversation about it. I -shall have to see Mr. Mackinnon to-day, as I leave Scotland on -Thursday." - -"You leave Scotland? But I understood that you were here indefinitely." - -"No. The business which brought me is concluded, and there is work -lying to my hand in America." - -"Then, do you leave your ladies here?" - -"Yes, for six months. Our tenancy of Achree does not expire till the -end of October, and nothing, therefore, need be decided now. But I -think that my mother likes the place so well that we might take a lease -of it--that is, if Mr. Mackinnon does not wish possession for himself. -Will the General's death alter nothing?" - -"Nothing. They can't afford to live in Achree--and that's the plain -truth of it, Mr. Rosmead. In these days very few of us can afford to -live in the place of our fathers. Here am I stranded in a London house, -like a bull in a china shop. I loathe the life, but I haven't any -choice. A relation of my wife offered the loan of the house for the -season: my girls had to come out, and we couldn't afford to refuse. I -don't know what's to become of us now, as our mourning will stop all the -gaiety. But about the Achree Mackinnons? It is a most unfortunate -thing that Malcolm resigned his commission just when he did. Of course, -it was on his father's account. The best thing he could do would be to -try and get back to the Army. I haven't approached him on the -subject--that is, closely. He seems uncommonly touchy about it. So -does Isla. But it stands to reason and common sense that he can't loaf -about Glenogle." - -"No. I can imagine that would be quite impossible. But if he does not -return to the Army he will probably seek something else. There is room -in the colonies for such as he." - -"Is there?" inquired Sir Tom with the doubtful air of a man who would be -difficult to convince. "Well, they present a problem. She must come -back with me to her aunt in London. I don't see what else is to be done -with her. She can't remain eating her heart out in that God-forsaken -place up at Creagh. I'll never believe anything but that the change -killed my brother Donald." - -Rosmead recalled the picture of the General's prostrate figure on the -narrow hearthrug at Creagh, the letter clasped like a vice in the poor -dead fingers, and he had his own thoughts. Such at least had not been -Isla's opinion, but it was certainly no part of his business to stir up -strife or sow the seeds of suspicion among the members of the family, -who were evidently outside the real issue of the case. - -Sir Tom was very friendly and communicative, talking to the strange -American as if he had been at least an intimate friend of the family--an -attitude which was largely due to what Isla had said about the vacating -of Achree. - -Just a few of the mourners went back to the house for tea, and perhaps -to hear whether there was a will. But, though Cattanach was present, -there was no mention of a will, and it was speedily whispered about that -the General had left none. It was quite well known that for five years -at least he had not been capable of transacting business, and, as he had -had practically no money to dispose of, and the estate had to pass in -entail to his only son, a will would have been superfluous. - -But it was of Isla that most of them were thinking, and when they -watched the slender, black-robed figure so quietly dispensing tea in the -drawing-room, assisted by Kitty Drummond, they wondered what her future -was to be. - -Neil Drummond was there also, and had taken up his position close to the -tea-table, with the result that Rosmead could not get near for a private -word. - -But his mind was made up that he would not leave Achree until he had -seen Isla by herself to bid her good-bye. - -He was in no haste--he never was in any of the affairs of life--having -proved that most things come to the man who bides his time. But perhaps -just there he made one mistake, arising from ignorance of the quick -Celtic temperament, which cannot brook slowness or delay. - -Isla's eyes met his just once across the room, and there was quite -clearly a message for him in the look. It bade him wait. - -When all the tea had been served, and she had answered as composedly as -she could the remarks made to her by Neil, she rose and quite -deliberately walked across the room to the place where Rosmead stood -talking to her Uncle Tom. - -"You have a long way to go back to Glasgow, Mr. Rosmead. Are you in -haste to leave us?" - -"Not in haste to leave you, but I must be going soon. Can I speak with -you for a few minutes?" - -"Yes, it is why I have come. Will you come down to the library?" she -said. - -And Neil Drummond, with eyes that had something of the baleful glow of -the watch-fires in them, had the chagrin of beholding them leave the -room together, as if it were quite a matter of course. - -"Don t you think that American bounder has presumed a lot to-day, -Malcolm?" he said gruffly to Mackinnon, who happened to pass near him at -the moment. - -Malcolm looked the surprise he felt. - -"I don't think so, Neil. He has been most awfully kind, don't you know? -I dare say Isla has some message for his mother about when they can come -back to the house." - -Neil tried to accept this perfectly feasible explanation, but if he had -seen the two talking earnestly together at the library window his mind -would undoubtedly have been most seriously disturbed. - -"It was so very kind of you to come to-day and take all the trouble for -us," said Isla, as the door closed upon them. "Do you still intend to -sail away on Thursday?" - -"On Friday. My boat sails from Liverpool," he corrected gently. "I go -to London on Thursday." - -"And when will you come back?" - -"Not before Christmas, I am afraid. I've had more than six months' -furlough already, you see, and I haven't the ghost of an excuse for -stopping on this side any longer." - -"Except your mother. You will not like leaving her, I am sure." - -"I don't. But she is accustomed to my journeyings to and fro in the -earth and up and down in it. I shall be very happy, thinking of her -here in this house. She has never felt so much at home since she left -Virginia. I have had a talk with your brother, and it is practically -settled that we take a two years' lease of Achree. I was fortunate in -finding Cattanach here to-day also, and so the thing can be put on a -proper basis without delay." - -"Yes," said Isla, and her tone had a singularly spiritless note in it. - -He looked steadily into her face, wondering just how much he might say, -or whether he might say anything at all. But she was not looking at -him. She was thinking how strange it would be to realize that this man -had gone away clean out of the Glen, and that soon the ocean would roll -between him and her. She had never felt so in her life about any human -being outside of her family circle, and she was disturbed. - -"I hope that you will not think I presume if I ask what is going to -become of you in the immediate future," said Rosmead presently. "Will -you go back to London with your uncle, as he seems to expect?" - -"No, I shall simply go back to Creagh," she answered steadily. - -Rosmead was silent for a moment, trying to picture the life she would -lead there, alone and without occupation, in the company of her brother -from whom her heart was estranged. - -"To Creagh? It seems impossible! I can't bear to think of you there. -It is unthinkable!" - -"Oh, no--nothing is unthinkable, or even impossible. People can do -anything in this world--anything," she answered. "I have proved it." - -"Then, shall I find you at Creagh when I come back?" he asked with an -odd persistence, his eyes cleaving to her face. - -A tremor ran over it, and had he but known it the opportunity was his. -Her heart turned--nay, cried out to him. Had he spoken the word then -she would have gone away with him without a question or a doubt. - -But he blundered on, longing for her mightily, yet wholly afraid, -believing that he dared not begin to woo her until he had given her -heart time to recover from its present shock. - -Some one tapped lightly at the door. - -"It is au revoir, then, not good-bye," he said with an effort, and held -out his hand. - -She gave hers to his warm, kindly clasp, and her eyes, over which the -veil had already fallen, uplifted themselves to his. - -"I hope it is, but six months is a long time in life. So many things can -happen. I hope you will have a safe journey and a successful issue to -all your affairs, and--and that the difficulties you spoke of will all -be swept from your path." - -"Some of them are big enough. But when I come back I will address -myself to the biggest undertaking of my life, and the dearest." - -The door was opened, and Malcolm's voice announced that the motor was -waiting outside. - -Rosmead raised her hand to his lips and turned away, scarcely master of -himself. - -Isla spoke no more. But, for once in his life, Peter Rosmead had erred -on the side of caution. The incomparable chance had been his, and he -had passed it by. - -When the door had closed upon them Isla leaned her head against the -black oak of the window shutters, and a little sobbing breath that was -almost a cry, broke from her lips. - -Her last prop had gone, but none knew--least of all the man whose one -desire on earth was to take her to his heart. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - FAMILY COUNSELS - - -"And now," said Sir Tom with a large and partially reproachful -cheerfulness, "we had better address ourselves to the future of you two -children and try to find out just where we are." - -He was neither unfeeling nor unsympathetic, but his opinion was that -grief and the lassitude which treads close upon it should in due season -have an end. The affairs of life cannot stand still, even when death -intervenes. They can only be held in abeyance for a little space. - -Now that Mackinnon, full of years and honour and followed by the -lamentations and the love of all his people, rich and poor, had been -carried to his last rest, he must become a tender memory to those who -were left. - -They had dined together quite alone, and now they sat in the library, -where pipe and tobacco and cigars were on the table, as yet, however, -untouched. - -Sir Tom was getting his pipe ready a trifle absently, his eyes fixed on -his niece's face. He was troubled about her. Her white face and her -deep, grief-haunted eyes, which no man could fathom, disconcerted and -disturbed him. He loved her dearly, but he did not always understand -her. Malcolm's apparently simpler nature was better within his grasp -and ken. - -It was assuredly Malcolm's place, as the head of the house, to make some -suggestion or statement, but silence lay upon him heavily, and he seemed -ill at ease. - -"Has neither of you anything to say? I must be going back to London -to-morrow, if I have to go alone. I'll wait till Wednesday, if I am to -take Isla. What do you say, my dear?" - -Isla, a slim, black figure with white, nervous hands interlaced upon her -lap, lifted her eyes to his face from where she sat at the other side of -the fireplace. - -"No, thank you, Uncle Tom, I will not go to London just now." - -"But, my dear, your aunt will scold me no end if I don't bring you. Her -last words were that I was to bring you back with me. If she had been -well enough nothing would have kept her from Achree just now--and you -know it. But I left her in bed, and the doctor forbade the journey. It -is nothing serious, only requiring a little care. Fact is, these -monkeys have been running her off her feet lately. Three or four -o'clock every morning before she got to her bed after their dancing and -nonsense. The life of a chaperon in the London season is not a happy -one." - -"Give Aunt Jean my love, and tell her I can't come just now. Later, -perhaps----" - -"Later! Heaven only knows where we may be later. Your aunt talks of -some seaside place on the Brittany or Normandy coast--some God-forsaken -hole, where a man can't get a decent meal of meat. Gad, what it is to -be hard-up! Well, and if you won't come to us may I ask without -impertinence where you do propose to go?" - -"Back to the Lodge at Creagh for a few days at least." - -"And after the few days--eh, what?" asked Sir Tom, leaning forward a -little, with serious concern in his big, kindly, rather innocent blue -eyes. - -She made no answer, though Malcolm from where he stood leaning against -the fireplace seemed to wait a little eagerly for what she might say. - -"Speak to her, Malcolm! She has aye been a high-handed miss, doing that -which seemed right in her own eyes. You are the head of the house now. -Can't you put your foot down and bid her come with me to your aunt and -your cousins? It's where she ought to be in these days, among a lot of -kindly, busy women-folk." - -"It's what I think, Uncle Tom," said Malcolm in a low voice. "But, as -you say, nobody can dictate to Isla. She will go her own way." - -"Then, may I ask what you propose to do?" asked Uncle Tom, suddenly -directing his attention to his nephew. "Of course, for a few days or -weeks there will be things to see to. But, with Cattanach at your back, -they should not take very long to wind up. And with the American folk -coming back to Achree there's nothing for you to do here. I don't -suppose you'll be long content, hanging about the Lodge and the Moor of -Creagh." - -Malcolm had no answer for a moment, and the silence seemed to grow. - -"Why can't you speak--one of you?" asked Uncle Tom a trifle testily. "I -like folks to show some common-sense, and you have both seen this coming -for long enough. It's not to be thought that you haven't had plans for -the future." - -"I haven't any plans," Malcolm admitted. - -This answer incensed the old man extremely. He looked at the strong, -well-knit figure of his nephew in the full prime and strength of his -young manhood with critical displeasure. - -"Then the sooner you get some, my man, the better it will be for you. -It is a thousand pities that you resigned your commission when you did, -and since it is somebody to make a proposition that you seem to need, -mine is that you apply to the proper authorities and get back to the -army as soon as possible. It's undoubtedly the very best thing you can -do." - -The silence deepened. It was broken by the falling of a glowing log -from the bars to the hearth, and, under pretence of restoring it to the -grate, Isla moved and bent towards it. - -"I never approved of what you did," went on Sir Tom, "and if anybody's -advice had been asked it would never have been permitted. I don't like -back-draughts, but I can't help saying now, as we're discussing family -business, that I'm sure that your father would have been the very last -man to have sanctioned your sending in your papers--that is to say, if -he'd been in his full mind and faculties. And I think that the best -tribute of respect you can show to his memory is to get back to the army -as soon as possible and try to follow in the steps of the finest fellow -and the bravest soldier that ever earned a sword." - -It was a long speech for Sir Tom to make, and at the end he cleared his -throat and dashed something from his eyes. He was glad to have got this -off his chest--as he might have expressed it. It had lain heavily there -for some time; in fact, ever since he had been able to grasp the full -significance of his nephew's action. To him it seemed disastrous, -unnecessary, and foolish in the extreme. For if a man cannot afford to -live on his estate, or if it does not offer him sufficient occupation, -surely it were infinitely better for him to take up some honourable -calling in which he would have a chance to rise and to distinguish -himself. - -The Mackinnons, at least the handful that was left, had all been proud -of the gallant old General, and, now that it was open to his son to -carry on the fine traditions of the race, it seemed incredible and -discreditable that he should not be willing and eager to do it. - -"I can't do that, Uncle Tom," said Malcolm, shifting uneasily from one -foot to another. "I've left the army for good." - -"But that's no reason why you shouldn't go back. If representations to -the proper quarter were made, I can't see any insuperable obstacles in -the way. Can you, Isla?" - -She made no answer, and he went on. - -"I'll do what I can. I'll go to the Commander-in-Chief myself, if -you're such a baby over it, Malcolm, and lay the whole facts of the case -before him. No reasonable man would refuse to make an open door -somewhere for you, and I don't believe he would--eh, Malcolm?" - -"I can't go back, Uncle Tom. Please, say no more about it." - -"I'd like to hear a word from Isla on the subject," said Uncle Tom. "I -can't make you out, lassie. I have never thought of you as a person -without opinions. You have an opinion about this, of course, and a -pretty strong one, I could take my affidavit. Let us hear it. Now's the -time, for if you won't travel with me to London, I must go south -to-morrow." - -"It is a matter for Malcolm entirely, Uncle Tom," she said, rising with -a sudden sweep to her feet. "Do you mind if I say good-night? I am -very tired, and last night I had no sleep. I'll be up bright and early -for you to-morrow morning, though, of course, it will only be the two -o'clock train you want to catch at Stirling. It will set you down in -London before eleven." - -"That will do. You're in a hurry, however--and my last night, too! But -certainly you look tired, lass," said the old man, and he kissed her -with a very real tenderness. - -She nodded to Malcolm, said good-night briefly, and went to the door, -which her uncle opened for her. - -When he had closed it he turned full face to Malcolm. - -"There's something the matter with the bairn, Malcolm. What is there -between her and you? Have you quarrelled about anything?" - -"Nothing special--only we don't hit it off, Uncle Tom," said Malcolm, -turning round with evident relief and reaching for the cigars. - -"Then the sooner you begin to hit it off the better," said Sir Tom -severely. "It's not decent to behave as you are doing. How do you -propose to live together in the Lodge of Creagh, even for a little -while, if you feel like that?" - -"Give it up!" said Malcolm. - -And it was as if his whole body and spirit had relaxed now that some -strain was removed. - -"There was a dryness between us about the letting of Achree," resumed -Malcolm, seeing that the old man was still staring intently at him, as -if waiting to be enlightened. "Of course, I didn't like it. After all, -it was my business, wasn't it, Uncle Tom? And Isla took it all upon -herself. See how it has complicated things just now!" - -"Yes, but the American money is very good," said Uncle Tom drily. -"Barras would be a howling wilderness without it." - -"I daresay that Isla and I would have pulled through without it, and I -could have occupied myself in looking after the place. It wants a lot -of pulling together, Uncle Tom. Everything is slack, and the tenants -don't pay what they might--not one of them." - -"You can't take the breeks off a Hielandman, lad," was the dry response. -"But it's about Isla I'm chiefly concerned. You can very well fend for -yourself. You'll have to make proper provision for her, Malcolm. -Whoever suffers, she must have enough to live upon. She isn't one who -requires much, but providing for her must be your first duty. I don't -doubt that you will do it." - -"I'll do the fair thing, of course. We'll have to have a talk, I -suppose. I do wish she would go with you to London, if it were only for -a few days. I could come to fetch her later. It would clear the air." - -"She won't--you can see that in the eyes of her. There's something back -of it all--God knows what--and I suppose you'll have to fight it out -your two selves. But you'll be very gentle with her, Malcolm, for -to-night she looks the most forlorn creature on the face of God's -earth." - -He blew his nose as he said this, and he begged Malcolm to bring him a -peg of whisky. They waxed more confidential over their drink, of which, -however, Malcolm partook very abstemiously. Drink had never been his -besetting sin. - -About eleven Sir Tom went off to bed, a little reassured concerning the -affairs of the Achree Mackinnons and having no doubt whatever but that -Malcolm would do his duty. - -Malcolm certainly at this moment wished to do it, if only he knew how. -He didn't want to leave Glenogle, still less did he want to live under -one roof with his sister. If she refused to leave the Glen he would -have no alternative but to go, and what would be the upshot of it all? - -Near to midnight he was still pondering this mighty and seemingly -insoluble problem when the library door was silently pushed open and -Isla in a white dressing-gown, with her long hair tied lightly back and -hanging loosely on her shoulders, came in. Her face looked ghastly pale -against the whiteness of her wrap, and her eyes were shining like stars. - -"I heard Uncle Tom go up to bed, Malcolm, and I thought I'd better come -down." - -"The fire has gone low," he said, as he sprang up to vacate the most -comfortable chair. "Here's a log. We'll get a blaze in a minute. Sit -down here." - -She sat down on the extreme edge of the chair and watched him a little -wistfully while he attended to the fire. - -"I thought, perhaps, we had better have a little talk about what we are -going to do," she said a trifle unsteadily. "There is nothing but -Creagh. The question is--Can it hold us both?" - -"Don't speak like that, Isla," he said almost pleadingly. "But really -Uncle Tom's plan is the best, considering all things. Couldn't you make -up your mind even yet to go to London with him, if it were only for a -few days?" - -Isla shook her head. - -"I couldn't, Malcolm. Aunt Jean and the girls would drive me crazy just -now. Don't even mention it again. I--I just want to ask you whether it -wouldn't be better to tell Uncle Tom the truth about how you left the -army before he goes to-morrow? You know how impulsive he is. He will -think nothing of going straight to the War Office or to the -Commander-in-Chief, if he can find him, the moment he gets back to -London." - -Malcolm's face fell. - -"By Jove, so he might! I never thought of that. But, hang it all, Isla, -I can't tell him." - -"Let me do it, then. Don't you see anything would be better in the -circumstances than that he should make a fuss? It would make you look -such a fool, and it would certainly result in newspaper paragraphs -which, through the great kindness of Colonel Martindale, have never -appeared." - -"I'll see in the morning. I'll be driving him to the station. Anyhow, -I'll impress on him that the matter must on no account be opened up -again--that nothing would induce me to go back to the army," said -Malcolm, whose policy all through life had ever been to find the easiest -way out. - -Isla dropped the subject. For the first time since her father's death -she had schooled herself to try to speak of it naturally. - -"As you let Achree to the Rosmeads for the longer term, what are you -going to do? It's impossible that you can live at Creagh for an -indefinite time and without an object." - -"I want a little while in which to look round, Isla. I must have at -least six months to inquire into things. I'm going up to Glasgow on -Monday to go over everything with Cattanach. I must see whether the -profits of the place cannot be increased in some directions. I can be -busy enough for the next six months at least in getting the whole thing -into shape. After that I must try to get a berth of some kind. Rosmead -was recommending the Argentine. By the time he comes back I shall be in -a position to go thoroughly into the prospects there." - -"And in the meantime, then, you will live at Creagh?" - -"I thought of doing so. I am sorry for your sake that it isn't Achree. -But I had no hand in that. You shut yourself out, so to speak." - -She leaned her elbow on her knee, dropped her chin, which had become -sadly sharpened of late, on her hand, and looked across the space of the -fireplace at him with the same wistful expression in her eyes. - -"Malcolm, you'll try and pay off that money? When father was able to -understand things it worried him most frightfully whenever he thought -about the mortgage. For his sake, promise me that you will try to pay -it off." - -"Why, of course I will--the whole of the Rosmead money will go to that," -he answered lightly. "It won't take much to keep me at Creagh--or both -of us, for the matter of that. But, of course, a bachelor establishment -could be run more cheaply." - -"There couldn't be anything much cheaper than Creagh with Margaret -Maclaren and Diarmid to do the work," said Isla drily. "But I won't -remain long there to be a burden on you, Malcolm. I must go out and -find something to do for myself." - -"Oh, nonsense," he said loftily. "The only condition on which I should -let you leave Creagh would be that you go either to Barras or abroad -with them. So don't let us talk any more about that. And, really, -Isla, if only you'll be a bit reasonable and not too hard on a fellow, -we might have a fairly good time even at Creagh. The Rosmeads are more -than inclined to be kind, and there isn't any reason why we shouldn't -avail ourselves of what they offer. Then, of course, there are the -Drummonds. What ails Neil at Rosmead? He was positively savage about -him this afternoon when you went out of the drawing-room with him." - -Isla did not smile. - -"Neil is rather silly about some things," she answered, and there was a -vague regret in her eyes. - -She did not forget that, in a moment of keen loneliness and desperation, -she had told Neil Drummond the truth about Malcolm's home-coming, and it -stood to reason that Neil would not forget it either. - -Her one desire was that that shameful truth should never come to the -ears of the Rosmeads. She thought of them in the plural number, but it -was Rosmead himself she meant. She already knew that his standard was -very high, and that he might harshly judge a man like Malcolm if he knew -him as he really was. - -Isla sat very still, looking rather intently at the open, ruddy face -with the smiling eyes and the weak, mobile mouth, and she wondered -whether there was any ultimate hope of his complete redemption. He had -evidently been able to forget or to put behind him entirely the horror -and the tragedy of that frightful day at Creagh and the word with which -her accusing voice had smitten his ears. His volatile nature took -things so easily and lightly that, in his estimation, practically -nothing but the immediate moment mattered. - -Well perhaps, after all, she told herself, his policy was best. She had -borne the burden and heat of the day, had lain awake at nights, -pondering the problem of existence, had worn herself to a shadow for the -honour of Achree and of the name she bore, and where was she left? - -Stranded, she told herself, and practically without a friend. She had -proved to the hilt the truism that the world has neither time nor room -for the long face or the tale of woe, and that he who smiles, even if -his heart be shallow or false, will win through at least cost--ay, and -will grasp most of the good things of life as he floats airily by. - -Isla was fast becoming cynical and inclined to accept the creed of the -fatalist who says "What is to be will be". - -"Well, then, if Uncle Tom leaves to-morrow," she said as she rose to her -feet, "we had better go back to Creagh on Wednesday. I'd rather be gone -before the Rosmeads come back, and I said Thursday to him." - -"Oh, do be sociable, Isla! It would only be the kind thing to stop to -welcome them decently and thank them for what they've done. It's the -very least thing we can do, if you ask me." - -Isla, whom the Rosmeads had surprised out of her usual reserve, in the -first overwhelming horror of her grief, felt inclined to creep back into -her shell again, but she saw the reasonableness of her brother's words. - -"Well, then, I must leave it to you to arrange, I suppose. I mustn't -forget that you are the head of the house. I'll be ready to go up to -Creagh when you like, and as long as I remain there I'll try to make you -comfortable and happy." - -She said good-night to him immediately and glided away. But long after -her departure Malcolm sat pondering on the future, by no means elated at -the prospect of a _tete-a-tete_ existence with the sister who knew so -much. He would have been a happier and a more easy-minded man had Isla -been getting ready to accompany her Uncle Tom to London. - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - SETTLING DOWN - - -Having, in pursuance of a partially concerted plan of existence, thus -held out the olive branch to her brother, Isla found the rest easy. - -Next morning the breakfast-table was unclouded, and Sir Tom departed to -London, more comfortable in his mind about his kinsfolk than at any -moment since he had arrived in the Glen. - -"I'm glad that you have come to some sort of understanding with your -brother, my dear," he said, as Isla helped him on with his big -travelling-coat in the hall, while Rosmead's horses were waiting at the -door. "Just one thing more. Malcolm can't loaf about here longer than -is necessary. Your duty now, having been so faithfully ended where your -dear father is concerned, is to put a bit of your own smeddum into your -brother. What I'd like--what we'd all like--is to get him back to his -regiment. It's the only honourable way out of a big difficulty." - -Isla busied herself with smoothing the creases in the back of the coat -and made no answer at all. - -"What about his Colonel--Martindale, isn't it? Your aunt is intimate -with his sister, Lady Chester. We can get at him in that way, though I -still think that a straight application from Malcolm couldn't possibly -fail of its purpose. Eh--what?" - -"Don't do anything, Uncle Tom," pleaded Isla, "please, don't. There are -reasons--other reasons--why it would be better not, and Malcolm is quite -determined. Anyone can see that." - -"Well, well. It doesn't seem the right thing, but I don't want to be -officious, and you at least have shown yourself capable of managing your -own affairs up to now. Take Malcolm in hand now. The best of us need -the mothering that a good woman can give. But I hope, my dear, that my -next visit to Achree will be a happier one--namely, to give you away -perhaps to some gallant bridegroom. Eh--what?" - -He smiled his big, enveloping smile as he lifted her chin in his hand -and kissed her face. - -"That isn't likely to happen. But thank you all the same, dear Uncle -Tom," said Isla gratefully. - -"And, if we really are to be buried in the sand dunes over there and -have to subsist on anaemic omelettes and the everlasting poulet roti, -mind you come to us. And Barras in the winter is a very good place. It -had a Riviera temperature up to March this year. In November, thank -God, we'll make tracks for Barras again." - -Again Isla thanked him, and, Malcolm appearing on the scene, she said no -more. But she was sensible of relief as she saw them drive away. So -long as Uncle Tom remained at Achree anything might happen. His big, -kindly, blundering feet would stray into all sorts of forbidden paths. - -She spent the morning in the house, going slowly and with a sort of -lingering tenderness over every bit of it. The smart servants of the -Rosmeads had managed to efface themselves in a very wonderful way, and -the magnificent simplicity of the funeral of Mackinnon had left its deep -impression on their minds. - -Isla thanked each one of them individually in that way of hers that -could draw out all that was best in a human being. She offered nothing, -because she had naught to give, and would not mock them with pretence. -Malcolm, less delicately conscientious, scattered silver among them--the -silver that had come out of Isla's hoard in the bureau at Creagh. - -Malcolm returned to announce that he had engaged Jamie Forbes to come up -from the hotel to drive them to Creagh at three o'clock of the -afternoon. - -"I want to go to Darrach first, Malcolm, to see Elspeth Maclure. -Everything is ready to lift, and I shall get up by tea-time." - -"But how will you get up?" - -"Walk, of course--that is nothing." - -"But I can make Jamie wait till you are ready. He can stop here till -four, by which time surely you could be done with that wind-bag, Elspeth -Maclure." - -"No, I shall stop to tea with her and come when I'm ready, Malcolm. -I've neglected her of late, and I have lots of things to tell her." - -Malcolm gave his shoulders a shrug. - -"I've never understood your fondness for Elspeth Maclure, Isla. Her -tongue is a yard long and none too kindly. She was as nearly as -possible impertinent to me one day when I stopped at Darrach." - -Isla looked unbelieving and wholly unconvinced. - -"I can't conceive of Elspeth being impertinent. You must have said -something to offend her." - -"I gave her the truth about Donald and the croft, if you like. Darrach -is a bit of the best land on Achree, and if it were joined to Tully and -let to a responsible and capable man it would bring in a good rent. -Maclure's lazy, and greedy besides. I'd like to chuck him from Darrach, -and I mean to tell Cattanach that when I go up to Glasgow to-morrow." - -Isla said nothing, though she thought much. The Maclures had been in -Darrach in direct descent for four generations, and Donald naturally -regarded the place as his own. To turn him out and join up the crofts -into bigger holdings would revolutionize the whole life of the glens and -take the bread out of many mouths. - -But this was not the time to argue that question. Above all things, she -must try to live at peace with Malcolm, and find some quiet, persuasive -method of getting him to let well alone. - -Isla was a curious mixture. Her temperament was active, her judgment -quick and shrewd, but she was bound by the immemorial traditions of her -race and ought to have been born in feudal times. She looked upon all -the tenants of Achree as the children of the estate, having as good a -right to the land as the Mackinnons themselves. The fact that they paid -small, in some cases inadequate, rents for their holdings, thereby -keeping the coffers of Achree sadly empty, altered nothing. She would -rather have starved herself--and that cheerfully--than ask them for -more. Besides, she knew the hunger of the land, the late and scanty -harvests, the long winters, and the difficulty of wresting a living from -the bare hill-sides and the swampy breadths that lay to the Loch-side. - -She knew it to the uttermost. She had seen the blackened stocks sodden -with November rains and touched with December snows to such an extent -that the corn was hardly worth the trouble of carrying to the barn. She -had felt the dank smell of the potatoes rotting with disease in the -furrows when the autumn was wet, and she knew the poverty of the homes -where she was ever a welcome, and never an intruding, guest. - -Malcolm knew none of these things. He had no practical acquaintance -with the long fight between man and nature in these high latitudes, and -he had exaggerated ideas of the profits of farming. Already he was full -of ill-considered and half-digested plans for the entire regeneration of -Achree. Now that all was over, he was making all the haste he could to -let bygones be bygones. He was going to begin afresh a new life, which, -he promised himself, might be as interesting and far less strenuous than -the old. - -His father's death had altered the whole situation, and, from his point -of view, had occurred at the psychological moment. Now, as Laird of -Achree and head of his clan, he occupied a very different niche in the -scheme of things. - -Isla left Achree for the second time without any bitter pang. Nay, it -pleased and comforted her to think that Peter Rosmead and his folk had -it for a home. That thought somehow seemed to bring him nearer to her. -In the months to come it would lessen the breadth and depth of that vast -dividing sea. Yet how she would have been startled had her own thoughts -been mirrored before her, who had never before taken such interest in a -man! - -She thought of him as she walked down the dry, crisp road to Darrach, -and she wondered where he would be at that moment and whether the -telegram she had dispatched to them at the St. Enoch's Hotel, announcing -their departure to Creagh, would bring him back to Glenogle before he -finally set out on his long journey. She did not admit even to herself -her secret hope that he would, but it was of him she thought as she -approached Elspeth's hospitable gate, of his deep and encompassing -tenderness, his continuous thought for her, his earnest eyes looking -into hers and assuring her of his devotion to her cause. - -She lingered on these thoughts, fully conscious of their comforting -sweetness and wholly unaware that they heralded the dawn of love. - -She found Elspeth working at her baking board with a downcast face. The -baby was asleep in the box-bed by the side of the fire-place, and the -rest of the children were at school, even little Colin, aged three and a -half, having been admitted to the infant room. - -"There you are at last, Miss Isla--a sicht for sair een. I said to -Donald this morning that if it should be that you didna come the day, -then I must go and seek for ye either at Achree or at Creagh. Where -should I have found you?" - -"We are leaving Achree to-day, and it is at Creagh that you will find -me, Elspeth," said Isla as she took the chair that Elspeth set for her -by the well-scrubbed table. - -"I've come for my tea, Elspeth, and these scones smell as they ought. -If the butter is newly churned, too, then I am in luck, and I will -forget all about the rich meats that the American cook has been setting -before us at Achree." - -"But it wass the right thing for you to be there, Miss Isla, and it was -fery, fery good of the folk. From end to end of the Glen you'll hear -nothing but praise of them for it." - -"It was good," said Isla with quiet conviction. - -"And they'll be stoppin' on, at least for a while, at Achree, I hope?" - -"Yes, they will be stopping on indefinitely at Achree." - -"The little one--her they call Miss Sadie--comes here a lot, Miss Isla, -and she hass the pairns quite crazy about her. The other day--it wass -the day before the Laird died--she wass here drilling them in the yard. -It was the funniest thing you ever saw in your life--and her so sweet -and winsome wi' them! There be some that are all for the other one, but -she seems high and proud-like and hass little to say to the folk." - -"She has had a lot of trouble, Elspeth. Yes--I would like my tea now, -and you to sit down and drink it with me." - -"Yes, Miss Isla. And so you're to be at Creagh, and Mr. Malcolm--I beg -hiss pardon, the Laird--is to pe there, too, and to pe fery busy in all -the glens." - -The dry note in Elspeth's voice did not escape Isla's ear. - -"He iss not going back to the army, Donald says, but means to live on -the place. And, oh, it will nefer pe the same again! He wass here wan -day, and he said a lot of things that I'm not mindin' to say over again -to you. But iss it true that he will take away most of the crofts and -make big farms and let them to men from the west country and the -Lowlands that haf money in their pockets and will pey what we canna?" - -"My brother talks a good deal, but when he has been at home a little -longer and gets to understand things better he will change his mind -about a lot of them," said Isla, trying to comfort Elspeth. - -"Look you, Miss Isla, if it should come that my man had to leave Darrach -he will nefer lift up hiss head again. He was born in that bed, and his -faither and his grandfaither pefore him, and he wants to dee in it, as -they did. That is how Donald is feelin' about the place, Miss Isla, and -it iss what the Laird will nefer understand. But I said that you would -understand and would speak for us." - -Isla was silent, for she could find no words. - -"And Donald bein' a silent, quate man, things eat intil him, and he will -pe wanderin' for efer and efer by hisself, thinkin' on nothing else. -But how to pey more rent for the place is peyond him and me baith. We -haf nefer a penny over--we just manage to live and to pey oor way. Mr. -Malcolm, he talked a lot about breeding stock and such like, but where -iss the money to come from to buy the stock at the beginnin'? They haf -to be calves and lambs afore they grow to be bullocks and sheep. And -that's how it iss wi' us here at Darrach, and we are feart for the day -that will come." - -She set the cups down on the table with a kind of mournful clatter and -brought out the plate of oatcakes and the delicious scones and the -cheese kebbuck and then the firm golden butter-pat from the little -dairy. - -"You will never leave Darrach while I live and can prevent it, Elspeth," -said Isla. - -And she meant what she said. As she walked up the road again and -plunged into the bridle path that would bring her by the short cut to -the Moor of Creagh she foresaw that her work was by no means done nor -yet the fight ended. For if these were the lines Malcolm intended to -pursue with Glenogle folks, then how could she live at peace with him? -There was bound to be strife in the Lodge of Creagh. - -She felt a little glow of home-like feeling when the small, ugly, square -house, with its smoke curling up, straight and lazy, to the summer sky, -came within range of her vision. - -Margaret Maclaren, with temper considerably ruffled by certain -happenings that day, was busy clearing up what she called a -"clamjamphrey" in one of the upper rooms when she saw her mistress -coming slantwise across the Moor. It was now five o'clock, and she -immediately ran down to see whether the kettle was boiling, in case Miss -Isla wanted tea. - -Margaret had not been down the Glen at all during these last days and -had not so much as seen the funeral of the Laird--in itself a serious -omission. Then that day she had had a quarrel with Diarmid anent -certain household arrangements which they had not been able to adjust to -her satisfaction and which were waiting the judgment of Miss Isla. - -Diarmid, a little puffed up perhaps with the attention he had received -at Achree and the deference the American servants had paid him, had been -a little high-handed with Margaret on his return. Hence the explosion -on her part. - -The truth was that both were too strong-minded and quick tempered, and -that both wished to assert their authority, and it was hopeless to think -that they would ever get on together at Achree, where most of the -servants had been younger than Diarmid, who had lorded it over them all. - -But Margaret held him again, as she expressed it, and they had been -almost continuously at loggerheads since he had come to Creagh. - -When Margaret saw him waiting at the door to receive his mistress she -cast her head in the air and went by him with a small snort that spoke -volumes. Isla just saw her disappear through the little doorway at the -end of the short passage, and, in answer to Diarmid's anxious query -whether she wanted any tea, she simply said "No," and asked where her -brother was. But Diarmid could not tell her more than the brief fact -that he had gone out after tea without saying where he was going. - -Isla, with an odd sense of strangeness and detachment from the interior -of the house, climbed the stairs and, as she reached the door of her own -room, she heard a heavier foot behind her and beheld Margaret, who was -of a substantial build, puffing on the uppermost steps of the stairs. - -"Well, Margaret?" she said kindly. "We've come back you see, and have -to begin again." - -"Yes. Miss Isla. Please, can I speak to you for a minute or so? -There's things in this house that must be sorted." - -"Sorted" was a great word with Margaret. She sorted everything from the -fire to the hens that she chased out of the little garden or the -keeper's boys whom she hounded back to the Moor. Her temper was quick -and her tongue not very reserved, but her heart was of gold towards the -house she served. - -"Why, surely. Come into my room. What's the matter with you? You look -angry." - -"I hope it's a righteous anger, Miss Isla. All I want to ken iss--What -are the duties of Diarmid an' what are mine in this hoose?" - -"Dear me, Margaret, what a fuss! Whatever do you mean? Your duties are -just what they have always been. I've never been asked the question -before. How has it arisen now?" - -"It's that Diarmid. He thinks himsel' as fine as the Laird himsel'. -Just come here a minute, Miss Isla, will you?" - -Isla followed her wonderingly across the narrow landing to the door of -the room in which her father had slept in his lifetime. It was the best -room in the house, and Margaret, in no doubt that the new Laird would -occupy it on his return, had swept and garnished it. But he had refused -point-blank, and all his things lay scattered now upon the floor and on -the bed, and the drawers were open, giving the room a most untidy -aspect. - -"Here haf I toiled an' slaved to get the place ready, an' then Maister -Malcolm, he will not sleep in it, he says." - -"Well, Mr. Malcolm must please himself, Margaret," said Isla rather -quickly. "It does not in the least concern you." - -"I'm not sayin' that it does. But what I do want to know, Miss Isla, -iss if I'm to wait on him as well as to do the cookin' an' look after -the whole house. I brought down all Maister Malcolm's things from the -attic an' put them in the drawers; an' all the General's things are in -the big kists up the stairs. Then, when Maister Malcolm came in he fell -into the most fearful rage an' swore like anything an' turned the -drawers out on the floor an' roared to me to put them all back up the -stairs again. An' what I want to know iss whether it iss my duty or -Diarmid's to do that. I haf nefer been in a hoose where the man-servant -did not wait upon the master; forby, I haf not time, and, unless you pid -me, I will not lift the things up the stairs again. It is Diarmid that -should pe doin' it." - -"Surely Diarmid will do it. Where is he? Tell him to come up." - -"In a minute, Miss Isla. But what I do want to know iss how it iss to -be in Creagh now? For if Diarmid iss to stop, then I canna. I'm not -fit to stand his impidence." - -The idea of Diarmid's impudence so tickled Isla that she burst out -laughing, which did not please Margaret. - -"If it's me you're laughin' at, Miss Isla," she began in a -highly-offended tone---- - -Then Isla turned about on her with a quick glance of disapproval. - -"Is that a way, Margaret Maclaren, to speak to me this day of all days? -If you and Diarmid cannot live peaceably together, then you had better -both go. You are a silly woman. What does it matter who puts away Mr. -Malcolm's things? Go away to your kitchen, and I'll do it myself. You -ought to be ashamed of yourself at your age, behaving like a great -baby." - -Margaret did not take the rebuke in very good part. Old and faithful, -she was likewise privileged; and undoubtedly all the Mackinnon servants -had been more or less spoiled. - -"It's the swearin', Miss Isla. I haf not been used to it, an' I will -not stand it--not even from Maister Malcolm, an' Diarmid laughin' in the -back, like, when I wass ordered to put away the things. Please to tell -me who iss to wait on the Laird--iss it to be me or iss it to be -Diarmid?" - -"And, supposing it should be you, eh, Margaret?" asked Isla, and the -smile did not leave her lips. "Go away down and see what there is in -the larder, for we shall need something to eat a little later. And then -come up and help me to clear this room. If Mr. Malcolm does not want it -I'll take it myself, for it would be a shame to let it stand empty." - -Margaret, a little ashamed perhaps and glad of the offered opportunity -to recover herself, went out of the room. - -The smile still lingering on her lips, Isla began to look over the -things which had been brought down from the attic room. The squabble -between Margaret and Diarmid was quite a timely diversion, for it had -taken the edge off what might otherwise have been a painful moment, and -she thought how like children the two were in their slight knowledge of -real care. - -Pondering thus, she pulled open the upper drawers of the tallboys that -stood between the windows, and she saw that they were full of small -stuff belonging to Malcolm--papers and photographs and books and toilet -articles mingled in inextricable confusion. - -Margaret had certainly carried the things down, but she had not made the -smallest attempt at putting them in order. Isla took out an armful and -carried them to the bed, thinking that when Margaret returned the -simplest way would be to get her to bring a couple of trays, on which -the small things could be laid, ready for carrying up the attic stair. - -As she let a little heap fall loosely on the white coverlet a bundle of -photographs fell apart, and one looked up at her with an insolent, -half-defiant stare. She grew hot all over and then cold, recognizing in -the bold, handsome face that of the woman whom she had seen Malcolm with -in the street off the Edgeware Road. He had said she was a friend of -George Larmer's; if so, why was her photograph here among Malcolm's most -treasured possessions? - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - THE PURPLE LADY - - -The little menage on the Moor of Creagh was a mistake from the -beginning, and was bound, in the very nature of things, to have a quick -and disastrous end. - -This, it must be at once said, was not altogether the fault of Malcolm, -though Isla thought it was. Her fine nature had been soured by her -experiences, and the hard side of her developed by the responsibilities -which she had had to shoulder in her young girlhood, when her heart -ought to have been at play. - -She had acquired the habit of legislating for everybody, and up to a -certain point of setting the standard of conduct. Her conscience she -would make the universal conscience, forgetting that there were degrees -and differences of temperament. By an effort of will she had held out a -sort of grudging olive branch to Malcolm. But she had done this simply -and solely because she wished to remain in Glenogle and because there -was no place for her except under his roof. The injustice of it all ate -into her heart. Malcolm, who had done nothing for the Glen, and who, in -her estimation, was totally unfitted to have the destinies of so many in -his keeping, had the whole power in his hands, and none could say him -nay. - -The sudden change in his position had made a great difference to -Malcolm. - -From being a guest on sufferance, disapproved of by Isla, who was -mistress of the situation, he had stepped into power, which simply -reversed their positions. Isla, so to speak, was now his guest, and, -because there had been no will and there was nothing except the land to -divide, a pensioner on his bounty. - -Love would have laughed at the difficulties with which the situation -bristled. But the difficulty of existence in these circumstances became -more acute, and, to Isla, every day more unbearable. It was not that -Malcolm was rude or actively unkind. Nay, his gay good humour never -failed. But he had no use for her advice and he absolutely ignored -anything she said as to his conduct of affairs. - -Take the case of the Maclures, for instance. - -"You'll never put Donald Maclure out of Darrach, Malcolm," she said one -day in the autumn, when Martinmas was looming in sight. "I met him -yesterday, and he looked like a man under sentence of death. He had -heard that you have been in communication with a man in Fife about the -croft. Is that true?" - -"It might be, and, again, it might not be," he answered, though there -was not a word of truth in the report yet. - -He had thought of it, but it was characteristic of Malcolm's nature to -postpone most of the serious things of life till a more convenient -season. And just then his energies and his hopes were elsewhere -engaged. - -"But, Malcolm," she said, with a touch of passion, "it isn't right to -treat the folk like that--to torment them without sense or purpose. -They haven't been used to it." - -"No--they've been used to nothing but having their own way, to paying -when they liked and what they liked," he answered, with a touch of -grimness. "But I'm going to alter all that." - -They were at breakfast at the moment, and she looked down the narrow -table at him with a feeling of strong disgust. There is no bitterness -like the bitterness between those of one blood who persistently -misunderstand and misjudge each other. - -Malcolm Mackinnon was not wholly bad. Nay, at that very time he was -honestly striving to do his duty and to establish himself in the esteem -of those whose esteem he valued. But among these he did not include his -dependants. Towards them he was a bit of a martinet, as his mother--a -creature from the nether world dressed in a little brief authority--had -been before him. - -Isla knew nothing about her mother except that she had been very pretty -and that she had died young. Had she known more she would have -understood that alien and lawless blood run in Malcolm's veins. But the -old General had never spoken of the one irretrievable mistake of his -life--a mistake which had left his heart seared and made his life -desolate in the summer of his days. Happily perhaps for Isla the brief -tragedy had been enacted in India, and General Mackinnon's wife had -never beheld the place of her husband's birth and true affection. - -"I am sure Mr. Cattanach can't approve of your turning out the folk like -that. And what will a few shillings or pounds a year more do for you? -It will make so little difference that, looking at it even from the -sordid standpoint, it isn't worth while." - -Isla spoke thus because she was intensely of opinion that Malcolm had no -feelings, and that this was the only appeal that would strike home. He, -knowing perfectly well how she regarded him, was pleased to play upon -her erroneous conceptions. - -"It's worth while, my dear," he said, with his ready and, to her, most -aggravating smile, "because these Highland folk want waking up. They -are like the Irish--lazy, easy-going, and without independence. You -should hear George Larmer on the state of things on his Wicklow place. -He says it is due partly to the rain and partly to the whisky, but there -is not a man of them who will do a decent day's work." - -"We get rain enough here," said Isla with a sigh, for it had been a very -wet summer, and the poor harvest was to be very late. "But our people -don't drink whisky. Even Donald is a teetotaller and wears a blue -ribbon in his buttonhole." - -"Which that shrew of his pinned on, doubtless. Poor devil!--I'm sorry -for Donald if that's the set of it, and I'll stand him a drink next time -I meet him at a handy place." - -"Then, what are you going to do about the Maclures? I wish you would be -serious for just a minute, Malcolm. I really want to know what's in -store for them. I am almost afraid to go past the door of Darrach now -or to meet Eppie. She's wearing herself to a shadow over it all." - -"There you are, Isla--you've ruined them, neck and crop, by listening to -their grumblings and pandering to their lack of independence! Nobody -knows just how much money there is in Glenogle--or in any of the glens, -for that matter. It strikes me there are a good many fat stocking-feet -hidden among the thatch." - -"Oh, nonsense, Malcolm! Nobody does that now. They all use the bank -when they have anything to put away, but I don't think that is often the -case." - -He cut the top neatly off his third egg and proceeded to enjoy it. -Malcolm had a healthy appetite, and Margaret Maclaren, still more or -less in a state of grumbling rebellion, said that he was hard to fill. - -"Look here, Isla, I wish you would take a sensible view of things and -leave me to manage my own business. You won't deny that the management -is mine now, I suppose? Unfortunately for me, you've been Laird of -Achree for the last five or six years, and you're difficult to follow. -It's just like what happens in a regiment when an easy Colonel is -followed by a smart one. Every unit in it jibs, but they all come into -line a little later. And that's what the tenants--my tenants--are going -to do if you'll let them alone. But you must let them alone, do you -understand? I am sick of all this wrangling, and I won't listen to you -any more. It isn't decent for you to act as go-between among the -tenants. If they have a grievance let them come to me. Next time you -see the Maclures you can tell them it will pay them to address -themselves to me instead of putting up a poor face to you." - -Isla's colour rose, for both the words and the manner of them were -offensive. - -"It would be better for yourself, too," he added in a gentler tone. "I -don't suppose you ever look at yourself in the glass. You've gone off -most frightfully of late. It's the worry and the bearing of loads for -other folk that they are perfectly able to bear themselves that are to -blame for that. Take me, for instance. You'd like to melt me down and -drop me into your own mould. But, my dear, it can't be done. Leave me -to go my own way. Maybe it's a blundering bad way, but at least give me -credit for trying to make the best of things. Once for all, I won't be -dictated to or legislated for. There isn't in the whole world a more -difficult or impossible person to live with than the woman who wants to -run a universal conscience." - -There was just sufficient truth in the words to make their sting doubly -telling. - -"If that is how you feel about me, Malcolm," she said, rising stiffly, -"then the sooner I leave Creagh the better." - -"A visit to the Barras Mackinnons would do you a power of good, I admit, -and would give me time to look round and get my bearings," he said -frankly. "The quarters are a bit close here, you know, for us in our -present state. Why not go to Wimereaux to them? The sea air would do -you good, and they've asked you often enough, in all conscience." - -She rolled up her napkin and pushed it all awry into the ring with the -Mackinnon crest on it, and her downcast eyes were full of strange fires. - -"I don't want to be unjust or hard. Heaven knows I don't, but you won't -do anything," continued Malcolm. "At Achree they're always asking why -you don't come down, and I must say I think that, after all their -kindness, you've treated them shabbily." - -"You go so much," she said sullenly. "We can't both live on the -American bounty." - -It was a speech wholly unworthy of Isla and unjust to the Rosmeads. But -it was prompted by jealousy alone and by the distorted view of things -prevailing in the mind of the lonely girl whom nobody now seemed to -want. - -Her only faithful henchman was Neil Drummond, but on the last occasion -on which he had come with words of healing and sympathy on his lips she -had sent him away, telling him she would not see him again unless he -promised to talk of ordinary things. - -"You've got into a beastly habit of nagging when you're not curled right -up in a hard shell which nobody can open," said Malcolm, enjoying his -opportunity now that candour was the order of the day. "You've choked -off nearly everybody, and it's your own fault. I find folk very -pleasant because I let them alone. I'm not for ever telling them to do -this or that. I've enough to do to look after myself. I know you think -me a rotter--and all that. But you might do worse than take a leaf out -of my book. I've been out in the world, and I've learned two -things--that it's ready to laugh with you, but that the moment you show -the other side of your face it is bored to extinction. Your long face -bores folk, Isla. Nobody has ever told you the truth about yourself -before. You've arrogated the role of truth-teller to yourself, but -that's it----" - -Isla walked out of the room with her head held high in air and fire -burning fiercely in her eyes. She was so angry that she dared not trust -her voice. Now she knew exactly what position she occupied at -Creagh--that Malcolm regarded her as an encumbrance and a nuisance, and -that she dwelt there merely on sufferance and during his good pleasure. -Well, such a situation being intolerable to a woman of spirit, it must -be ended, and that without delay. - -She ascended the stairs to her own room, and when she was intercepted by -Margaret Maclaren with some inquiry about the meals for the day, she -simply told her to get what she liked, and passed on. - -Margaret, no stranger to wrangling, having had a bout of it that very -morning with her arch-enemy Diarmid, understood that there had been a -small storm raging in the dining-room, and discreetly retired. - -New, strange, dreadful elements had crept into the quiet life on Creagh -Moor, and all its sweet harmony was destroyed. - -Isla shut the door of her own room, and dropped for a moment into her -chair, wringing her hands the while with a sense of utter helplessness. -She was at the end of her tether. Nobody wanted her, and the time had -come for her to go away. Not a soul in the Glen, she told herself -bitterly, would lament her going. She had dropped into obscurity, and -even if she were never to come back any more to Glenogle, how many would -mourn her absence or long for her return? - -The impulse to go there and then was strong upon her. She even opened -the door of her wardrobe and her drawers to take a brief inventory of -her belongings and consider what she would take away. - -If only she could walk out as she was! But travel, even of the simplest -sort, is hampered by the multitude of our needs, by the things which -complicate life. Then she looked at her little store of money, counting -it out with careful fingers. Eighteen pounds in gold and two handfuls -of silver--well, that would keep her until she could earn more for -herself. - -She was a forlorn creature, without plan or compass, proposing to let -herself drift upon an unknown sea. She had not the smallest intention -of going to the Barras Mackinnons at Wimereaux. She must get away quite -alone, where she could realize herself, and arrive at some conclusion -regarding her ultimate fate. - -Through the open window she heard Malcolm go off with the dogs, -whistling as if he had not a care in the world. The things which -daunted her and lay like a nightmare on her white, sensitive soul, had -no power over him. Frankly selfish, he lived from day to day, -extracting the honey from the hours, and stoically enduring what he -could not evade. Perhaps, she said to herself, his was no bad -philosophy. She wished somebody had taught it to her sooner; now it was -a difficult lesson, baffling her intelligence at every point. - -By and by she grew calmer, and her distracted thoughts began to collect -themselves. It was not possible to run away in a hurry without telling -any one, and her orderly mind shrank from taking such a foolish and -unnecessary step. No--whatever she did, she would not forget herself or -the dignity of the Mackinnons. She would put no occasion for talk into -people's mouths. - -In an hour's time she had decided what to do, and, after making a sort -of preliminary division of her possessions, she dressed herself and went -out. Margaret, having the feeling that Miss Isla wished to be alone, -did not intercept her this time. - -It was a fine, clear, hard morning in September, with a touch of frost -in the air after a night's rain. But the clouds on the far horizon were -still watery, and Isla's keen eyes decided that the deluge had not spent -itself. She would, however, get fair weather as far as Lochearnhead, -which was her present destination, seeing that she had to give a certain -order to Jamie Forbes concerning the morrow. - -Of a set purpose, she kept to the sheep tracks on the hills, thus -avoiding the vicinity of Achree. She had been there very few times -since her father's death, and as Mrs. Rosmead had had a somewhat serious -illness in the interval, her daughters had been too much engaged in -looking after her to pay distant calls. But Isla knew that Malcolm was -constantly there--if not every day, at least several times a week. - -About half a mile beyond Achree gates, on the Lochearn side of the Glen, -she had to come out on the road again, because the sheep track ended -suddenly with Donald Maclure's pasture. The heavy rains had washed -every superfluous particle of earth from the roads, and left the -gravelled bottom bare, while there were delicious runnels of water here -and there, all making swiftly for the burn, which was swollen far beyond -its ordinary limits. There had been very little fair weather in -Glenogle or in the valley of the Earn since the Lammas floods. - -Isla paused for a moment on the Darrach Brig to watch the brown swirl of -the water below, which fascinated her. Her eyes and ears were ever -quick and keen to note every change in the aspect of the landscape, and -she was more weather-wise than most. She had fallen into a kind of -brown study, from which she was awakened very suddenly by the sound of a -voice speaking a few yards away. - -It was a woman's voice, and when Isla swung round upon her with -quickly-uplifted head she saw a lady on the road dressed in garments -such as were not often seen in Glenogle. She wore a gown which, Isla -decided, was more fitted for an afternoon function than a quiet country -road. It was of a somewhat vivid purple hue, trimmed profusely about -the bodice with string-coloured lace. The skirt was long, but she had -it gathered in her hand, and held high enough to show the froth of -white, lace-trimmed petticoats and a mauve stocking against the clear, -patent leather of the high-heeled shoes. A large black hat, surmounted -with feathers and swathed in a veil like a spider's web, through which -the vivid colour of the face appeared somewhat softened, completed the -costume, which was certainly a startling one in that remote place, -though such a common sight in London streets as to excite no remark. - -Isla grew hot and cold, and started back with a little gesture of -aversion, for she recognized the woman whose face she had seen once in -the flesh, and once again in a photograph in her brother's room. - -"Good day," said the stranger quite pleasantly. "Could you tell me -whether there is a place close by here called Achree?" - -She pronounced the last word without the guttural, so that it sounded -like Akree. - -"I asked about it at the hotel," the lady continued. "and they directed -me along this road. But it seems a good bit away. Is it much farther -off?" - -"The Lodge gates are half a mile farther on," Isla answered. "Then -there is the avenue to the house and that is rather long." - -"I may as well go on, now I have come so far, but if I'd known how far -off it was I would have hired a trap of some kind." - -She leaned against the parapet of the bridge in a quite friendly -fashion, as if ready to talk; and Isla hating herself intensely for -lingering, yet felt impelled to do so, and even to put a question to the -stranger concerning her business at Achree. - -"I suppose that it is the American tenants you have come to see? They -have been in Achree for about six months now." - -The lady shook her head. - -"No. I don't know that I've come to see anybody in particular, but I'm -interested in the place through a friend of mine. I didn't know there -were Americans in it. I thought it belonged to a family called -Mackinnon." - -"They are the owners, but it is let, as most of the big places are in -these days." - -"I see. And where are the Mackinnons? Mr. Mackinnon chiefly? He is -what you call the laird now, isn't he? I read about his father's death -in the newspapers, and what a fuss they made about it! Is he here just -now?" - -"He is not at Achree." - -"But he lives in this neighbourhood, surely? He has not left Scotland?" -said the stranger with a quick, apprehensive note in her voice. - -"No, he lives farther up the Glen--oh, a long way. You could not -possibly walk it," said Isla hastily. "Good morning. I must go on." - -She was ashamed of herself for having lingered to parley even a moment -with this woman, who, she felt sure, by her coming presaged more dool -and woe to Achree. How she longed to get clean away from the Glen -before the name of Mackinnon was dragged in the mire! This impossible -woman must have a hold of some kind on Malcolm, else she never would -have dared to come seeking him in his own glen. - -As she turned away her soul felt sick within her. - -"I'm sorry you are not walking my way," said the stranger easily. "I'll -walk on a bit farther and take a look at the place, now I have come so -far. What a country! Such hills! And how dull you must all find it! -I'm stopping at Strathyre, and when there are not the hills, there's the -water to get on your nerves. I don't wonder the Scotch are a melancholy -people. Ta-ta!" - -She waved her plump, gloved hand in quite friendly fashion, and showed -her dazzling teeth in a pleasant smile as she sauntered off. - -Isla, with her limbs positively trembling beneath her, hurried over the -bridge, and so on to the hotel, where she merely left a message, -ordering the trap to fetch her and her luggage from Creagh in the -morning. - -She had had various plans when she started out. She had thought she -might possibly hire Jamie Forbes to take her through Balquhidder to -Garrion, or that she might even on the way home pay a call at Achree. - -But after what had just happened, she had only one desire--to get away -out of Glenogle as fast as the fastest train could take her. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - HER TRUE FRIENDS - - -Fortune did not favour Isla that day. At any rate her desire for -complete isolation was not gratified. - -As she came out of the hotel, after having made her arrangement for -Jamie Forbes to fetch her from Creagh to Lochearnhead Station in the -morning, she encountered Mrs. Rodney Payne, who hailed her with -undisguised delight. - -"Dear Miss Mackinnon, we really thought we should never, never see you -any more! Why is it that you have quite deserted Achree?" - -"I don't know," answered Isla rather humbly. "It is a long way, -and--and the days go by." - -"But it was not kind. And the messages we have sent by your -brother!--has he ever delivered them, I wonder?" - -"He has often said to me that you would like me to come oftener to -Achree." - -"Well, and so we would. And what have you to say for yourself?" - -Isla looked at her and smiled. It was impossible not to smile at the -beautiful creature whose charm could disarm any hostility. Isla was not -hostile to Achree. Only there she must be all or nothing. That was the -truth, scarcely yet admitted to herself. A very woman, she could brook -no rival, and had stayed high and dry upon the Moor of Creagh, because -she would not share Achree and the Rosmeads with Malcolm. - -"I am a pig," she said with humility, yet with conviction--a speech -which made Vivien laugh. - -"Since you know yourself best, I will not presume to contradict you, my -dear," she said as she thrust a small and confidential hand through -Isla's arm. "Now I have you fast I will lead you to confession. What -have we done to offend?" - -"Oh, nothing to offend!" said Isla quickly. "I am not silly in that -way, I hope. But--but----" - -"But what? I thought that I had you hard and fast, that day at Creagh -and that, hard to win, Isla Mackinnon, once won, could be kept. Why -have I made such a disastrous mistake? I ask everybody, I even write to -Peter and ask him, but he answers not. It is all a part of this -mysterious life of the glens and of the Scottish character, which no man -or woman from the outside can ever hope to get to the bottom of." - -"Oh, come!" said Isla a little shamefacedly, "we are not so black as all -that." - -"Black, but comely! But back to Achree I march you to-day, at whatever -cost. Do you know that my mother has been five weeks ill in bed and -that you have never once called to ask for her?" - -"But I have sent messages by Malcolm, and even written myself once----" - -"It is not the same," broke in Vivien. "To-day you shall be taken in -sackcloth and ashes to beg forgiveness." - -"But you have already had too much of the Mackinnons. I would not have -you sicken of the name." - -"We should never sicken of you, Isla. It is an ungracious thing to say, -and the words come most ungraciously from your lips." - -"But Malcolm does come every day, doesn't he?" - -Isla turned her quick, penetrating eyes full on Vivien's glowing face, -and she wondered whether the colour deepened at the question or whether -she merely imagined that it did. - -"He has been most kind. He does all sorts of 'cute things for us. We -have scarcely missed Peter since he went away. You should hear my -mother! Your brother has quite won her heart." - -"Yes?" said Isla, but her tone was dry. - -In the near distance she saw the figure of the stranger lady in the -purple frock coming towards them, and she wondered what would happen. -Vivien, too, saw it, and the smile deepened in her eyes. - -"Who can this extraordinary female be? I met her as I came down, and -she put me through a sort of catechism about the Glen, with special -reference to Achree and the Mackinnons." - -"I also met her," said Isla, "and she likewise catechized me. Some -chance tourist staying at the Strathyre Hotel and hard up for something -to occupy her time, I suppose." - -"It struck me as more than that. And besides, the season for tourists -is past," said Vivien shrewdly. "What garments! And what lack of -fitness! I wonder now whether she thinks that we are badly dressed and -that she could give us points? She has a complacent air, which is at -once my despair and my envy." - -Isla made no response. Again the chill premonition of coming evil crept -about her heart--she felt that the purple-clad stranger was a menace to -Achree. - -"Now I wonder whether your brother saw her? I am sure she would stop -him if she met him!" - -"Malcolm!--but he is not down the Glen? I thought he was going to shoot -over the Moor this morning. He certainly said something about it at -breakfast." - -"He was certainly down the Glen, my dear, for I met him on his grey cob. -But where he is now I don't know," said Vivien. "It would have -interested her, I am sure, to have had speech with the actual Laird of -Achree." - -"What did she ask you?" asked Isla quickly. - -Vivien's colour rose this time without doubt, but she evaded the -question. - -"She is greatly concerned about the future of Achree, anyhow, so let us -give her a civil good morning as we pass." - -"We needn't stop--we mustn't stop," said Isla a little nervously. - -And as the purple figure approached Vivien felt the arm she touched -tremble a little. But the stranger, who now looked tired and bored, -passed them with a languid bow and then seemed to hasten her steps -towards the hotel. - -"I am very glad of this chance of going to Achree to say good-bye," said -Isla, "as to-morrow I am going away." - -Vivien nodded, as if she had heard a bit of news she fully expected. - -"To Wimereaux--to your aunt and uncle? Your brother told us about your -going." - -In spite of herself, Isla's face hardened. Malcolm, then, discussed her -with the Rosmeads, had even planned her going and spoken of her transfer -to the Barras Mackinnons as a settled thing. Yet she had not once so -much as said that she would like to go! - -"Did Malcolm tell you that I was going to-morrow?" she asked in a low -voice. - -"He said it might happen any day," answered Vivien. "And, though we -would have liked to see more of you. we all understand that a change -would be the very best thing in the world for you. I've even had it in -my mind to propose that you and I should take a little trip to Paris -together next month, and that afterwards you might have gone back to -Wimereaux. I have not been in Paris since I was a girl at school." - -"You were educated in Paris?" - -Vivien laughed rather sadly. - -"No--I was what they call finished there," she answered drearily. "A -woman's education is in the school of life. Mine has been hard enough, -heaven knows! I have always hated Paris since, but still I should like -to go there with you. I still have an apartment there. If you could -let me know about what time you wish to come back I could join you or we -could meet on the way, or even in Paris itself." - -The idea pleased Isla. If only there had been no obstacles in the way! - -"I've never been to Paris. I've seen nothing but Glenogle except--once -in a great while--Barras and London." - -"Barras is lonely, isn't it? But the Ogden Dresslers liked it." - -"It is an island in the Atlantic. But loneliness belongs not so much to -places as to persons. I am never lonely--in the sense that you mean. -But I think I could be so in a big city." - -"How long are you likely to be at Wimereaux?" - -"I don't know. I have to get there first." - -"Will Sir Thomas and Lady Mackinnon stop there all winter?" - -"No. They will go back to Barras at the end of next month, I expect. -My uncle is counting the days." - -"Ah, I don't wonder at that from what your brother tells me about him! -We expected Peter home in November, but his last letter to mother is not -very reassuring. They are finding the Delaware Bridge more difficult -than they expected. There is something puzzling about the river-bed. -Peter seems to be working night and day." - -"But he will like that. He is never happier than when fighting -obstacles," said Isla with a faint smile of remembrance. - -"That is so--at least it used to be so. But we thought from the letter -yesterday that he was getting what we call plumb-tired of it. He wants -to come back to Scotland--anyone can see that--and, of course, my -mother's illness has made us all anxious. But he doesn't say a definite -word about coming home." - -Isla was interested in these items of information concerning Peter -Rosmead and his family. She was naturally sociable. It was only the -habit of life forced upon her by circumstances that had fostered her -reserve. With Vivien Rosmead, as with Peter, she always felt her heart -expand. - -There was no reproach in Mrs. Rosmead's eyes as, from her bed, she -extended two warm hands of welcome to the desolate girl and drew her -down towards her for a kiss. - -"My dear, why is it that you have been so long in coming. Your dear -brother has made every excuse for you, but we wanted you--we wanted you -very much." - -Isla's eyes filled with tears. She told herself that she had been wise -to stop away, seeing that the sight of this sweet mother of the gentle -eyes and heart who, from her invalid couch, ruled her family with an -absolute rule, was bad for her and filled her with acute unrest, with a -feeling of rebellion against her own motherless state. - -"I forgot to tell you," said Vivien cheerfully, "that Sadie has gone to -Garrion for the day. She and Kitty are inseparable. What a dear, -bright creature Kitty is! And Aunt Betty!--oh, Aunt Betty is a type! I -live for the meeting I hope to arrange between her and my mother, though -they will need an interpreter. Her Scotch is lovely, but -unintelligible." - -Again the swift pang of jealousy tore at Isla's heart. While she had -been alone at Creagh nobody had been lonely for her sake. Her point of -view was wholly unreasonable, and it but serves to show how long -brooding on one particular line of thought can distort the mental vision -of the healthiest and sanest person in the world. It was more than time -that Isla left Glenogle--it would have been disastrous for her to stay -much longer. - -She remained to luncheon, and thereafter she sat for another half hour -with Mrs. Rosmead, who, while she tried to get Isla to talk about -herself, incidentally talked a good deal about her children, especially -about Peter, for whom her heart was crying out. Isla learned more about -Peter Rosmead from that hour's conversation with his mother than she had -yet known, and all that she learned was to his credit. - -"I hope, my dear," said Mrs. Rosmead, "that you will be back at -Christmas at least, for it is our hope that my son may join us then, and -we shall keep it as a family here. Your brother has promised to come to -us, and if you are here, too, then we shall be happy indeed. It is where -you ought to be at Christmas--under your father's roof-tree." - -"It is Malcolm's now," said Isla with an effort. "I don't know whether -I shall have returned by then. I have no plans. I am a bit of -drift-wood on the shore now, liable to be floated away by the tide, dear -Mrs. Rosmead. But whether I come or whether I don't I shall think of -you, and I shall be glad that you are here in Achree." - -"There is something the matter with that child, Vivien," the old lady -said to her daughter after Isla had gone--"something that has taken the -heart clean out of her. It is something more than her father's death. -Let us hope that the change will do her good." - -Meanwhile, Isla was nearing home, having been convoyed on her walk part -of the way by Vivien, who, on parting, had bidden her a most -affectionate farewell. - -Vivien was distinctly disappointed in Isla Mackinnon--her persistent -coldness had chilled her. She had proved that Highland hearts can be -very warm and kindly, and she thought that Isla had not met their -advances with corresponding cordiality. But, having herself suffered, -she did not judge any man--much less any woman. She knew she must leave -Isla to realize herself and to work out her own destiny. - -It was tea-time when Isla got back, and Malcolm was about the house. - -His face was serene and undisturbed. Isla therefore surmised that he -had not encountered the lady of the purple gown. Should she enlighten -him? Was it her duty to warn him that the woman, with whom he -undoubtedly had some slight acquaintance--even if nothing more--was in -the vicinity making inquiries about him? Though he had happened to miss -her that day, she was haunting the neighbourhood, and Strathyre was, so -to speak, but a stone's throw from Glenogle. - -"I've been trysting Jamie Forbes for the morning, Malcolm," she said -quietly. "I'm going with the nine-thirty." - -"Going where?" he asked with a start. - -"To Glasgow, first. I will have just a word with Mr. Cattanach. Then I -will take the two o'clock train." - -"For London?" - -She nodded. There was no reason why she should hide the first step of -her journey from him--no reason at all. - -"And will you go on to Dieppe by the night boat, then?" - -She shook her head. - -"There is no need for such haste," she answered. "And I am not a -stranger in London. I can find my way about. I'll stop the night at -the Euston Hotel." - -"Have you money?" he asked, trying hard to hide his relief. - -"I have twenty pounds." - -"Oh, you are in clover. It is not a dear fare to Wimereaux, even if you -travel first class. And, of course, it will cost you nothing while you -are there. They seem to be living at heck and manger for next to -nothing, but how Uncle Tom does loathe it! I suppose you'll come back -with them as far as Glasgow when they come north next month?" - -"I suppose so," she answered listlessly. - -There was no reason why she should either affirm or deny, because she -herself did not know what she might do. Everything would depend. It -might even be on the knees of the gods that she would drift to Wimereaux -in the end. - -"I've been to lunch at Achree," she said suddenly. "I met Miss Rosmead -on the road, and she made me go in. Mrs. Rosmead looks very ill, I -think." - -"Nothing to what she did look. And they are so accustomed to snatching -her back from the jaws of death," said Malcolm grimly, "that they are -quite satisfied about her." - -"Oh!" said Isla. "You go there a great deal, Malcolm. They seem to -think you a splendid sort of fellow." - -It was a curious speech and did not sound quite kindly. Malcolm, -however, took it well, though there was a touch of bitterness in his -reply. - -"It's the people's way of looking at it, Isla--they are lovely people. -They bring out all that is best in a chap and make him hate the worst. -I'll tell you what. If I had been thrown with that sort at one time of -my life I should have been a different man." - -"We did our best," she answered with a wounded air. "Father and I were -as good as we knew how, though, of course, we could not hope to reach -the Rosmead standard." - -"I don't mean that, Isla. Gad, how quick and hard you are on a fellow! -Your tongue's like a two-edged sword. I only mean that there's a time -in a chap's life--don't you know?--when, if he gets into a good woman's -hands, she shapes him for good. If he gets into the hands of the other -sort, then God help him!--he hasn't much chance else." - -A fleeting pity crossed Isla's face. It was a passionate human appeal. -She began dimly to glimpse the fact of the frightful war between good -and evil which ravages the souls of some, making life a battle-ground -from the cradle to the grave. - -She put out a timid hand and touched his arm. - -"I'm sorry if I have been hard, Malcolm. I--I didn't understand. But -now----" - -"Now I mean to win Vivien Rosmead when I'm clean enough to ask her," he -answered in a voice that gripped. - -Isla remembered the heightened colour in Vivien's cheek, the tones and -terms in which Malcolm was spoken of at Achree, and she had no doubt of -the issue. But the woman in the purple frock! Something gripped her by -the throat. She did not know what she wished or hoped for. She did -passionately feel, however, that if Vivien made another venture upon the -sea of matrimony she ought to be very sure of the seaworthiness of her -barque. - -"I suppose she divorced her husband. Have you ever heard anything about -the story, Malcolm?" - -"Nothing. They never speak of it. Why should they? That sort of thing -is best forgotten." - -"She will never forget it. I can't forget how she spoke that day she -came to me--the day when father died. Her eyes are very wide open, -Malcolm. She will take no risks next time." - -"But she isn't hard," he said eagerly. "And a woman who has lived--who -has seen life--can make allowances for a man. It's that I'm building -on." - -Isla shook her head and rose to her feet with a heavy sigh. - -"Life is a most frightful tangle, Malcolm. Sometimes I get so tired of -it!" - -"We all do, but we've got to make the best of it. You don't want any -money, then," he added cheerfully. "It's just as well, because I have -hardly a red cent to bless myself with, and I'm counting the days till -the Martinmas audit and till Rosmead sends his cheque. When I get that -I'll send you along something to Wimereaux." - -"I'll write if I need it or want it," she said quickly. - -Then, as if in spite of herself, the other matter would out. - -"Malcolm, did you meet anybody on the road this morning, either in going -or in coming home?" - -"I met different folks--Donald Maclure and Long Sandy and Drummond -seeking you. Only he didn't come up when I told him that I thought you -were about Lochearn. Did you see him?" - -"No. I suppose I was in Achree at the time. This was a lady--an -extraordinary person in a purple frock. She spoke to me at the Darrach -Bridge, and she had stopped Vivien Rosmead, too, and asked her questions -about Achree." - -She saw Malcolm's colour change and his eyes shift. - -"What did she say to you, Isla? I suppose she was one of these stray -visitors at the hotel. Miss Macdougall has had some queer specimens -this summer." - -"She said she was living at Strathyre, and she asked questions about the -Mackinnons and Achree, as if she knew about them." - -"And did she say where she came from or what she wanted here?" asked -Malcolm, and by this time he had walked away beyond the range of Isla's -eyes. - -"No. But I knew, Malcolm," said Isla clearly. "I don't know whether I -ought to tell you, but perhaps it will be better that you should know. -She was the woman I met you with that day in the Edgeware Road--the -woman you said you were seeking for Captain Larmer." - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - GOODBYE TO GLENOGLE - - -Half an hour later, from the window of the room where she was doing her -packing, Isla saw Malcolm ride out to the road upon his bicycle. She -did not need to watch the turn he took. She knew just as well as if she -had been told that he was bound for Strathyre. It was beginning to grow -dusk, but the September evenings are long in Glenogle, and it would be a -night of full moon. - -Isla's thoughts were rather bitter as she made busy with her scanty -wardrobe, laying aside every superfluous article, because she did not -wish her movements to be hampered with too much baggage. - -Busy with purely mechanical things as she was, her thoughts were free to -tarry with the affairs of Achree. Had Malcolm been as other men--had -there been no shadow on his past, no complications in his present, she -could have wished for no better issue out of the tangle of their -troubles than to see him win Vivien Rosmead. She was a sweet, gracious -woman, a true gentlewoman, beautiful and rich--a combination not easily -found in a wife. How Isla would have rejoiced to see her mistress of -Achree, rearing bonnie children who would have loved her and called her -Auntie Isla. - -It was what ought to have been, she said with a little passionate stamp -of her foot upon the floor. And now that Malcolm was in deadly earnest -she did not doubt for a moment that he desired to be worthy for Vivien's -sake, but spectres blocked the way. The most imminent and the most -terrifying was the woman in the purple frock. - -Could anything on earth ever explain her away? - -She contrasted the woman and Vivien as she had seen them together on the -Glenogle road, and she conjured up the supreme contempt that would -gather in Vivien's eyes were she pitted against her. She would -absolutely disdain such humiliation. Isla felt sure that the man who -would win Vivien Rosmead from her disillusionment, who aspired to heal -her hurts, must have a clean record. How dared Malcolm, with what was -behind and before him, aspire to her? - -Isla wondered at the audacity of men. Yet her heart was also stirred -with pity for him in that he must reap the bitter harvest of his folly -and his sin. Her heart was passing weary, the burden had not been -lightened with her father's death, but seemed to have waxed heavier. -And she must get away. She felt herself a coward in view of what might -come. She could not breast anew scandal in the Glen and she must get -away. Such weakness and weariness crept over her that she could have -laid her head down and slept for ever. She held on bravely with her -preparations, however, and when they were finished she rang the bell for -Margaret Maclaren. - -"The dinner iss ready, Miss Isla. Am I to send it in?" asked that -competent domestic with just a touch of aggressiveness in her mien and -manner. - -"I don't know where Mr. Malcolm is or when he will come back. But, -yes--send it in if it will make you any happier, Margaret, and lift that -dour cloud from your face," she added hastily. "I know I can trust you -to keep something hot for Mr. Malcolm." - -"Oh, as to that, it can be done. But I'm gettin' tired of it, Miss -Isla. I nefer saw such a man, or such a hoose--beggin' your pardin for -my plain speech. He takes less account of times and seasons than -anybody I have ever seen or heard tell of. I don't know what he thinks -happens in a kitchen, or whether he knows how food is made, but he -expects it to be ready when he iss, whatefer the hour of the day. It -iss not in my power, Miss Isla. I'm gettin' to be an old woman and not -fit for my job." - -"Nonsense, Margaret. You never were fitter, and you must warstle -through with it a little longer anyhow, because I am going away -to-morrow for some weeks, and you must simply look after Creagh till I -come back." - -"Where are you goin', Miss Isla? To her Ladyship, iss it? Well, it -will do you good, and it iss there you ought to haf gone long since. I -will stop, then, till you come back. And I hope the change will do you -good, for it iss fery thin and white-like you are gettin', my dear, and -it iss time something wass done. I will do my best for Maister Malcolm, -and if it should pe that we fall out peyond making up while you are away -I'll write and let ye know." - -Isla had not expected sympathy from Margaret, who, between Diarmid and -his master, was now kept in a state of continual agitation which had a -very bad effect on a temper that was not placid at the best of times. - -Isla thanked her, and, with a mind considerably eased, went down to eat -her solitary meal. After dinner she busied herself writing a few notes -of farewell--one of them to Kitty Drummond and one to Elspeth Maclure, -regarding whom her conscience was troubling her not a little. But she -afterwards tore up Elspeth's, deciding that if Jamie Forbes came to -Creagh in good time she would make him stop at Darrach on the way down -so that she might say good-bye in a proper manner. - -The evening wore on--eight, nine, ten o'clock--and still no word of -Malcolm. Isla looked out again and again, and once she even walked out -to the gate to see whether the twinkling light of the bicycle lamp was -visible down the long vista of the road. When it was half-past ten she -went to bed, for she had walked many miles that day, and her packing -exertions--to say nothing of the strain of things on her mind--had left -her very tired. - -She was awakened long after by the banging of a door, she thought; but, -listening intently, she heard nothing further, and so she fell asleep -and did not wake till morning. - -Breakfast had been ordered half an hour earlier than usual to give her -time to catch the train, and she had nearly finished before Malcolm made -his appearance. She looked at him rather keenly as he entered, and was -immediately struck by his haggard looks. He appeared like one who had -either not slept or had spent the night in some doubtful place. - -"Good morning, dear. I owe you an apology, of course. I had a burst -tyre other side of Lochearn last night, and it was near midnight when I -got home. I hardly expected that you would sit up. At what time do you -start?" - -"Jamie ought to be here any moment. I trysted him for half-past eight, -and it's twenty past now. I hear the wheel, I think. Yes--there he is. -Aren't you going to eat anything, Malcolm?" - -"No. Isn't there any coffee? Oh, I forgot--she can't make coffee. -It's a cup of black coffee I'd like this morning. Is the tea strong? -I'm coming down with you, of course, Isla. What else did you think? -Don't wait here if you want to go upstairs or to be seeing after your -stuff, though we've plenty of time, really." - -Isla gladly escaped. She gathered from the general appearance of her -brother that care sat heavily upon him. But she had not the smallest -desire to question him. Nay, her longing to get away from the -increasingly sordid conditions of her life had now become a positive -fever in her veins. - -Rest was what she craved--rest from haunting thoughts, from phantoms of -dread, from the menacing sword which seemed to be suspended over Achree -and all bearing the name of Mackinnon. - -But she was to prove before another twenty-four hours were over that -there are things in this world from which it is impossible to get -away--crosses that have to be endured--heroically if possible, but -certainly endured. - -Malcolm was in the back seat of the dogcart, and did not speak a single -word on the way down. They halted at Darrach, where a slight -disappointment was Isla's--she did not see Elspeth. Donald himself, who -seemed to be minding the house--at any rate, he had the second youngest -child in his arms--came out of the gate to explain that his wife had -gone to Govan to see their niece Jeanie Maclure, who was down with -pneumonia. She had taken the baby with her. - -Isla sent many messages to her, and passed on with a little sense of -relief. - -When they got to Lochearnhead Station the signal was down for the Oban -train, which could be seen gliding swiftly round the curve of the hill. -At the last moment the drag from Garrion, with the familiar pair of -roans in the shafts, drove up rapidly, and Neil Drummond came bounding -up to the platform. When he saw Malcolm Mackinnon handing his sister -into the train he went forward eagerly, though the man whom he had come -to meet--a visitor from Oban--had already alighted, and was on the -outlook for him. - -"Good day, Isla. Are you travelling?" he asked; and, seeing the -dressing-bag, the rug, the strapped articles on the rack, he looked a -trifle blank. - -"She's going to Aunt Jean and Uncle Tom at Wimereaux," answered Malcolm -when Isla said nothing. "Don't you think the change will do her good?" - -"Yes. But how long is she to be away?" inquired Neil. - -And his tone was so imploring, that Malcolm, understanding perfectly how -it was, good-naturedly stepped back to give him a chance. - -"Why this sudden journey, Isla?" Neil demanded with an imperious air, -which showed how much he cared about the whole affair. "Last time I saw -you you said nothing on earth would induce you to go Wimereaux." - -"It was Malcolm who said I was going there," said Isla demurely. - -The answer puzzled Neil, and filled him with lively forebodings. - -"Isla," he said a trifle hoarsely, "you're not going do anything -foolish? What has happened? Have you had a quarrel with Malcolm?" - -"Not at all. I only want a change, Neil. Don't worry about me. -Nothing can possibly happen to a strong young woman, with her head -screwed pretty firmly on her shoulders." - -Neil swung himself on the footboard of the train, quite heedless of the -fact that his guest was looking about for him on the platform in -hopeless disappointment. - -"Isla, you are going to your uncle and aunt? Unless I am assured on -that point, I'll step into the train and go with you." - -Isla laughed at that. - -"Why should you care, Neil? I'm only going a little journey on my own. -I'll probably be back before anyone has had time to miss me." - -"That can't happen. It'll be a long day for me till you come back to -Glenogle. And, further, I'm not happy in my mind about you. In fact, -I'm most unhappy." - -"Don't be, then, Neil. I'm not worth it." - -"That's my business, my dear," he said, and never had he looked more -manly or more attractive. "Somehow, we all seem to have lost you -lately. They all say that--Kitty, Aunt Betty, even the Rosmeads. They -were speaking of you the other day. You haven't treated us well, Isla, -whatever you may think. And now, this beats everything." - -"The train is moving, Neil. Get down, or you will be hurt," she cried -nervously. - -But he still hung persistently to the half-open door. - -"You'll write, Isla. Promise at least that you will write either to -Kitty or to me?" - -"I'll write to Kitty. Give her my love and tell her she'll hear from me -without fail in a week or two." - -"And if you want a friend, Isla, if there's anything I can do for you, -promise you'll send for me or let me know. There isn't anything I won't -do. No journey would be too long or too difficult if I had the prospect -of serving you at the end of it, and--and well, you know the rest, don't -you? I daren't say all I want." - -A strong hand behind him took him by the coat-tails and dragged him from -the now swiftly moving train, and the last Isla saw of Lochearn was Neil -Drummond's face and the appeal in his eyes. - -Malcolm was too late for the final good-bye, but Isla, on the whole, was -rather glad that she had escaped it. She pulled up the open window-sash -and flung herself back in the corner with a quick, heaving sigh. - -It was all over, then. The cords had been cut, and she was adrift from -Glenogle and all the trammels of the old life. What would the new -bring, she wondered? A little sob broke from between her trembling lips -as her eyes looked through the window at the wide Glen of Balquhidder to -the misty hills beyond, where the glory of the heather was beginning to -be dimmed. When should she see it all again, and in what mood? - -At Strathyre her eyes were too red to permit her to look out, and -happily no passenger sought to disturb her. By the time the train -reached Callander she was calm again, and she arrived at Glasgow, quite -composed. She left her luggage in the cloak-room and walked, since she -had plenty of time, to the lawyer's office in St. Vincent Place. - -Mr. Cattanach was able to see her at once, and he received her with his -usual kindness of manner. He had thought a good deal about her of late -and had wondered how she was getting on at Creagh with Malcolm, with -whom he had had several rather stormy interviews. - -"I'm on my way to London, Mr. Cattanach, and as I had an hour to spare -before my train starts I thought I should like to see you." - -"Surely. On your way to London, are you? For a long visit?" - -"Yes. I think so." - -"Sir Thomas and Lady Mackinnon are still across the Channel, I think. I -saw in the News one night lately that they are not expected at Barras -till November?" - -"That's right, I believe," said Isla. - -"Are you joining them?" - -"Not just yet." - -Cattanach scrutinized her rather closely. He did not know how far she -might stand questioning, but he gathered from a certain quiet -determination in her manner that she had some quite definite plan in her -mind. - -"Mr. Cattanach," said Isla clearly, "you have always been kind to me and -have understood things right through. I can never forget how kind you -were just before my brother came home. I can't go on living at Creagh -with him any longer." - -"I'm not surprised. I've been expecting to hear this for some time." - -"I'm a dependent on his bounty. I ought not to have been left like -that, but I don't want to grumble about it. He thinks I'm going to -Wimereaux to my aunt and uncle. But I have no such intention." - -"Indeed! I hope that you have at least some satisfactory haven in view, -Miss Mackinnon," he said, with distinct anxiety in his voice. - -"I have several very clear ideas. To-night I shall stay at the Euston -Hotel and to-morrow I shall go to an old servant of Achree who is -married in the West End of London. She keeps a boarding-house. From -her house it is my intention to seek some employment." - -Cattanach looked the surprise he felt. His disapproval, he decided, he -had better keep to himself. - -"I am honoured by this conference, Miss Mackinnon, and since you have -told me so much I am encouraged to ask more. What sort of employment, -may I ask, does Miss Mackinnon of Achree think she will find in London?" - -Her eyes flashed a little mournfully. - -"I belong to the great sad army of the partially equipped, Mr. -Cattanach, but I know my limitations and I shall keep within them. Also -I shall be able to earn my daily bread. I have come to you, -because,--for reasons which I don't think I could really explain, even -if I tried--I feel that I should like at least one responsible person to -know where I am and precisely what I am doing. But I require that, -unless circumstances arise which render it absolutely necessary that it -should be known, you will not give that information to anybody in -Glenogle or at Balquhidder," she added as an after-thought. - -"You forget. I have no communication with Glenogle or Balquhidder now -except through your brother. He is not likely to ask me your -whereabouts. Will you give me your address?" - -"I'll send it," she said diplomatically. "I want to get clean away from -everything for a while, Mr. Cattanach, for really I don't quite know -where I am standing. I even feel as if I were some strange, new sort of -person with whom I have to get freshly acquainted. Can you understand -that?" - -"I understand that life has been very hard for you, my dear," he said -involuntarily. "And I have often prayed that your day of brightness -would come." - -"It won't come," she said with a little nod. "I'm one of those -predestined to gloom. Tell me, Mr. Cattanach, before I go," she added -with a little touch of wistful tenderness that wholly became her, "how -do you think it is with my brother now? You have seen him several -times. Is--is he doing well? You wonder perhaps that I should ask. -But my judgment, where he is concerned, has become entirely distorted. -That is one of the reasons why I want to get away, because I am seeing -nothing clearly, fairly, or justly, especially in relation to him." - -"I think he means well. But he is not fitted for the life of a country -laird. He would have made a better soldier. It is a thousand pities -that he had to leave the Army." - -"It is. Don't you think," she added after a moment's hesitation, "don't -you think it a very wonderful thing that the true story of his leaving -the Army has never got about?" - -"I think it more than wonderful. There must have been somebody very -high in power, manipulating the strings in the background. But it is a -very good thing for you that the story was hushed up." - -"But I don't think that Malcolm realizes how he has been spared. He is -not so grateful as he ought to be," she said. - -And then she bit her lip, as if she regretted the condemnatory words and -as if she wished to recall them. - -"I can take you out to lunch to-day, I hope?" said the lawyer, pulling -out his watch. "Unless Mr. Drummond is waiting somewhere round the -corner?" he added with a smile. - -"No, I am quite alone, and I shall be very pleased to go to lunch with -you," said Isla. - -She found the next hour quite pleasant. Cattanach took her to the -station, transferred her luggage, and secured for her a comfortable seat -in the London train. He could not wait until its departure, however, as -he had a West-End appointment at two o'clock. They parted cordially and -Isla repeated her promise to send him her London address as soon as she -herself was quite sure of it. - -She spread her things about and then, tucking her rug about her, began -to glance over some of the illustrated papers. So far, no one had -interfered with her privacy by entering the compartment. She had no -expectation, however, that she would be allowed to retain it all the -way. - -About three minutes before the train started there was a great bustle -and talking outside the carriage window, and presently a porter, laden -with sundry small packages, most of them rolled up in brown paper, -entered the compartment, followed by a large woman in a brown tweed -travelling coat of ample dimensions. - -Isla looked over the rim of her paper in mild curiosity and then quite -suddenly she paled a little and hastily withdrew behind her screen. - -It was the lady of the purple gown. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - IN THE LONDON TRAIN - - -The train had started before Isla's travelling companion caught a -glimpse of her face. She rose up with a sudden bang from her seat, with -the result that, in spite of herself, Isla lowered her paper a little to -see what was going to happen. What she did see was only the purple lady -removing her large and unsuitable headgear, which seemed to interfere -with her comfort. - -"Hats are gettin' worse every day," she said with a pleasant smile as -she jabbed two immense pins with imitation moonstone tops into the -stuffing of the cushions behind her. "Soon they'll need to get us -hat-compartments. Eh--what? Now, where have I seen you before?" - -She took some hairpins from her abundant and really pretty hair, and -with a back-comb began to do her toilet. - -Isla was saved the difficulty of answering by a sudden gleam of -recognition wandering across the lady's face. - -"Oh, I know--on the road right down there in Glenogle yesterday! Now, -ain't you jolly glad to be gettin' away from that God-forsaken hole?" - -"Just at the present moment I am," Isla admitted. - -She wondered what means she should take to ensure for herself quiet and -privacy. She was incapable of any act of studied rudeness, but the -prospect of listening to the woman's talk appalled her. Should she call -the guard and ask to be given another seat in another compartment, or -should she politely inform her fellow-traveller that she did not care to -talk. - -The lady flopped upon her seat, shook her head to see whether the coils -of her hair were firmer, and then settled herself back among the -cushions, smoothing out the creases of her cheap blanket-coat with a -plump white hand. - -She had now a black frock on, but, in contrast with Isla's neat, trim, -well-fitting suit of home-spun, it looked badly cut, badly worn, -altogether unsuitable for a journey. There were quantities of white -net--not too clean--about her neck, and many brooches and a long chain, -on which hung a lorgnette, while a double eyeglass was pinned to her -bosom. She wore a great many rings of sorts and a wedding one. - -Isla's eyes were quick enough to detect that. - -"Goin' all the way?" she asked with an engaging smile. - -Isla nodded. - -"So am I, and jolly glad I'll be to hear the noise and smell the good -old smells of the Euston Road. How they live up there! But there--it -ain't livin', is it now? Would you call it livin'--eh?" - -"Well," said Isla, diverted in spite of herself, and feeling no longer -the appalling dread that pursued her in Glenogle regarding this very -woman, "it depends on what you call living." - -"Just so. Well, I like a bit of fun myself--a night out occasionally -and a bit of stir in the daytime. Them hills, and big, dark locks get -on my nerves. I was four days at the little hotel at Strathyre, and I -had just about enough of it." - -"Visiting friends in the neighbourhood?" - -"No," snapped the woman. "It was a bit of business I was on, and it was -last night before I saw the party I had to see. Not but what I was -comfortable there, and they do make good food. Ever stopped there? -They tell me they hadn't an empty bed from Easter till now--full up with -fishermen and that sort. Can't understand it--don't pretend to. It's -the silence--the big empty silence that gets at me. It would drive me -crazy in a month, and I'd be gettin' up in my sleep and wanderin' into -that water." - -"You would get used to Strathyre," said Isla, smiling a little as she -raised her paper, and hoping that there might now be a reprieve. - -Her passionate hope was that the woman, who had all the unreserve of her -class, would not be seized with a sudden desire to confide the nature of -her business to her fellow-traveller. She did not want to hear the -truth from these lips. If necessary she would have to tell her somehow -that she did not wish to go on talking. - -"I doubt it very much! I've been about too much and seen too much life -to settle down in the country. I may have to, perhaps, later on, when I -get older and not so fond of racket. Nothing to hurt--don't you -know?--only a night at one of the halls and a good old canter down -Regent Street and Oxford Street." - -"I never saw anybody riding there," said Isla in a startled voice. - -"I don't mean that, of course!" laughed the stranger; "not but what I -could do it and make the traffic sit up for me too. When I was in India -I had me own horse every mornin' and them grinnin' black men to hold it -for me till I was ready to mount. I had a figure then as slim as yours, -and they all said I looked better in me habit than in anything else." - -"What part of India were you in?" asked Isla, fascinated in spite of -herself. - -"Pretty well all over, but latterly I was in the north. My husband was -in the Fighting Fifth. Ever heard of them?" - -"Yes, of course. They were through the Afghan campaign. My father was -a soldier, and he used to show us as children their marches on the map." - -"Oh, indeed! Then you know something about the service? Any brother in -it?" - -"I had one," said Isla, and the colour rose hotly in her face. - -"I love it. Even when I was a little nipper I always said I'd never -marry anybody but a soldier. And I didn't." - -"Is your husband alive still?" - -"No--dead. Killed in action he was, a-savin' of his Colonel. I've got -the little brown cross at home somewhere. These were the days! There -never was a braver chap than Joe Bisley ever shouldered a musket. Ah, -poor Joe!" - -Isla, perceiving that her companion was now in the throes of -reminiscence, shrank back nervously in her corner. - -"Doesn't it make your head ache to talk in the train?" she asked rather -hastily. "There are heaps of papers here if you like to read. You are -welcome to any of them. The gentleman who saw me off bought a great -many." - -"Ah, I don't wonder!" said the other with an admiring glance of -approval. "You are just the sort that they would buy everything for if -they got the chance. A little standoffish, too--ain't that what they -like? Oh, I know them through and through!" - -In spite of herself, Isla laughed out loud. - -"Oh, it was a very old friend of my family who was seeing me off to-day! -My father's lawyer in fact." - -"Ah, then, he knew what side his bread was buttered on. And are you -goin' to London, may I ask?" - -"Yes." - -"What particular part?" - -"I shall stay the night at the Euston Hotel. I may go abroad. My plans -are a little indefinite at present." - -"Same as mine. It ain't an easy thing for a lone woman to make up her -mind, and, as I told the party I spoke of, last night, I'm gettin' tired -of uncertainty. I want to know where I am. That's what for I took that -long journey and stopped at that queer little hotel. I wanted to see a -party and get my bearings." - -"And did you get them?" asked Isla desperately. - -"Yes, I think so. But, bless you, you never know where you are with -them. They're as slippery as eels. If you weren't so pretty, my dear, -I'd warn you to steer clear of them for the rest of your mortal life. -But it ain't in reason that you'll be allowed. There must be dozens -after you." - -Isla shook her head and then pointed suggestively to the illustrated -papers, even making a remark about one of the pictures on the cover. - -But the lady did not accept the hint. - -"I don't read much," she confessed. "And men and women are much more -interesting than books. When you've seen a bit of life, as I have, -what's written in a book doesn't count for much. It's like a stuffed -sawdust man beside a real flesh-and-blood one. Yes, they're a slippery -crew, but they makes life--don't they, my dear?" - -"They make its dispeace, anyhow," said Isla, surprised into an -expression of opinion that she immediately regretted. - -Her companion's face brightened, and she sat forward eagerly. - -"Fancy you thinkin' that! Well, as you've had reason to say that, I -don't mind tellin' you I agree. They're worth watchin', they need -watchin' all the time, though most of them are like babies, with no more -thought of what's goin' to happen. Now there's me! When I was in India -I was pretty and slim as you are, though you wouldn't think it, and I -was a toast in the station and could have had me pick after Joe died. -There was the Sergeant--a splendid figure of a man with four medals and -pay saved. He would have married me right off, and so would the little -Corporal, and even one of the subs. that had an Earl for his -grandfather; but I passed by them all and took up with one that nobody -could be sure of. He's here to-day and gone to-morrow, so to speak, and -even his wife couldn't keep him on the string." - -Isla jumped up with her colour fluttering and threw down her paper. - -"It's very hot in here, isn't it? Excuse me, but I must go out into the -corridor for a little fresh air. I can't stand the heat any longer." - -"Oh, poor dear, have a drop of brandy! They do have uncommon good -spirits at Strathyre, but then, it's the dew of their own mountains, -isn't it? Do have a drop, dearie. It'll buck you up at once." - -"No, no, thank you!" cried Isla over her shoulder from the corridor. "I -never touch spirits. I only want to be quiet and not talk for the rest -of the journey." - -Mrs. Bisley looked disappointed, but she comforted herself with a drop -of the dew of the mountains and then sat down to have a look at the -papers. - -Once Isla glanced back at her and, in spite of herself, had to admit the -prettiness of her face. She looked about thirty-five, and had she been -properly dressed she could have been made to look much more attractive. -There was something winning about her, too, but--oh, the irony of fate -that should have brought them together in that narrow space, from which -it was impossible to escape! - -Isla's abnormally quick perception had easily filled in the lines of the -story. She had no doubt that the party referred to by her -fellow-traveller was Malcolm. And that the woman believed that she had a -right to him there could be no doubt. He had not admitted her claim, -Isla concluded, else surely he could never have been so base as lift his -eyes to Vivien Rosmead. - -She felt sick as she pressed her throbbing head against the cold glass -of the corridor window, enjoying the swish of the wind on her cheek. - -Should she never get away from the shadows which had darkened her life? -Was it ordained that she should be pursued, far beyond the limits of -Glenogle, by the sordid phantoms of Malcolm's past and present? Was fate -wholly inexorable--were poor human beings but puppets, liable to be -rudely moved hither and thither upon the boards of the stage of life? -If it were so she might as well go back and fight it out on the Moor of -Creagh. - -"Feelin' better, my dear?" said Mrs. Bisley kindly, when she presently -turned her head. "The first lunch will be comin' along immediately, and -that'll make you feel better." - -"I don't take it," said Isla, seeing a probable respite for an hour or -so, during which she might either escape or rearrange her plans. "I -have a few sandwiches in my dressing-bag and, later, I shall get a cup -of tea. I never eat much when I am travelling." - -"A mistake, my dear. Take it from me that has travelled a lot both by -land and sea. If you don't eat you get so low that you can't bear -yourself. Do say two for luncheon when the waiter comes along; then -we'll go in together." - -Isla shook her head. - -"No, thank you." - -The attendant came at the moment to inform them that the first luncheon -would be served in about twenty minutes. Isla crept back again to her -corner under the sympathetic scrutiny of her companion. - -"What a colour you have, to be sure! Sorry you don't feel up to -luncheon," she said cheerfully. "It's all use. When you've knocked -about as much as I have you'll get more experiences. I'm up to all -travelling dodges." - -Isla had no doubt of it. She opened out another paper and let her eyes -fall languidly on it, praying fervidly for the quick passage of the next -twenty minutes. At another time she would have most thoroughly enjoyed -such a travelling-companion and would undoubtedly have elicited her -whole family history. But now her whole desire and aim was to stem the -avalanche. - -"Queer--wasn't it?--that we should meet like this," pursued her wholly -unconscious tormentor. "I took to you that day when I met you on the -road far more than to that other one you was with when you came back. -She's a haughty piece, if you like. They told me at the hotel at -Strathyre that it's expected she'll maybe be Lady of Achree some day, -but we don't think!" - -"Nobody pays any attention to the gossip of the Glen," said Isla, the -desperate look stealing to her face again. - -"Well, you may take it from me that that won't come orf," said Mrs. -Bisley with cheerful emphasis, at the same time picking up a paper and -beginning a languid inspection of the pictures it contained. - -For about ten minutes there was a blessed silence, and then the -restaurant attendant appeared to ask them to take seats for the first -luncheon. Mrs. Bisley, full of pleasurable anticipation, jumped up and -proceeded to arrange her hair and pin on her hat at the most becoming -angle. Then she grasped her hand-bag and came out into the corridor, -nodding delightedly. - -"Sure you won't come, Miss? It would do you no end of good. Do be -persuaded." - -"Oh, no, thank you. I couldn't eat." - -"Then, I leave you to keep our seats. Hope we don't have anyone else -put in with us at Carlisle. Then we can have a nice chat all the -afternoon." - -"Heaven forbid!" said Isla in her inmost soul. - -A few minutes after her companion had disappeared, and when the corridor -was quite empty, she rang the bell. It was a long time before anyone -answered it. Then, indeed, it was only the conductor who came. He had -not even heard the bell--he merely came through by chance. - -"Will you be so kind as to get me another seat at once and have my -things moved?" she said, with that single touch of hauteur mingled with -appeal which, somehow, always commanded immediate service. - -The man touched his hat, looked inquiringly into the compartment, and, -seeing no one, put a question. - -"The train is rather full, ma'am. Are you not comfortable here? I -don't believe there is another compartment in it with only two -passengers." - -"I don't mind. I want to move," said Isla desperately. "I--I don't care -for my fellow-traveller. No--she isn't in the least objectionable, but -I want to move right to the other end of the train, if possible, and if -there is no other accommodation I'll pay for a first-class seat." - -"Very well, Miss. I'll see what I can do," he said obligingly enough as -he moved on through the doorway of the corridor. - -Isla feverishly began at once to gather her things together, and she had -her dressing-bag in her hand and her rug over her arm when, in about -eight minutes' time, the guard returned. - -"There is one corner seat in the front of the train--two gentlemen and a -lady in the compartment. One of them is going out at Crewe. So if -you'd care to wait till then----" - -"No, thank you. I'll go now," she said. - -The man, still further puzzled, made up his mind to come through later -and take a look at the other occupant of the compartment, now absent. -He gathered up Isla's things and led the way to the front portion of the -train. Isla felt that she was not particularly welcome in her new -quarters. A woman, eating oranges, glared at her disagreeably, but at -least she was left severely alone. She felt weak and limp after the -strain of the morning, and all the afternoon every footfall in the -corridor made her start, fully expecting to behold in pursuit of her the -companion whom she had deserted. But she neither saw nor heard any more -of her until they arrived at Euston and rubbed shoulders at the luggage -barriers. - -Isla did not perceive her at first, and had just called out to the man -that Mackinnon was the name on her box. - -At the sound of it Mrs. Bisley started back as if she had been shot, her -vivid colour paled, and she put her hand to her side as if she felt some -spasm. - -"Well, I'm blest!" she whispered inly to herself. "So that's it! I -might have known. Oh, Winnie Bisley, once more your long tongue has got -you into trouble." - -She had the delicacy of feeling to wish to efface herself from Isla -Mackinnon's eyes, and yet she had a most insatiable desire to find out -her destination. Remembering, however, that she had said she would -sleep the night at the Euston Hotel she gave up the idea of discovery as -impracticable. - -As Isla's porter shouldered her trunk and she turned to follow him -towards the hotel entrance she saw the woman again, and their eyes met. - -Mrs. Bisley did not even smile, but Isla, as she passed by her, paused -for the fraction of a second. - -"I did not mean to be so rude as you may have thought, but my head ached -dreadfully and I felt that I must get away to where it was not necessary -to talk." - -"I quite understand," replied Mrs. Bisley. "Don't apologize. I don't -take offence easily. I'm not that sort. You're Miss Mackinnon, aren't -you?" - -"Yes." - -"It might have saved a lot of talk if you had told me your name at the -beginning," she said a trifle drily. "But, after all, perhaps there -isn't any great harm done." - -"I hope not. You meant to be kind, I'm sure. Good night, Mrs. Bisley." - -"Bisley was my name," she said grimly. "Good night, Miss Mackinnon. If -it should be that you ever want to see me again--and stranger things -have happened--you'll find me at 21 Henrietta Street, off the Edgeware -Road--fourth turning on your left from the Marble Arch." - -"I'll remember it," said Isla hastily. "Good night." - -She was glad once more to escape. She had got much fresh food for -thought, and she was at a loss to know how to act in a matter which -seemed to concern her, and yet with which she was loth to intermeddle. - -On one point, however, her mind was absolutely made up. Malcolm should -not win Vivien Rosmead under false pretences. Not for the second time -should the peace and happiness of that dear woman be imperilled. - -But she did not yet know how she was going to prevent the crowning act -of the tragedy of Malcolm's life. - -"Tragedy" was the word Isla used to herself as the whole story beat upon -her brain where she lay, tossing sleepless in her noisy bedroom, -disturbed by the shriek of the trains, the long dull roar of life in the -Euston Road, and, above all, by the phantoms of her own sad heart. - -How easily, by putting a few adroit questions, could she have wiled the -whole story from her fellow-traveller's lips! It was not her pride -alone that had prevented her from asking these questions. She was -afraid. - -She fell asleep with one last haunting thought in her mind--how much -happier than she were the Mackinnons who slept their last dreamless -sleep on the Braes of Balquhidder. - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - THE REALITY OF THINGS - - -Towards the morning Isla fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep, from which -she did not awake till half-past ten o'clock. - -A sense of confusion and dismay swept over her when she realized how -late it was, until she remembered that, in her scheme of things, time -just then was of no consequence. - -Certainly she had things to do, but the hour of their doing mattered to -no man or woman. She was alone, she was free, this day and other days -were in front of her to do with what she willed. - -She sprang up, rang for hot water, and, pulling up the blind a little -way, looked out upon streets bathed in a flood of glorious autumn -sunshine. Somehow, it comforted her that London did not weep at her -coming. It seemed an augury of good will. She had not known how -physically tired she was until she had stretched herself on her bed. -And now, her strength fully restored by sleep, her spirit became less -craven. - -She was still joyous over her escape. Things might happen in the Glen -and she would never know. She, whose interest in the smallest event -there had ever been of the warm and proprietary kind, had by one drastic -step cut herself off from her old life. And for the moment she had room -for little else in her mind but a sense of lively relief that she had -gotten clean away. - -As she dressed leisurely she reviewed the events of yesterday, among -which the meeting and conversation with Joe Bisley's widow stood out in -odd relief. - -Isla was not without a latent sense of humour. In happier circumstances -she could have extracted a great deal of amusement from the passing show -of life, and she was able to smile at the situation of yesterday. It -had been Gilbertian to the last degree, and might have been culled from -the pages of the latest comic opera. - -What surprised her most was that she had no feeling of indignation or -resentment against this woman who had stepped from the unknown into the -Mackinnon scheme of things. Nay, she felt kindly towards her--she felt -that somewhere, deep down in that undisciplined nature, there was gold. -It was not the woman's fault that she had been born in another sphere, -that she was so far from comprehending Isla's own points of view. - -She had other qualities which are common to the whole of humanity--good -feeling, honesty, kind-heartedness, and sympathy. Isla was womanly -enough and just enough to concede the possession of all these to -Winifred Bisley. Her own innate goodness convinced her that this woman -was not, and could not be, wholly bad. And no doubt--and here her -thoughts again became tinged with bitterness--in this case also Malcolm -had been to blame. - -She preferred to leave the unfinished story, however, to try to banish -from her mind the problem of the loose threads which wanted weaving -together. As for the day of unravelling, that was hid in the womb of -time, but from past experience Isla had no doubt that that day would -surely come. - -In her mind's eye this morning Glenogle was shadowy, and even her -passionate championship of Vivien Rosmead seemed to suffer some chill. -She was concerned altogether with herself. And perhaps just then that -was no bad thing for Isla Mackinnon, seeing that she had arrogated to -herself so long the role of general burden-bearer to the community. - -She felt fit and strong and hopeful as she belted her trim waist and -fastened the Mackinnon badge into her black tie and set her hat firmly -on her pretty hair. The memory of the nodding plumes and the moonstone -hat-pins evoked a smile as she turned away from the mirror. - -With that smile still lingering on her lips she went forth to conquer -London! - -She was the very last arrival in the breakfast-room, and she apologized -for her lateness. - -"I was very tired after my long journey," she said to the head waiter. -"If it is too late for breakfast I must take something else. - -"Too late, madam! It is never too late here for anything," he said -magnificently as he directed her gallantly to a small table set -comfortably near to the cheerful fire, and placed the menu card before -her. - -When Isla had made her choice one of the satellites was instructed to -fulfil her order with dispatch, and the head waiter stood near in case -that the charming lady should desire further speech with him. - -"No, I don't think I shall require my room another night," she answered, -when he ventured on a polite inquiry. "I have had to come up rather -unexpectedly, and, immediately after breakfast, I shall go out and see -the friend with whom I expect to stay while I am in London. I may leave -my things here, I suppose?" - -"Certainly, madam. The room's yours until the evening." - -"Thank you. Have you been having good weather in London? It is lovely -this morning. And please, can you tell me the best way to get from here -to the Edgeware Road?" - -"Underground, madam, from King's Cross. It will take you in about ten -minutes." - -Isla thanked him again, and when he laid the morning paper before her -she felt that a hotel could be a very comfortable place. She was glad -to hear about the Underground, because her riches were not great, and -she must be careful about small expenses. - -About noon she sallied forth on foot to find the Metropolitan station at -King's Cross. She was an absolute stranger to that part of London. -True, she had frequently arrived at the great termini, but on these -occasions she had simply got into a cab or carriage and been quickly -conveyed westward. - -She enjoyed the new experience--she was in the mood at the moment to -enjoy everything and to put the best face even on her difficulties. - -At the Edgeware Road station she felt confused by the frightful -congestion in the streets until, in answer to an inquiry, a friendly -policeman told her that the street she wished to find was near the Park -end of the wide thoroughfare. - -"About ten minutes' walk, Miss," he assured her. - -And, though a policeman's ten minutes is an elastic measure, Isla was -not unduly tired by the time she reached Agnes Fraser's door. - -Before she rang the bell she looked critically up and down Cromer -Street, contemplating the fact that for some time to come it would limit -her horizon. It was eminently respectable but dull, and some of the -houses had a dingy look. Even Mrs. Fraser's, Isla thought, was less -bright and cheerful than usual. The brass furnishings on the doors -looked as if they had not been polished for several days, and the -raindrops had dried upon the "Apartments" plate which, the last time -Isla had seen it, had shone like gold. - -An exceedingly untidy slip of a girl about sixteen, in response to her -ring, opened the door just a few inches. She had a squint in one eye, -which perhaps accounted for her cap being set awry on her unkempt hair. - -"Is Mrs. Fraser at home?" asked Isla imperiously. - -"Yus, Miss, but she ain't well, she's in bed. You can't see her." - -This dashed Isla's fine spirits for a moment. - -"In bed is she? What is the matter--anything serious?" - -"She's 'ad newmonier, been mortial bad, Miss, but she's gettin' better. -Only if it's apartments yer after, there ain't any." - -She delivered herself of this statement wholly on her own initiative, -and in order to get rid as quickly as possible of her questioner. - -"Is Mrs. Fraser very ill? Has she been able to see anyone just lately?" - -"Yus, Miss, she's bin up at midday since Monday. She's settin' up now in -'er room." - -"I'll come inside," said Isla decidedly. "Go upstairs and tell her that -Miss Mackinnon from Achree has called and would like very much to see -her." - -"Yus, Miss," said the girl stolidly, and, opening the door a little more -widely, permitted Isla to step into the hall. - -"There ain't anywheer but Mr. Carswell's room. The drorin'-room lidy -ain't out this mornin'. Yus--yer can sit 'ere if yer likes. But Missis -Fraser, she don't like me leavin' folks in the hall since a werry -decent-looking man took away three umbrellas and Mister Carswell's best -greatcoat." - -Isla sat down on one of the rush-bottomed chairs and asked the girl to -make haste to convey her message. Very soon she heard the quick shutting -of various doors, the rushing about of feet upstairs, and, after about -five minutes, the damsel appeared out of breath and with her cap more -awry than ever. - -"Yer can come up," she said laconically. - -Isla proceeded to ascend the somewhat dark staircase, which received all -the light it possessed from a dome in the roof three floors up. All -these stairs had Isla to ascend, for Mrs. Fraser was fully let, and she -had had to retire to one of the attics when she was laid aside. - -It was a very bare room, but a bright fire made it fairly cheerful, and -Agnes herself in a red flannelette dressing-gown, blushing all over her -face, was in the middle of the room to welcome Isla when she reached the -door. - -"I'm very sorry, dear Miss Isla, to bring you up all this way. But -could I help it? Oh, what I have suffered bein' shut up here, an' the -hoose at the mercy o' thae rubbitch in the kitchen! Hoo mony times had -ye to ring?--three or fewer, I'll be bound." - -"No, only once--and don't worry yourself, dear soul," said Isla, whose -joy at sight of Mrs. Fraser's homely and welcoming face could not be -dimmed by the recital of sordid details. "I hope you are really getting -better." - -"Oh ay. I'm to get doon the morn. I'm very sorry I'm no doon the day -for ye. If ye had written I wad hae been doon. Noo I canna offer ye -onything--no even a cup o' tea. I wad never be sure hoo it wad come -up." - -"I don't need anything," said Isla, as she closed the door and put Agnes -back in her chair. "I've only just come out from my breakfast at the -Euston Hotel." - -"You're not stoppin' wi' Lady Mackinnon, then?" - -"No. They are still abroad. They will not come back, I think, for -about two months yet." - -Agnes looked a trifle puzzled, but sat waiting respectfully for further -enlightenment. - -"Your little maid told me downstairs that you are full up when she -supposed I was looking for accommodation," said Isla presently. "I hope -she only said that to get rid of me. I want a room here, Agnes." - -Mrs. Fraser's face flushed again with the quick nervous flush of the -invalid who is not yet quite able to cope with everyday affairs. - -"Oh, Miss Isla, this is not the place for you--and very well ye ken it. -I can gie ye another address. Ye mind Lady Eden's own maid Martin? -She's in Seymour Street, and doin' well. Ye should go and see her. She -wad be very prood to get ye, I am sure." - -Isla shook her head, drew her chair a little nearer that of Agnes, and -looked at her very straightly. - -"I can't afford to go to Martin, even if I liked her--which I never did. -Things have not been going very well with me lately, Agnes, and--and it -became imperative that I should get away. I can't explain it to you -this morning, and I know you will never ask questions." - -"I hope I ken my place a little better than that, Miss Isla," said Mrs. -Fraser. - -But her tone was sad. - -"I'm not at all well off, and, in fact, I must look about immediately -for something to do." - -At this strange announcement Mrs. Fraser fell back in her chair, as if -overcome. - -"Oh, Miss Isla, ye don't say so! It's awful, my dear! You to be seekin' -something to do! It's no richt--it canna be richt. Oh, my dear, what -is the meanin' o' it?" - -Isla dashed away a sudden moisture from her eyes. - -"It's difficult to explain. You must have known that things were not -going well at Achree for a long time, not even in my father's lifetime. -Since he died and my brother has become the Laird affairs have got all -muddled, and the outlook is hopeless. Further, we don't get on, Agnes. -You knew Malcolm as a boy of seven years. So perhaps I needn't say much -more." - -"No. But to let you go out into the world like this--it's a cryin' -shame! You--a Mackinnon o' Achree! It shouldna be," said Agnes -desperately. - -"Oh, he did not actually send me out, you know, Agnes. In fact, he -thinks I am on my way to France--to my aunt and uncle." - -"And surely he is richt. That is where ye should be, Miss Isla. Oh, -tak' my advice and go now. London's a cauld, cruel place for them that -has to get their livin'. It's me and Fraser that kens that. And for you -to be oot in it! It minds me on naething but a lamb that has wandered -frae its mither amang the little hills and wi' the snaw comin' doon like -to blind it. Ye canna do it, Miss Isla. Tak' it frae me that kens--ye -canna do it!" - -"I must, Agnes, and if you can't encourage me you must hold your tongue, -dear soul," said Isla bravely. "Let us get back to the point. Can you -let me have a room? In fact, you must let me have a room--quite cheap, -though at its market-value and not a penny less. All I want to make sure -of is that I am under your roof. Nothing else matters." - -Agnes, still flushed and nervous, gave the matter rapid consideration. - -"The drawing-room floor is what ye ocht to hae, Miss Isla." - -"But I couldn't pay for it. So, what comes next?" - -"There's the floor below this--the back room. It's big and very quiet, -but it doesna get much sun. There has been a French artist in it, and -he painted things on the doors and on the mantelpiece. Some thinks them -very bonnie. He gaed oot only last week awa' back to his ain country, -and he was apparently very sorry to leave. He was a very decent man for -a Frenchman." - -"That sounds more like it," said Isla cheerfully. "How much, Agnes? -Honest Indian, now--how much did the Frenchman pay?" - -"Twelve shillings a week, and he had his breakfast for that. But it was -a French breakfast--naething but coffee and rolls. I would never charge -you that, though. Miss Isla; if ye would just tak' the room it's a prood -woman I'd be, and as for Fraser, he would be neither to haud nor bind -aboot it." - -"That I can't do, Agnes, even to see the expansion of Fraser. If you -like to give me the room and a French breakfast, with a very occasional -egg when they are good and cheap, for twelve shillings a week--why, -then, I'll take it gladly and pay a week in advance if I can come in -to-day." - -"Oh, but, Miss Isla, I am not able yet to see properly to things, and, -as I say, I've naething but rubbitch in the kitchen. Even at the very -best, my hoose is not what you hae been accustomed to, and I should -never hae an easy or a happy mind aboot ye." - -"That's sad, for I am going to be very easy and happy about myself, dear -soul. So, do say I may come in this very afternoon. My things are all -at the Euston Hotel, and, of course, staying there is beyond my means -altogether." - -Mrs. Fraser sat back in her chair, and her face was troubled. - -"Come, of course, and welcome, my dear. But I am wae for ye. And what -is it ye think of tryin' to do? Is it to go as a companion to an old -leddy--or what? There is so very little a leddy like you can do." - -"I read an advertisement in the 'Morning Post' this morning for a young -person to take pet dogs for an airing in the Park. My physical powers -would be equal to that, I believe, and it would not need much brain -power at least." - -Agnes hardly even laughed at the suggestion. - -"I ken what I'm speakin' aboot, Miss Isla. I have not kept an apartment -hoose in London for seven years for naething. The things I hae seen, -they would fill a book." - -"I have no doubt of it, but I'm not going to add to your tragic -reminiscences, Agnes. Fortune is now going to begin to smile on me. -Don't let us meet trouble half-way, anyhow. We'll change the subject. -Haven't you anything to ask about your old friends and neighbours in the -Glen?" - -"I dinna hear frae ony o' them noo, Miss Isla. Oot o' sicht oot o' -mind. Hoo's Elspeth Maclure, and has she ony mair bairns?" - -"None since the last," laughed Isla. - -"And is her tongue ony quater? Eh, that lassie! When we were neibours -at Achree I tell ye she fair deaved a body. You'll no mind--ye were -young at the time--that I had to ask the hoosekeeper to let me sleep in -anither room. Naebody could sleep wi' Elspeth. She wud speak even in -her sleep. We were a' sorry for Maclure. But, of course, he was a -quate man, or there wad hae been ructions." - -Isla retailed a few items of Glenogle and Lochearn gossip for Mrs. -Fraser's benefit, and finally returned to the subject of the room. - -"I can tak' ye doon to see it, Miss Isla. I was as far as the -dining-room yesterday." - -Isla thanked her, and together they went down one flight of stairs and -entered a large, wide room with two long windows looking out upon a -microscopic back-yard, in which was a solitary tree. Though it was -little more than noon the room was rather gloomy, and Agnes pointed out -that it was the projecting portions of the neighbouring houses that -darkened the windows. - -"If I get employment I shall be out most of the day, and in the evenings -I shall have a fire, and then it will be quite cosy. So these are the -Frenchman's pictures! Why, some of them are very pretty." - -He had done some sketches in water colour on the panels of the door and -also on the sides of the mantel-piece; and, though the furniture was a -little hopeless and rather suggestive of the cheaper end of the -Tottenham Court Road, Isla was thankful to get it. - -But Agnes Fraser felt a little despondent about it all the afternoon, -and when Fraser, who was steward at a West-End club, came home at -tea-time to see how she was, he found that she had been crying. - -He also took a gloomy view of Miss Mackinnon's venture into the unknown. - -"It's only her fad, Nance. And afore she has had time to get tired o't -or even to get a grup o' the rael thing she'll rue it, or some o' them -will come and tak' her away. So let her come, and dinna you fash your -heid aboot her. Eh, woman, I'm gled to see ye in a frock at last!" - -About six o'clock that evening a four-wheeler trundled up to Mrs. -Fraser's house in Cromer Street, and Isla with all her belongings was -admitted to her new quarters. - -She slept soundly that night, secure in the haven found under the roof -of an old friend. - -But Agnes herself, who knew the hardships of London life and had very -special knowledge of the extreme difficulty the indigent gentlewoman -experienced in finding employment, never closed an eye. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - THE MARKET PLACE - - -That evening, over her fire in the room which Andrew Fraser had -christened "The Pictur Gallery," Isla took stock of her marketable -accomplishments with the advertizing columns of the "Morning Post" and -the "Daily Telegraph" spread on the table in front of her. - -She had to confess that they were meagre both in quality and quantity. -She had been imperfectly educated by a wholly incompetent woman, who had -had to combine in one the offices of governess, housekeeper, and -chaperon, and over whom for five years of the General's absence in India -there had been none to exercise the slightest control. - -Aunt Jean had offered to take the child to Barras to bring her up with -her own, but she had altogether declined to have Malcolm even in the -holidays. This had so angered the General that he had answered in the -hot-headed Highland fashion that he would see to the upbringing of both -his children himself and would be beholden to none. - -That Isla had emerged from the process even as well equipped as she was -said a good deal for her intelligence and native common sense. Her -gifts of observation and her love of books had helped her to bridge the -gaps in her educational training, but of the skilled attainments that -fetch money in the market place she possessed none except the power to -keep house with a good appearance on very slender means. - -She decided, as her eyes wandered restlessly down those weary "Want" -columns, that the only post she was fit for was that of a housekeeper, -for which there was a limited demand. Many seemed to be in need of -skilled and highly-trained governesses at substantial salaries, but -against the unskilled all doors seemed to be shut. - -Once more she perused the advertisement for a young person to give pet -dogs an airing, and she resolved that, out of curiosity and as a -preliminary canter into the unknown, she would call at the address -given. It was in Westbourne Terrace, which, from inquiry, she learned -was in her own neighbourhood and could be reached on foot. - -She was a little subdued when she arose next morning to find "The Pictur -Gallery" at eight o'clock in a sort of twilight gloom consequent upon -the rain and the fog outside. After the glorious airs, the limitless -freedom of the Moor of Creagh it was an experience calculated to damp -the bravest spirit. - -She had to ring three times before receiving the smallest attention from -the squint-eyed maid, and Agnes, tired with the unexpected excitement of -the previous day, had not felt herself well enough to get up before -breakfast, as she had fully intended. - -Much ringing of bells, some altercations in the passages, and a variety -of odours were the outstanding characteristics of the Cromer Street -house in the early morning hours. - -At a quarter past nine Isla's French breakfast was brought up on a -slatternly tray, and, finding it impossible to drink the coffee, she had -to ask--and she did so in quite humble tones--for a fresh pot of tea. - -"I ain't 'ad no borders about brekfus for 'The Pitcsher Gallery,' Miss," -quoth Arabella in a rather high and mighty voice. "But I'll get the -tea. It ain't all beer and skittles 'ere of a mornin', I kin tell yer, -wiv hall the bells in the 'ouse a-ringin' at onct, the missus in 'er -bed, and ole Flatfeet on the warpath in the kitching." - -When the door had closed Isla sat down on the front of her bed and -laughed till the tears rolled down her cheeks. The dreariness of the -place in which she sat, the dead ashes on the cold hearth, the -indescribable lack of the comforts--even of the decencies--of life -appalled her. - -Yet just in such conditions, and in others infinitely worse, must -thousands of Londoners awake to the duty of each new day. She wondered -that the multitude had any heart for the day's work. - -She could not start to clean her room or light a fire, and she had been -reared in the belief that a bed required a thorough airing before it -could be made. - -After she had partaken of her meagre breakfast therefore she opened the -window and, donning her mackintosh and heavy boots, prepared to sally -forth. Even the streets would be preferable to her present -surroundings. - -She decided not to go up to see Agnes, who probably felt the situation -more acutely than she herself did. Perhaps, after all, it might be -better, if it was not indeed absolutely necessary, that she should find -some other lodging in a smaller house, where she could have a -sitting-room and a bedroom. The prospect of unlimited hours spent in -"The Pictur Gallery" was a little dismaying. - -The rain was falling heavily when she left the house, but the clean, -sharp patter on the pavements, somehow, cheered her. It was clean, it -was wholesome, it would help to wash away some of the impurity from the -streets. The rain, rolling in over the hills upon the Moor of Creagh -and sweeping down Glenogle--how often had she welcomed its pure sting on -her cheek and revelled in it! But here all was depressing, dark, -dismal, and soul-crushing. - -In such mood did Isla arrive at the address in Westbourne Terrace, -which, in conjunction with three others, she had written on a small -piece of paper and placed in her purse. - -A man-servant, in a blue coat with brass buttons and a striped -waistcoat, opened the door and stood, obligingly waiting to take her -message. - -"I have called in reference to the advertisement in the 'Morning Post' -this morning. Please, can I see the lady of the house?" - -The man looked doubtful, but said politely in imperfect English with a -very German accent that if she would come in and sit down in the hall he -would inquire. - -At the moment the door of the breakfast-room at the end of the hall was -opened and a lady in a very elaborate morning robe much trimmed with -lace and with two black-and-white Japanese spaniels in her arms, looked -out. - -"Who is that, Fritz?" she asked in a high and rather fretful voice. - -"Pleas'm, a young lady about the advertisement in the paper." - -"Oh, she can come in here." - -She re-entered the breakfast-room, and Isla, in some inward amusement, -followed. She felt like a person in a play, but it said something for -her courage and determination that, on the second morning of her London -life, she should seek such an experience. - -She closed the door behind her and said good morning to the lady, -altogether unconscious that, instead of looking like a suppliant, she -had the air of one about to bestow a favour. - -Her possible employer was a woman of about her own age, with a kind of -artificial prettiness which depended a good deal on art for its -preservation. She had a pleasant enough manner, however, and was quite -civil to her visitor. - -"You have called?" she said inquiringly, with her head on one side like -a bird and her cheek against the glossy coat of one of the spaniels. - -"I have called in reference to the advertisement in the 'Morning Post,'" -said Isla with difficulty, for the reality, instead of being amusing, -was distinctly trying. "But I don't think it will be any use. I am -sure I would not be suitable." - -"Oh, sit down, and let us talk it over now that you are here," said the -lady affably. "I am Madame Schultze. Yes--I am English. My husband is -a Viennese. He is on the Stock Exchange. He had only just left the -house as you entered. Perhaps you saw him?" - -Isla said she had not seen anybody resembling Mr. Schultze. - -"I am not strong, and almost immediately I am going off with my husband -to Schwalbach. It is very late in the year for Schwalbach, but he has -not been able to get away before now. It is about my little darlings! -Look at them! Aren't they sweet loves? This is Koshimo, and this is -Sada, and this is Tito, and the little one, who was born here, is Babs. -Did you ever see anything so perfectly sweet?" - -Isla was at a loss what to say. She knew nothing of the cult of pet -dogs, or of how enslaved an idle woman can become by them, and she -thought the adoration visible in Madame Schultze's eyes was rather -foolish. - -There were four separate baskets lined with padded wool, with little -rugs over them, and other comforts such as many a poor baby lacked. To -Isla the creatures looked stolid, overfed, unintelligent, and -uninteresting. But she could not say so. - -"I suppose they are very valuable?" was all she could bring herself to -say. - -"I should say so. Koshimo, as a puppy, cost a hundred and fifty -guineas. My Karl gave him to me on the anniversary of our wedding. We -can't take them to Schwalbach with us, and the other person I had to -look after them was a wretch. Behind my back she used to pinch Koshimo, -and the poor darling's spirit is quite broken." - -"Yet you are going to leave them behind in the care of--of the person -you engage?" - -"That is what I thought of doing. I have no alternative. They don't -permit dogs at the Cure Hotel." - -"Then would she be required to live in the house?" - -"Oh, no--only to come for a half-day every morning. Sundays included, to -bathe the darlings, make their toilets, and take them for a walk in the -Park. After that they will be in the care of Fritz, the house-boy, who -is quite good. Only he has not a woman's delicacy of touch and -sympathy. They need sympathy quite as much as a human being does, if -not more so." - -Isla repressed an almost overpowering desire to laugh aloud, and she -politely inquired what would be the remuneration for this occupation. - -"Seven-and-sixpence a week and luncheon. I reckoned that by the time -you had returned from the Park it would be one or half-past one, and the -servants' dinner would be going on, so that your luncheon would never be -missed," said Madame Schultze with an engaging frankness. "Of course, -the work is not hard, and it is delightful, besides. You don't know -what a privilege it is to have the care of such pets. They are so -dainty and so very, very human." - -Isla thanked her and said that she was afraid the post would not suit -her. - -"Oh, but why not come for a few days and try it?" said the odd woman, -who had taken a fancy to Isla. "You look different from the creatures -who usually call when one wants anybody. You look even as if you might -have had pet dogs of your own." - -Something caught at Isla's throat as she remembered. - -"I have had them. But, thank you, I'm sorry I can't come. The--the -money is much too small. I shall have to find something to do which -will keep me. I am not well off. Good morning, Madame Schultze." - -"You won't leave your name? I might find you something. My husband has -a large acquaintance on the Stock Exchange, and we move in very good -society," said Madame Schultze with a kind of indolent good-humour. - -But Isla, with another hasty word of thanks, withdrew. She felt almost -hysterical as the door was politely closed upon her by the foreign -butler, and she dashed something like a tear from her eye. - -"Serves you right, Isla Mackinnon, for all the airs you give yourself! -Seven-and-six a week and the servants' luncheon! What would they say at -home?" - -She said "they," but it was the face of Peter Rosmead that came -persistently before her--of Peter the Bridge-builder, with thousands in -his pocket that he could not spend! Would Peter, if he met her in the -park airing pet dogs for a livelihood, pass by, like a Levite, on the -other side? - -Her lip curled whimsically at the thought. She did not welcome the -memory of Rosmead, which had come unsought. In her secret heart she -felt disappointed that he had not written. True, he had not promised to -do so, nor had he even asked whether he might. But other men did not -wait for permission. Neil Drummond never lost an opportunity of -speaking or writing to her, and often she did not trouble to read his -letters through. - -She was brought back from her reveries sharply by finding herself once -more in the Bayswater Road with the rest of the day in front of her. - -"I do want a good breakfast," she said to herself dolefully, for a few -mouthfuls of the doubtful bread and butter provided by Arabella had more -than satisfied her in "The Pictur Gallery". - -Looking down the road towards Kensington, she saw that shops seemed to -abound, and she proceeded to walk on. At length she came to a tea-shop, -which she entered. There she ordered tea and a couple of poached eggs. -These she consumed at a small round table drawn invitingly near a bright -fire, where she was able to dry her boots and where she passed a very -comfortable half-hour. - -But it was all unreal. Once more she had the weird feeling that she was -a character in a play and that she would soon awaken to the reality of -things. - -After her experience in Westbourne Terrace she decided that, instead of -calling at any more private addresses, she would go to some of the -employment agents, who, judging from their advertisements, seemed to -possess particulars of every conceivable kind of opening. She would -there give a true account of her meagre accomplishments and candidly -inquire what was their market value. - -She did not shrink from doing this, because all her life long she had -been facing things and making the best of untoward circumstances. But, -somehow, it was difficult here in London. In Glenogle all was familiar -and most dear. Besides, whatever the state of the exchequer, Miss -Mackinnon of Achree had an unassailable position. - -Her name counted for nothing here, however. Nay, it were better perhaps -that she should exchange it for one less pretentious and betraying. - -The rain having ceased, she rode on the top of an omnibus the whole -length of the Bayswater Road to Oxford Street, where she presented -herself in the office of one of the well-known employment agencies that -advertise extensively in all the newspapers. - -She had to wait some little time among others, and when her turn came -she was again in thrall to the odd feeling of unreality which had -possessed her for most of the day. - -"What kind of post, madam, and what experience?" said the very -middle-aged lady who sat, pen in hand, ready to take the particulars. - -Isla explained as clearly as possible what she wanted, and she did not -fail to observe that while she was speaking the face of her questioner -fell. While she was listening she was, however, observing Isla keenly, -and she very quickly came to the conclusion that she was not one of the -ordinary applicants, but rather was one who had been driven into the -ranks of the workers by stress of circumstances. - -"Of course, madam," she said kindly but with great brevity and decision, -"you are not unaware that you are handicapped? Our books"--here she -patted an immense ledger lying on the table beside her--"our books are -full of names of ladies requiring employment, and most of these are very -thoroughly equipped. But, even with all the resources at our command, we -would never be able to supply all their wants, for the very simple -reason that the necessary vacancies do not exist." - -"There are so many thousands seeking situations, then?" said Isla -hesitatingly. - -"Thousands. We have no difficulty with our skilled workers. There is -always a demand for them, but for the gentlewoman class--to which you -evidently belong--for whom the earning of a living has become a sad -necessity, we have practically no demand. You are a good housekeeper, -you say, but you would not care to take a working-housekeeper's place?" - -"I could not. At least, I should not care to do actual housework, and I -can only cook theoretically. I could order a lady's house, and order it -well. I've been used until quite lately to superintend a fairly large -establishment." - -"In your father's house?" said the agent with an understanding nod. - -"Yes." - -"I thought as much. Well, I have only one post on my books at present -which would seem to come anywhere near your requirements, and I tell you -quite frankly that I have already sent at least half a dozen ladies -after it." - -"Where is it?" asked Isla interestedly, "and what sort of a place is -it?" - -"It is to be a sort of companion-housekeeper to a lady who is not -strong. The duties, I think, are not very arduous, but I consider it -only right to tell you that this is the fourth time in twelve months -that this post has become vacant." - -"Why has it been like that?" - -"I prefer not to enter into reasons. There have always been faults on -both sides, of course. I have myself interviewed Mrs. Bodley-Chard here -when she was able to drive out. Latterly, I think, she has not been -able. I have always liked her. I'm afraid that the trouble is with Mr. -Bodley-Chard." - -"Oh, I shouldn't mind him," said Isla quietly. "And, after all, his -wife's housekeeper need not see much of him." - -The agent smiled. - -"I can give you the address if you like. You will be the third who has -gone to-day. But that, I think, does not matter. Mrs. Chard, I know, -intends to be very, very particular this time." - -"What is the salary?" - -"Twenty-five pounds a year." - -"And to live in the house?" - -"Why, of course." - -"She would not engage a person who wished to lodge outside?" - -"My dear madam, picture a companion-housekeeper who arrived with the -milk--shall we say?--and left with the last post at night! It's -unpractical, to say the least." - -Isla smiled and sighed a little as she rose. - -"I see that beggars can't be choosers and that one must give up -something in order to earn one's living. I wish, however, that it was -not one's freedom. May I have the address, if you really think there is -the smallest use in my calling?" - -"I am sure that it is worth your while calling. I have even a sort of -odd feeling that Mrs. Chard's choice might fall on you. You see, you -are just a little different from the average run of reduced ladies who -come here." - -"Thank you," said Isla, not knowing whether to take the words as a -compliment or the reverse. - -The agent wrote the name and address on one of the office cards and then -noted Isla's in her book. - -"And what happens if I am engaged?" she asked with a little humorous -smile about her mouth. "Is it like a servants' registry office? Do I -come back and pay a fee, or do I pay it now?" - -"The fee would be half a sovereign in this case--that is if you are -engaged. There is no charge otherwise. I hope you will be successful, -Miss Mackinnon." - -"I don't know whether I hope so or not," answered Isla. - -Her ease of manner, so different from the usual bearing of the agent's -clients, made a strong impression on her listener. - -"I shall be pleased to see you in any case. And perhaps something else -may turn up, if you are not successful," she said with a cordiality -which surprised even herself. - -Usually the seekers after employment were merely units of the system to -be dismissed as soon as possible. But this applicant had drawn out her -interest and her sympathy in a very strong degree, principally because -she had not proffered a single plea for special consideration, and -because she had been so candid about her capabilities. - -When Isla got outside she stopped on the stairs and read the name and -address on the agent's card--Mrs. Bodley-Chard, Hans Crescent, S.W. - -A look of satisfaction crossed her face just for a moment, because this -locality was within that part of the area of London with which she was -perfectly familiar. As Malcolm might have said, it was on the right side -of the Park. But again, that had its disadvantages, one of them being -that she might be more easily discovered and recognized. - -But some instinct made her decide to go, and to go as quickly as -possible. She hailed a passing hansom and got in, calculating that she -would reach Hans Crescent in time to catch Mrs. Bodley-Chard immediately -after luncheon. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - - MR. AND MRS. BODLEY-CHARD - - -Isla was familiar with the outward aspect of the pretty houses in Hans -Crescent, and she had on more than one occasion, in the company of her -aunt, made acquaintance with the interior of one. - -The town house of the Murdoch-Graemes of Baltasound was in Hans -Crescent, but they, too, were poor and, until their daughter married a -rich financier, had not been able to occupy their London house in the -season. - -But there is a vast difference between fashionable London in May or June -and in October. More than the half of the houses are shut up in the -late autumn, and Isla had no fear of meeting anyone who would recognize -her. - -Her hansom drew up, jingling, at the door of one of the most important -houses, beautifully appointed outside, with real lace curtains at the -windows and with everything indicating ample means. A sedate, -middle-aged manservant of irreproachable mien noiselessly opened the -door and stood at attention to hear Isla's message. - -"Mrs. Bodley-Chard is at home, Miss, but she only sees callers by -appointment," he said civilly, but firmly. - -"Please to take my name," said Isla quietly, "and tell her I have come -from Madame Vibert in Oxford Street." - -The man shook his head. - -"There have been three already this morning, and my mistress has told me -she will not see any more. She lies down after luncheon. Still, Miss, I -can tell her you are here if you will kindly step in." - -Isla was grateful, and the respectful manner of the man was like balm to -her perturbed spirit. Here she felt at home, and beyond doubt the man -knew--for the preceptions of his class are very keen in certain -directions--that she differed in almost every essential from those who -had come before her. - -He placed a chair for her by the fireplace in the pretty lounge-hall and -departed upstairs. Isla glanced round her interestedly. The house was -very bright, painted in white with warm crimson walls, and full of -pretty things. It was all very modern, however, and a trifle fantastic. -A very large brown bear, mounted on a pedestal and standing up with a -pole between his forepaws, struck rather a grotesque note. It was -neither a useful nor an ornamental object, and it was instantly banned -by Isla's simple, correct taste. The pictures, of which there were -many, all struck the same bold note of bizarre taste, and the effect was -neither restful nor pleasing. - -Isla was not kept waiting long. - -"Mrs. Bodley-Chard will see you," said the man when he re-appeared. - -She followed him up the white and crimson staircase, her feet giving -forth no sound in the deep, luxurious tread of the Axminster carpet. -The house seemed to widen out on the upper landing and gave an -impression of roominess. - -The servant opened a door a little way along the corridor and announced -Isla by name. She was ushered into a room in semi-darkness--a sort of -boudoir, luxuriously furnished, whose atmosphere was laden with perfume -and with the heavy odour of many cut flowers. - -A smart French maid with a most coquettish cap moved back from the side -of a large couch when the door opened, and as she stepped out of the -room she took a very keen look at Isla. - -A voice came out of the gloom--a somewhat thin, fretful voice. - -"Come forward, please, to where I can see you. You have called at a -very awkward hour. I expressly wrote to Madame Vibert that I would not -see anyone after lunch." - -"I can easily go away, madam, and call at a more convenient season," -said Isla quietly. - -Her eyes, becoming accustomed to the half-light, now discerned quite -clearly on the couch the figure of a middle-aged woman, half-sitting, -with a silk shawl about her shoulders, and a trifle of lace--a so-called -boudoir cap--resting on her elaborately dressed hair. - -"Bring a chair forward and sit down. I'm not strong. I am obliged to -lie down all the afternoon. Did Madame Vibert tell you what I really -required? She keeps sending me the most tiresome and impossible -people--fools, in fact. Are you a fool? Come and tell me." - -Isla carried over one of the gilt-brocade chairs, thinking at the same -time that it was a little service the French maid ought to have rendered -to a caller before she left the room. - -"I don't see you very well. Will you ring for Fifine to draw up one of -the blinds a little?" - -"I can do it myself," said Isla promptly, "if you will tell me which -one." - -Mrs. Bodley-Chard indicated the window at the end of the room, and Isla -very quickly caused a little light to shine in the darkness. The trim -lines of her figure were silhouetted against the clear glass of the -window, and Mrs. Bodley-Chard looked keenly at her face, when she came -back, to see whether it corresponded with the distinction of the figure. - -"You are different. Sit down and tell me what that viper, Madame -Vibert, told you about me." - -"She told me very, very little indeed, Mrs. Chard. Only that you wished -a sort of companion-housekeeper. I could act as that, I think, though -Madame Vibert as good as told me this morning I had no market value." - -Isla had no hesitation in making this damaging statement. As yet she -was only at play. In her purse she had sixteen pounds of good money, -which, she had calculated, would keep her in modest comfort at Agnes -Fraser's for at least two months. And surely in the course of two -months among all the teeming millions of London she would find something -to do. - -Mrs. Chard gave a small, hard laugh. She had a large, uninteresting -face with the unhealthy colour of the woman who takes very little -outdoor exercise, and there was a lassitude about her which seemed to -Isla to arise from lack of will-power rather than from lack of physical -health. - -"It is what I do want--a common-sense woman in the house who can hold -her tongue and keep her eyes on two places at once. I'm being robbed on -every side. The only decent person in the house is the butler Robbins. -Madame Vibert has sent me nothing but fools, who were either afraid of -the servants or in league with them. Have you been out before?" - -"No." - -"Where did you come from?" - -"From Scotland. My father died a few months ago, and I have been left -without resources." - -"What was he?" - -"My father?--oh, he was a soldier." - -"What rank?" - -Isla hesitated a moment. - -"He was a General," she said in a low voice then, as if afraid the fact -would militate against her chance. - -"I'm not surprised. You look as if you might be a General's daughter. -Well, then, you don't need to have your duties defined to you. You will -have to keep the house--to run it, in fact--pay the servants' wages and -prevent them from worrying me. You will write any letters I want, and -you will drive out with me when I do go out, but that won't be often now -that the winter is coming on. Then, you will have to dine with Mr. -Bodley-Chard in the evening and keep him amused when he is in the -house." - -"Oh!" said Isla with a small gasp, "will you tell me quite what that -means?" - -"It means just what it says," answered Mrs. Chard with her wandering, -somewhat stupid smile. "It is slow for him at home, of course, for I am -hardly ever able to be down." - -"Have you been out of health a long while?" - -"Yes--about two years now. I have got worse in the last six months. -Perhaps I shall not live long. I don't mind. I haven't had much -happiness. People soon get tired of a dull old woman, don't they?" - -"But why be dull?" asked Isla cheerfully. "You have the means of making -life pleasant." - -"But there is nobody to care, you see." - -Isla wondered about Mr. Bodley-Chard, but she did not ask any questions. - -She felt sorry for the woman who, in the midst of her luxurious -surroundings, looked like a person from whom all the zest for life had -departed, leaving her with a withered heart. - -One thing interested her--she felt that she would like to see Mr. -Bodley-Chard, possibly because in him might be found a partial solution -of the problem of the heaviness of his wife's life. - -"Well, will you come? No--I don't want to ask any questions. Either -you're the right person or the wrong one. All the others I've ever -engaged have been the wrong ones, and, somehow, I knew it before they -began their duties. I believe you are going to be the right one. Will -you take it on?" - -"Yes, if you think I can do what you require." - -"I'm sure you can. It ought not to be hard. When I was able to be -about I had no difficulty in managing my house. But a fool can't manage -servants. That's the chief difficulty--to keep them in their place. -And you look as if you could do that. Can you come to-day?" - -"Not to-day. To-morrow I might. May I ask you another question? It is -about dress. I have only one evening frock. It is old and very shabby. -Should I be expected to go down to dinner every night in an evening -frock? That is the only thing I can't be happy about. If I could only -have my evenings free!" - -"You'll have a good many of them free, because Mr. Bodley-Chard is a -club-man and is fond of the theatre. Most of them have complained of -the deadly dulness. I go to sleep early, you see." - -"I shall come to-morrow afternoon, then," said Isla, rising. - -She did so, for she saw that a drowsiness was creeping over Mrs. Chard -and that the heavy white lids were drooping over the dull eyes. - -The impression Isla carried away was one of hopelessness, of absolute -lack of interest in life on the part of her future employer. She was -not attractive physically, yet there was something kindly and pitiful -about her. - -As she left the room Isla registered a vow that she would do what she -could to arouse her and to give her some fresh interest in life. -Probably Mrs. Chard had a doctor--that kind of woman always had a -fashionable physician in close attendance. Perhaps he and she could -consult together and devise some remedial measure. The prospect of -grappling with a fresh difficulty exhilarated her. - -When she closed the door she was surprised to see Fifine, the French -maid, unconcernedly walk away from it as though she had been listening. -She turned quite coolly to Isla, and put her head on one side, while her -small, pretty hands met in front of her dainty person. - -"Have you got ze job, Mees?" she asked pertly. - -Isla coloured, looked very straightly and haughtily at her, and passed -her by. - -An English servant would have fully understood the rebuke, and even -Fifine knew that she had been put in her proper place. She shook her -small fist after the retreating figure on the stairs, and from that -moment Isla had an enemy in the house. - -It was about three o'clock in the afternoon when she got back to Cromer -Street, where she found Agnes Fraser in some perturbation regarding her -long absence. - -Agnes was now fully dressed in her neat black frock with the little -Puritan collar, and the whole house looked more comfortable and better -cared for. Isla forgot the abomination of desolation that had reigned -in the morning, and she greeted Agnes with a gay smile as she came out -of the dining-room to meet her. - -"I'm so glad to see you down, Agnes. Where have I been? Oh, in search -of adventure. Where can we sit down till I tell you all about it?" - -The Frasers chiefly occupied a very small breakfast-room at the back--a -place which seldom got the sun, but which looked cosy enough on a dull -afternoon, with a cheerful fire in the grate and a tea-tray on the end -of the table. - -"Eh, but I'm tired, Miss Isla. I've been in the kitchen since eleven -o'clock. What a place! But I've set them to clean up and, now that -I'll be up in the mornin's mysel' things will get a' richt. I was fair -upset when I heard ye had gane oot so early this mornin' and withoot a -proper breakfast. Hae ye had onything to eat since?" - -Isla explained so gaily that Agnes concluded that she must have had some -good luck. When she heard the story of the morning she uplifted her -hands in sheer astonishment. - -"The thing that beats me is that ye should hae got something so quick, -Miss Isla. I've had them here lookin' for weeks, and weeks, and weeks. -It's a sad business, but I hope thae folk wi' the queer name will be a' -richt." - -"They interest me, and I'm not in the least afraid. No, there aren't any -dark mysteries, I'm sure." - -"Eh, but London's a michty queer place, Miss Isla, and ye never ken -wha's your next-door neibour. But ye can aye--day or nicht--tak' a -hansom and come ower to me, if onything gangs wrang. I'll no let 'The -Pictur Gallery' the noo. Very likely I'll no hae the chance till after -Christmas. So if ye like to leave onything in it ye can." - -They had a long cosy chat over their tea. Then Isla retired to "The -Pictur Gallery" to make a fresh inventory of her clothes. - -She found that the room had been swept and garnished, and a cheerful -fire relieved its gloom, with the result that all things, even "The -Pictur Gallery," contributed to her hopeful mood. She was promising -herself no end of amusement and interest in her new environment. - -She felt very much as a child might who is about to be taken to a -pantomime for the first time; and certainly she was quite lifted up -beyond all the more sordid and disagreeable aspects of her own private -life. - -But the good Agnes was conscious of sundry misgivings when she bade Isla -good-bye about four o'clock next afternoon and saw the cab roll away. - -"You'll promise noo, Miss Isla, that if there's onything wrang, or -onything even that ye dinna like, that ye'll come richt back. I canna -say I'm as comfortable in my mind aboot ye as I micht be. I wakened -Andra up in the nicht-time to tell him I wasna." - -"Nonsense, Agnes. It's just because you've grown accustomed to thinking -of me in different circumstances that you are anxious about me. I'm -going to enjoy myself immensely and see a bit of life." - -"And you'll write to them, Miss Isla--either to Mr. Malcolm or to Lady -Mackinnon? I want them to ken where you are." - -"But I don't. I'll write and give them your address, but I forbid you -to breathe the name of Hans Crescent. Besides, I should certainly be -dismissed if a horde of my folk appeared at Mrs. Bodley-Chard's," she -added with a little whimsical smile. "I didn't ask, but I feel sure -that no followers would be allowed." - -Agnes was left with a smile on her face, but it faded before she had -watched the four-wheeler out at the end of the street. - -"Puir thing! She disna ken a thing aboot life! I hope the Lord will -look after her. Naebody else can." - -Isla had no misgivings when she arrived at her destination. She was -received with respectful consideration by Robbins, who passed her on to -a house-maid who, with a polite but distant air showed her to her room. -It was on the third floor, but it was a large and beautiful chamber, -with which even the most fastidious person could not have found a single -fault. - -"Mrs. Bodley-Chard has waited tea for you in the boudoir, Miss," said -the girl. - -"Thank you; and may I ask your name? We shall probably have to see a -good deal of each other, so we may as well be friendly. I am Miss -Mackinnon." - -"I'm Cecilia Owen. I'm called Owen upstairs and Cissy in the kitchen," -answered the girl, surprised into cordiality of tone. - -"And which do you prefer?" - -"I don't mind. I shall like whatever you call me, Miss." - -"Then we shall say Cissy. In the country--where I come from--we don't -call our women-servants by their surnames," said Isla pleasantly as she -laid her gloves down and poured out some water. - -"I'll get you some hot, Miss, and if you like I'll unpack after tea -downstairs. I'd like to help you." - -So, in spite of much warning, Cissy capitulated to the newcomer's -undoubted personal charm, and from that moment she was Isla's faithful -ally and friend. - -As she descended the stair Isla met the French maid, and wished her a -cool good-afternoon. - -"They're waiting tea now, mees; please to hurry," she said pertly, and -Isla passed on. - -She found the door without mistake, tapped lightly, and entered by -invitation of Mrs. Bodley-Chard's thin, reedy voice, which seemed very -weak to proceed from such a substantial body. - -To her chagrin there was some one else in the room--a youngish man, -dressed in a lounge suit of blue serge. He had a slim figure, very dark -hair and eyes, and a rather florid complexion. A large moustache, very -carefully trimmed, was evidently his pride. He was good-looking after -his type, but that was a type which Isla did not admire. He had a -gardenia in his button-hole, and the impression created was that of a -dandy who gave much consideration to his clothes. - -She concluded he was some privileged caller who had dropped in, and, -without noticing him, she made her way to Mrs. Chard's couch. - -"So you have arrived? Glad to see you, Miss Mackinnon. Let me -introduce my husband. Gerald, this is Miss Mackinnon." - -Isla gave a start of extreme surprise as she hastily turned to receive -Mr. Bodley-Chard's greeting. It was a painful surprise, because the man -looked almost young enough to be the son of the woman on the sofa, and -the disparity between them in almost every respect seemed in her eyes -almost insurmountable. - -Mr. Bodley-Chard was most affable, even complimentary, and in that first -interview Isla conceived a dislike of him, which was destined to -increase with every opportunity she had of seeing more of him. - -"Miss Mackinnon will pour out the tea, Edgar," said his wife. "She may -as well start right now. Come here, and sit by me." - -"Right you are, old lady. See how I am kept in leading-strings, Miss -Mackinnon," he said, smiling all over his smooth-featured face. "I came -home from business an hour earlier than usual this afternoon just on -purpose to receive you." - -"It was unnecessary," said Isla quite coolly. "Can I get you another -cushion, Mrs. Chard? You don't seem to sit very comfortably. I have -been used to waiting on an invalid. Do let me help you before I make -tea." - -Her deft and willing left arm went round Mrs. Chard's shoulders and -raised her up a bit. She then shook the cushions, and made her as -comfortable as she could, Mr. Chard looking on approvingly the while. - -"You're in luck this time, Jenny. Among all the fools you have had -there wasn't one who had the art of making you really comfortable--eh?" - -Mrs. Chard smiled, and her eyes gratefully followed the girl's slim -figure back to the tea-table. The discontented, uneasy expression had -died out of her eyes, giving place to one of peace, which imparted an -unexpected charm to her face. - -Isla, quite unconscious of the favourable impression she was creating, -and only wishing with all her heart that Mr. Chard would make himself -scarce, busied herself about her new duties, and, when there was likely -to be silence, made small talk with an ease that surprised herself. - -Mr. Chard was evidently extremely anxious to hear her talk, and it was -he who put the questions. But Isla only answered such as she chose, -and, at the end of twenty minutes, she left him very much where he was -at the beginning. - -Her coolness and cleverness piqued him. He had been accustomed to see -his wife's companions shrink before him and efface themselves in his -presence. - -"The old lady doesn't allow me a whiff here, Miss Mackinnon. Hard -lines, don't you think? Much as I should like to stop, I must tear -myself away. We shall meet at dinner later on, I hope, and resume our -interesting conversation." - -Isla bowed slightly, and when the door closed she rose and came over to -the side of the couch, where Mrs. Chard sat smiling happily. - -"You can't think how glad I am that you have come," she said, putting -out an impulsive hand. "I woke up this morning wondering what pleasant -thing was going to happen, and then I remembered that it was your -coming." - -"You are very kind to speak like that. I hope I may be going to be of -use to you. That is the only excuse for my presence here." - -"Well that is a speech! Most of them have come to serve their own ends, -and--would you believe it, Miss Mackinnon?--though this is my house, and -all that it contains is mine, I have sometimes felt among them all that -I hadn't a single friend." - -"I shall be your friend while I am here," said Isla quite simply, and -without the smallest intention of gushing or flattering. - -To her surprise a small sob suddenly broke from the lips of the woman on -the couch. - -"I don't pray much or often to God, my dear, but I do believe that He -has sent you to me this time. There is a clear light about you--it -shines in your eyes. I am sure that you are true and good." - -"I try to be. But now you must rest a little, and later on I'll come -and get you ready to go down to dinner." - -"Oh, but, my dear, I don't go down. They haven't laid a place for me -for months." - -"But they'll lay one for you to-night, or I shall dine here with you," -said Isla quite quietly. - -She did not add that nothing on earth would induce her to dine -_tete-a-tete_ with Mr. Bodley-Chard. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - AT CROSS PURPOSES - - -Isla did not see her employer till ten o'clock next morning, by which -time she had breakfasted _tete-a-tete_ with Mr. Bodley-Chard. When she -was asked to go to Mrs. Chard's room the expression of her face -indicated that she had not had a pleasant morning. - -Mrs. Chard was not yet out of her bedroom, which communicated with the -boudoir by folding-doors. She was lying down, but her pale face -brightened at sight of Isla. - -"Good morning, dear. I wanted to see you ever so long ago, but Edgar -said you had not time to come." - -"Oh," said Isla stiffly, "I did not know you wanted me, or I should have -been here sooner. I hope you slept well and feel better this morning?" - -"I sleep too much, I think," she said with a weary yawn. "I was asleep -by half-past nine last night, and I'm not long awake. Yes--I've had -breakfast, all I ever do take. Sit down, and tell me what you have been -about. Did you have a comfortable night, and did they get you all you -wanted?" - -"Everything. My wants are simple, and I can help myself. The housemaid -is very kind and attentive." - -"And you gave Edgar his breakfast? I hope you enjoyed that. Isn't he -charming? And I must tell you a great secret. He is charmed with you. -I am so glad, because I've had such trouble with my lady-housekeepers. -Either they could not get on with my husband, or they wanted to be with -him too much. Women are so tiresome and so catty to one another." - -Isla repressed an inordinate desire to laugh. - -"Tell me what you talked about, won't you?" Mrs. Chard continued. "It's -being kept in the dark in my own house that I hate so much. It isn't -fair--do you think it is? For, after all, though I am not strong I do -take an interest in things." - -"I didn't say much. Mr. Chard talked a good deal--principally about -you." - -"Oh, indeed; and what did he say? Told you all sorts of naughty things, -I suppose?" - -The spectacle of this elderly woman waxing coquettish on the subject of -her husband filled Isla with a curious mixture of pity and amusement. - -"No. He was chiefly trying to impress on me the fact that you are very -ill and that you require to be kept quiet and not worried in the least." - -"Dear Edgar! he is most considerate! He quite spoils me." - -"I was very much surprised to hear that you had no doctor in attendance, -Mrs. Bodley-Chard. Wouldn't it be better for you to see some one?" - -Mrs. Bodley-Chard uplifted her hands in mute protest. - -"Doctors! I've spent fortunes on them, and they've never done me the -smallest good. The last one I had--a man from Mount Street, a very new -broom who was going to sweep the West End quite clean--quarrelled with -Edgar. What do you think? He actually had the audacity to say that -there was nothing whatever the matter with me and that, if I were a poor -woman who had to get my living, I should be going about quite well." - -Isla privately wished she knew that doctor. She felt sure that she -should like him. - -"But perhaps, though he need not have put it so harshly, there was a -grain of truth in what he said, and at least it was an honest expression -of opinion." - -"Edgar was furious and kicked him out of the house--not actually, you -know, but he told him very plainly what he thought of him. They had a -frightful row, and he said all sorts of things to Edgar--impertinent, -even libellous things. Poor dear, he was very good about it, and, for -my sake, took no further steps against Dr. Stephens, because he did not -wish me to be worried." - -"And since then?" - -"Since then I haven't had anybody, and I'm just as well without anybody. -Edgar is very clever. He studied medicine for a time before he went on -the Stock Exchange, and I believe that it was because Stephens found -that he knew a little too much that they quarrelled as they did. Edgar -gives me all the medicine I need, which isn't much--chiefly, -sleeping-draughts. I used to have such dreadful nights before he took -me in hand. Fancy! Dr. Stephens wanted to stop the sleeping-draughts." - -"I don't wonder at that," said Isla quickly. "I should like to stop -them, too." - -"You'd never be so cruel. Nobody would. Why, they are my greatest -comfort. I suffer so with my head." - -"But it is very dangerous to use them, as you do, without proper medical -supervision." - -"But, you see, I have medical supervision. My husband quite understands -all about them." - -"It is very dangerous," asserted Isla firmly, "and I am surprised that -Mr. Bodley-Chard does not see it." - -"Ah, now you are going to be cross and horrid, just as my first husband -used to be. He hated ill-health. He was one of those great big, -overpowering sort of men who never have a day's illness in their lives. -But he dropped down dead suddenly one day when we were lunching in the -city together. Oh, it was dreadful! I can never forget Edgar's -kindness at that time. He was Mr. Bodley's chief clerk and understood -all his business. So, you see, when I married him it made everything -very easy. I have not the smallest trouble about money now." - -Isla listened to all this with very mixed feelings, and she tried to be -just in her judgment of Mr. Bodley-Chard. But she found that the most -difficult of all the tasks set her at Hans Crescent. - -She tried to change the subject. - -"It's a beautiful morning, Mrs. Chard. Won't you let me help you to -dress so that we may get out in the sunshine? Have you a carriage?" - -"Not now. We simply job one at Burdett's. But I don't want to go out, -thank you. Edgar is so afraid of a chill for me. We are very happy, -Miss Mackinnon," she said with a small touch of dull defiance in her -heavy eyes. "In spite of the ten years' difference in our ages, I could -not have a more devoted husband. Mr. Bodley was so different! He was -the sort of man who makes people run about for him, and he used to shout -at the servants dreadfully. Not but what he was kind enough and -generous enough, too, in his way. But he had not dear Edgar's delicacy -of feeling. He is never cross, however put out he may be. He says that -a gentleman's first duty is to control his temper." - -Isla listened to this eulogy wholly unmoved. She had by this time -arrived at the conclusion that Mrs. Bodley-Chard's mental faculties were -impaired by bodily weakness and by indulgence in some form of narcotic. -She made up her mind very quietly to do what she could to combat the -unwholesome forces which surrounded this woman's life, and already she -had vague ideas of her plan of campaign. If only she could persuade -Mrs. Chard to call in that Mount Street doctor, between them they might -manage to bring her back to the plane of active, healthy life. - -Isla's practised eye told her that there was no actual disease, but that -her hypochondriacal weakness had been so pandered to that she had -completely lost her will-power. It was a sad spectacle, and Isla rose -with courage to the idea of working some improvement. - -She must go warily, however, realizing the fact that she had much -prejudice to overcome. With Mr. Bodley-Chard's opinion or attitude in -the matter she did not concern herself. She was his wife's servant, and -she would do her duty by her. - -Isla's introduction to this domestic drama was the very best thing that -could have happened to her just then. She threw herself heart and soul -into it with all the ardour of her Celtic temperament; only she was -liable to err in the haste and impulsiveness with which she desired to -act. - -"Then you won't go out to-day?" she said coaxingly--"not even after I -have been out and reported on the sunshine?" - -"Not to-day--another day perhaps, and if Edgar likes the idea we could -all have a little drive together. I'm going to sleep again now. Did you -ever see such a sleepy-head?" - -Isla had her own thoughts as she left the room to interview the cook and -to take up her position definitely in the household. That part of her -business presented no difficulties whatever. The one thing that filled -her with misgiving was the physical and mental condition of Mrs. -Bodley-Chard. - -Her dislike of the husband had increased after her conversation with him -at the breakfast table. He had started by being complimentary and -charming, but, finding Isla unresponsive, had then spoken rather -disagreeably about her position in the household, warning her quite -pointedly that Mrs. Bodley-Chard was in the hands of a capable maid who -understood her temperament and who would not brook any interference from -outside. Isla listened in silence, and, remembering her impression of -Fifine, felt her pity for Mrs. Chard increase. - -Having reduced the new inmate of the house to silence and--as he -thought--submission, Mr. Bodley-Chard departed airily to the city to -forget all about his wife. For the first time, however, since he had -become a pensioner on a rich woman's bounty he was to find himself -weighed in the balance and found wanting. Isla's eyes had a -disconcerting clearness, and her recent experiences had made her -suspicious and critical of all mankind. - -She found that her duties in the house were by no means heavy. - -There was a sufficient staff of servants to do the work properly, though -they wanted careful handling. Isla's gift in that direction was a -special one. She had that nice mixture of friendliness and hauteur -which made its due impression on the women of a household which had -never had a proper mistress. When they found that Miss Mackinnon knew -her business, and that she intended that they should know theirs, too, -they submitted with a very fair grace. - -There were five servants in the house besides the French maid. Fifine -was Isla's only failure, and before she had been a week in the house she -was obliged to conclude that the Frenchwoman was Mr. Bodley-Chard's -ally, working with him to keep his wife in a state of bodily -helplessness and mental confusion. - -On Sunday afternoon she walked across the Park in the cool autumn wind -to tell Agnes Fraser some of her experiences. She found that good lady -much perturbed by a letter which she had received from Elspeth Maclure. - -"Read that, Miss Isla, and tell me what to say when I write back. It's -maistly aboot you." - -Isla sat down and took out Elspeth's rather badly written sheet, while -Agnes critically regarded her and was obliged to admit that she looked -better than when she had left her house four days before. - -Elspeth wrote without embroidery to her old neighbour of her own -concerns and of the things that were happening in the Glen:-- - - -"DARRACH, LOCHEARNHEAD, 18 _October_. - -"DEAR NANCE,--It's ages since onybody has heard from you, but I must -write, for things are that queer here that you would hardly ken the -Glen. I suppose you have heard about the American folk in Achree. -There's naething the matter with them, and some of us wish that they -were there for good and that we had no other Laird. We were to leave at -Martinmas, but Donald has gotten round the Laird to let him stop another -year at a higher rent. That will give us time to look about. But, as I -said to Miss Isla, my man will never leave Darrach and live. He'll be -found in the Loch afore the day comes, or else dee of a broken hert in -the bed where he was born. Miss Isla has gone away from the Glen, but -maybe you have seen her. She seemed to forget all about us lately, but -the poor lassie's head must be near turned with all the trouble of -Achree. They're saying in the Glen that her and the Laird had words -before she left and even that he doesn't know now where she is. Some -say she has gone away to foreign parts to Lady Mackinnon, and then, -again, there's some say naebody kens where she is. It's a terible -business anyway, and if you have seen or heard tell of her I wish you -would write and let us know, for there's a heap of folk in the glens -that are not easy in their minds about it. They're saying, to, that the -Laird is after one of the Miss Rosmeads--the one that divorced her man -in America, but that there's somebody else has a grip of him. There was -a woman stopping at the Strathyre Hotel. William Thorn that is the -Boots there told Donald about her the other day. And it seems that she -talked a lot about the Laird and about what would happen if he sought to -marry Mrs. Rodney Payne. Then, quite suddenly--I believe it was the -very night before Miss Isla went away--he went to Strathyre and saw her. -They went out for a walk together, and the next morning she left with -the train. Sic ongauns, Nance--very different from the auld days at -Achree when we wass all happy together! Write soon to your auld neibour -and say what you think about all this, and mind you tell me if you've -see Miss Isla. That's the chief thing. Only don't send a postcard, -Nance, for David Bain reads every wan of them and the Glen hass all the -news afore a body gets it themselves. Love from your auld neibour, - -"ELSPETH MACLURE". - - -Isla laid down the closely-written sheet, and a little quiver ran across -her face. - -Agnes Fraser sat forward, her questioning eyes very eager and bright. - -"What am I to say, then, Miss Isla?" - -"Say, Agnes, that you have seen me and that I am quite well. But I -forbid you to give any particulars. Do you understand?" - -"I understand, of course, but I dinna see, Miss Isla, how it is possible -for ye to live long like this. Some o' your folk will come seekin' -ye--that's a sure thing. If Mr. Malcolm believes that ye have gane to -Lady Mackinnon he will soon be hearin' frae them that you are not there. -It's a dreadfu' business a'thegither, and I hate the idea of where ye -are now. It doesn't sound richt at a'. Leave it the morn, Miss Isla, -and come back here." - -"No, no. I am very comfortable. I am well paid, and I am interested in -what's going on in the house. I had no idea that there were such -exciting incidents in real life. I feel really as if I were a sort of -Sherlock Holmes, and I don't worry half as much as I used to do about my -own affairs." - -Isla spoke as she felt at the moment, but the time came when she -realized that there had been more truth and foresight in Agnes Fraser's -point of view than she had admitted. - -After four days' close observation in the household of Mrs. Bodley-Chard -she arrived at an absolute conviction as to what was actually happening. -Mrs. Chard was being kept continuously under the influence of drugs that -were gradually destroying her will-power and leaving her ever weaker and -weaker and more utterly in the hands of her unscrupulous husband. - -That he was unscrupulous Isla had not had the smallest doubt from the -moment she entered the house. Also, she had satisfied herself that the -French maid carried out all his instructions regarding her mistress, -and, as she was in close attendance on her, while Isla was only an -occasional visitor to her room, she had everything in her power. - -Finding that Isla kept him at arm's length and that she had not the -smallest intention of being friendly with him, Mr. Bodley-Chard -abandoned all his efforts to attract her and treated her in a very -off-hand manner. Without being positively rude, his manner was most -offensive. - -Isla, however, entrenched herself behind her natural reserve and did not -mind. One day she made so bold as to put a very straight question to -Mr. Chard. - -"Mrs. Chard is very unwell to-day," she said quietly and politely. "She -is quite unable to give her mind to any of her ordinary affairs." - -"There is no occasion for her to give her mind to anything. People are -paid to do the work of the house," he said pointedly. - -"That is not what I mean. Her mind seems to wander. May I call in a -doctor? It distresses me to see her like that." - -A cold, almost baleful light came into his eyes, and his mouth, under -the carefully-trimmed moustache, became very ugly. - -"You are my wife's housekeeper--not her nurse." - -"Pardon. I was engaged as a housekeeper-companion," said Isla quite -clearly. "And I can't see her growing worse every day without being -troubled about it. Hasn't she any relations or friends who could come -and take her in hand, then? It does not seem right to leave her so much -in the hands of a flighty French maid." - -"Are you aware that your words are offensive and that they cast an -imputation upon me? When I think my wife requires other attention or -supervision it will be time to get it. She has the most implicit -confidence in me--or had until you sought to undermine it." - -Isla did not even take the trouble to deny the false charge, but merely -left the room, seriously troubled about what was her duty in the matter. - -A week later, she left the house one morning to do her ordinary shopping -and, in the course of her outing, walked the whole length of Mount -Street, looking for the house of Dr. Stephens. When she found it she -hesitated a moment or two before she rang the bell. She was only -encouraged to take this step by the reflection that a doctor's -consulting-room is the grave of many secrets and that nothing she could -say there would be used against her. - -A motor-car was in waiting, and when the door of the house was opened -she saw the doctor coming out to start upon his rounds. - -"I am just going out, but I can see you, of course," he said cordially -enough, leading the way to his consulting-room. - -Isla's first look at him pleased her. He was tall and thin and -clean-shaven with a clever, serious face--a man to whom it would be -possible to explain the situation in a very few words. - -"You don't know me, Dr. Stephens, and I hardly know how to explain my -call this morning. I come from the house of Mrs. Bodley-Chard in Hans -Crescent." - -"Oh, indeed!" he said interestedly. "And how is Mrs. Chard?" - -"She is very unwell," said Isla in a low, quick voice. "I am her -housekeeper-companion. My name is Mackinnon." - -"Yes?" said the doctor still interestedly. "Mrs. Bodley-Chard has had a -good many, I think." - -"I have been there only three weeks, and I am seriously concerned about -her. It is because she told me you were once her medical attendant that -I am here to-day." - -"Yes. But as I have ceased attendance upon the lady I hardly know why -you should have called." - -"I simply had to come. Mrs. Chard has no doctor attending her at -present. I understand that she has had none since you left. And it is -quite time that somebody was on the spot to--to look after her. -Otherwise I believe she will die." - -"Why do you think that?" - -"Because she is being kept almost continuously under the influence of -drugs, administered by her husband and her French maid," said Isla quite -clearly and unhesitatingly. "I believe myself there is nothing the -matter with her except that, and if she were removed from it all she -would get quite well." - -Dr. Stephens took a turn across the floor, and when he came back to -Isla's side his face was even graver than it had been. - -"Miss Mackinnon, I don't for a moment doubt the truth of what you are -saying. On the contrary, I know it to be perfectly true. But we are -quite powerless." - -"Oh, how can you say that! It is terrible if two responsible persons -know that this wicked thing is going on and take no steps to stop it! I -can't be a party to it, and I was in hopes that you would help me." - -"I was kicked out of the house by that unspeakable cad, Chard, and I -can't go back again. We have no possible way of getting at him, except -one--to lodge a complaint with the police. Are you prepared to do that? -Frightful responsibility is incurred by taking that step, of course--to -say nothing of the publicity attending it." - -Isla sank back. - -"Oh, Dr. Stephens, I couldn't do that! But surely you, an influential -medical man, knowing the facts, can do something--ought to do -something----" - -He shook his head. - -"I'm not so well up in medical jurisprudence as I used to be," he said -with a slight smile. "But I'll take expert opinion to-day. Could you -possibly come and see me to-morrow?" - -"I could, of course. What I am trying to do is to persuade Mrs. Chard -to let you resume personal attendance on her. If she consents will you -come?" - -"I don't know. It is a very awkward case. Don't forget that Chard put -me out of the house because I told him quite plainly--well, just what -you have told me to-day." - -Isla saw the difficulties of the position and, after a little more -conversation with the doctor which strengthened her determination to get -him back to the house, she bade him good-morning. - -When she reached Hans Crescent it was almost lunch-time, and Robbins, -the butler, was waiting for her with a note. - -"This has come by hand from the city for you, Miss. It is from Mr. -Chard." - -Isla turned aside to open the letter, and when she broke the seal she -saw a pink slip that looked like a cheque. - -Within, there were written a few curt words, dismissing her from her -position in the house and requesting that she would leave before four -o'clock. - -With reddening cheeks she passed up the stairs and tapped lightly at the -door of Mrs. Chard's room. There was no answer, and, after repeated -knocks, she tried to open the door and found it locked. - -At the moment Fifine appeared at the other end of the corridor with a -small, satisfied smirk on her lips. - -"Mrs. Chard can't see you, Mees. She particularly said I was not to let -you in. She's asleep now. She told me to say that she will write to -you in the evening if you will be good enough to leave your address." - -Isla turned on her heel, her quick Highland temper flashing in her eyes. -She was very sorry for the poor woman, but she could not be ordered from -her house a second time. - -She walked to her own room and began to gather her belongings together. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - - THE CHAMPION - - -Malcolm Mackinnon, busy with his own concerns, had no qualms about his -sister even when the weeks went by, bringing no line or sign from her. -The Barras Mackinnons did not write either, but when Malcolm thought of -the matter at all he concluded that she was safe with them. Obviously -there could be no other explanation of the silence. - -Towards the end of November, however, a somewhat disturbing note from -Lady Mackinnon arrived at Creagh. - -"As Isla has not chosen to answer any of our letters I am writing to ask -what is the matter with her. We kept on expecting her at Wimereaux up -to the last, and Uncle Tom was much disappointed that she did not come. -I am writing to say that we shall be in Glasgow on Thursday night, en -route for Barras, and that if you and she will come up for the night to -St. Enoch's we can talk things over. If Isla likes to bring her things -and go on with us to Barras we shall only be too glad." - -Malcolm stood, staring stupidly at the letter, and, for the moment, he -was at his wits' end. Isla had not gone to Wimereaux, their folk knew -nothing of her!--where, then, was she? Had Malcolm lived in close -intimacy with the folk in the Glen, as Isla had done, he would have -heard by now from Elspeth Maclure that she had gone no farther than -London and was there still. - -Truth to tell, he had been so relieved by his sister's departure that he -had not troubled his head about her or noticed the quick flight of time. -Things were going well with him, and the spectre in the background was -giving no unnecessary trouble. He was a great believer in luck, as many -ignorant persons are, and he believed that his had turned. His chief -business in life just then was the wooing of Vivien Rosmead, and he was -now anticipating the day, not far distant, when he intended to ask her -to be his wife. - -He hoped to arrange the matter quietly when Rosmead returned to -Scotland, and to have his marriage an accomplished fact as soon -thereafter as possible. Then he could snap his fingers at all the -phantoms of the past. - -Malcolm, however, did not reckon with certain forces that are stronger -than the poor planning of the human brain, and so he marched on -unconcernedly to the crisis of his fate. - -He received his aunt's letter one day at Lochearn when he was on his way -to Glasgow to see Cattanach. At the station he met Neil Drummond, who -was going up to Callander to see a man at the Dreadnought Hotel, and, -being full of the news that had just come, he blurted it out to Neil, -who had seemed of late disposed to be more friendly to him. - -"Look here, Drummond. Has your sister ever heard from Isla since she -left Glenogle?" he asked as he offered Neil his cigarette-case. - -"No, she hasn't, and Kitty has wondered, of course. I suppose she's -still with your uncle and aunt at Wimereaux?" - -Garrion folks, in common with others, had frequently made inquiries -about Isla's welfare, and Malcolm had invariably answered that she was -all right. None of them had any doubt but that she had been with the -Barras Mackinnons for the last two months. - -"They've left the place. They're going back to Barras on Friday, but -Isla isn't with them. She never has been." - -"Never has been! Then, where is she?" asked Neil blankly. - -"Well, old chap, to tell you the truth, I don't know. When she left she -certainly said that she was going to them." - -"But haven't you had any letters?" - -"Not a blessed one." - -Neil looked him all over with a sudden, sharp scrutiny that, to another -man, would have been, to say the least of it, unpleasant. - -"You say you haven't known all this time where she is?" - -"I haven't known. I tell you she hasn't written to me. That's why I -asked whether your sister had heard." - -"And you haven't made the smallest effort to find out?" - -"Why should I?" inquired Malcolm coolly. "She's of age, she knows her -own mind, she had plenty of money, and she doesn't want to be harried -about her private business. You don't know Isla, Neil, though you think -you do, and the man who marries her will have a hard row to hoe. I can -tell you that." - -Drummond crushed back the desire to take Malcolm Mackinnon by the -throat. He was not normal where Isla was concerned, and he took a far -more serious view of the situation than there was any need to do. - -"Do you mean to say that you haven't the shadow of a clue as to where -she is or what she is doing? Haven't you any other friends in London to -whom she could have gone?" - -"None--except an old servant of Achree who lives somewhere about the -Edgeware Road," said Malcolm with a sudden flash of remembrance. "Don't -wear such a worried look, old chap, and don't forget that Isla is -twenty-six years of age and more capable than either of us of looking -after herself." - -"But, hang it all, she's a woman, Malcolm, and--and your sister ought -not to be adrift like that!" - -"She isn't adrift," said Malcolm cheerily. "And, anyway, what can we -do? If she chooses to hide herself, as she seems to be doing, who is to -prevent her? She has her reasons for doing so, no doubt." - -Neil Drummond was conscious of a growing indignation, of a swift return -of his old rage against Malcolm, and of scorn of that careless, -irresponsible being who had made life such a burden to the woman whom -Neil himself loved. He withdrew with a snort into his own corner and -jumped out at Callander with a very curt good-bye. - -He put through his business there very quickly and returned to -Lochearnhead by the earliest possible train. During the whole journey he -was racking his brains as to how and where he could discover the address -of the old servant of whom Malcolm had spoken. He knew Isla's ways, and -he was aware that it had always been her delight when in London to look -up any of her own folk who were settled there. He ran over in his -memory the servants at Achree with whom he had been familiar, but he -could not fix his mind on anyone in particular. Diarmid, however, who -had been with the Mackinnons for nearly thirty years, would surely be -able to help him. He would go to Diarmid. - -His bicycle had been left at the station, because the train had offered -a quicker way of getting over the heavy roads to Callander. He now took -it out and rode swiftly down the hill to Lochearn and up Glenogle -towards Creagh. - -Neil had all the swift impetuosity of the Celt in his blood, and he did -not let the grass grow under his feet. - -He was fortunate, however, in obtaining the information he desired about -half way up, at the farm-house of Darrach, where he came upon Elspeth -Maclure taking her washing down off the lines in the front garden. - -He swung himself off his machine, set it against the drystone dyke, and -pushed open the little gate. - -Elspeth, surprised and pleased by this little attention, hastened to ask -him into the house. - -He thanked her, but declined. - -"I am seeking information, Mrs. Maclure. I was on my way to Creagh to -see Diarmid, but perhaps you will do. Do you remember the name of an -old servant of the Mackinnons who married in London and settled -somewhere in the neighbourhood of the Edgeware Road?" - -A curious flicker crossed Elspeth's eager face. - -"You mean Agnes Fraser that was under housemaid at Achree when I was -upper of three, do ye, Maister Drummond?" - -"I suppose I do if the description answers," he said with a laugh. "But -I don't know her name." - -"She lives at 18 Cromer Street, Edgeware Road, sir," answered Elspeth. -"If ye'll just come intil the hoose I'll write it doon." - -"Here you are," said Neil, drawing out a notebook and a pencil. "18 -Cromer Street, Edgeware Road. Thank you very much. That saves me that -stiff pull to Creagh, and the roads are heavy to-day. I was glad to -leave my machine at the station and take a handy train to Callander. -Maclure and all the young folks well, I hope?" - -"Yes, sir, thank you," said Elspeth, but the odd, eager expression did -not leave her face as she followed the Laird of Garrion to the gate. "I -had a letter from Mrs. Fraser not so long ago, Maister Drummond." - -"You had--eh? And what was her news?" - -"She said she had had Miss Mackinnon stoppin' at her hoose. That was -aboot a month ago." - -"Do you think she is there still?" asked Neil with apparent -carelessness, though his hand as he stooped to his bicycle trembled a -little. - -"I'm no sure, but I think, Maister Drummond, that Agnes wass troubled -apoot her. I haf been troubled mysel'. For, look you, it iss an awfu' -thing for the Glen that Miss Isla should haf peen spirited away like -this. It iss not the same at all. And nopody efer speakin' her naame or -tryin' to get her pack--that iss the worst thing of all. If you please. -Maister Drummond, askin' your pardon for my free speech----" - -Drummond sprang to his machine and waved his hand in parting. - -"Good-bye, Mrs. Maclure. I'll bring Miss Isla back if it can be done. -But keep a quiet tongue in your head--not a word to a soul." - -He rode off at break-neck speed and, to the great astonishment of his -folk, announced that he had to leave Garrion that very night for London, -having business there. - -Drummond slept soundly in the train, for he was young and strong, and he -had had a tiring and exciting day. - -Arrived at Euston, he entered the hotel and made himself fit for his -great quest. But after he had finished his toilet and gone through the -whole menu of the table d'hote breakfast it was only half-past eight. -Even an old friend may not presume to call on a lady at such an unholy -hour of the morning. - -London had no bright welcome for the Laird of Garrion. One of the worst -fogs of a particularly foggy November lay like a thick yellow pall over -everything, and through its impenetrable folds weird shapes and shadows -loomed, and strange, half-stifled cries troubled the air as if there -were some invisible and ghostly warfare waged in the streets. - -"How long do you suppose it will take me to get to the Edgeware Road in -this--eh?" he asked the big porter in the hall. - -"Ten minutes by the underground, sir," he answered. "After that, I don't -know!" - -Neil took the risks. About half-past ten o'clock he emerged from the -underground fastness of the Edgeware Road Station and began to grope his -way about for his ultimate destination. But it was a sorry business. -He seemed to be wandering round in a circle, and by noon he did not know -which end of the Road he was at. - -Then a sudden miracle, often seen in the case of a London fog, was -wrought by some invisible force in the upper air. The thick veil was -drawn back as if by unseen hands, a few feeble rays of wintry sunshine -filtered through the gloom, and London became free and visible once -more. - -Neil then found that he had wandered into Maida Vale, where he was -totally stranded. He hailed a passing hansom and, giving the address, -sat back comfortably with his cigarette, all unconscious, until he took -a peep into the little mirror at the side of the cab, that his face was -exceedingly grimy and that there were various smudges on his collar. - -Neil was not vain, but a man likes to look his best when he goes to see -the girl he loves. He did what he could to remedy the defects, and was -fairly satisfied with the results when the cab set him down at his -destination. - -The jingling cab bells reached Agnes Fraser's ears in the dining-room, -where, with a polishing cloth, she was trying to remove the traces of -the fog from her furniture. - -She herself opened the door and had no doubt when she saw a tall young -man alighting from the hansom that he was only some fresh seeker after -"accommodation," which is the word used in her business. She had of -course, seen the Laird of Garrion when he was a boy but she did not -recognize him now. - -He paid the man and came smilingly to the door. - -"Mrs. Fraser? You don't know me, I can see, though you must have seen -me sometimes at Achree--Drummond of Garrion." - -Agnes's face flushed warmly. - -"Oh, sir, I beg your pardon. I micht hae kent; but there--of course ye -are cheenged. Will you come inside, sir? It's a prood woman I am to -bid ye to my hoose." - -He entered the house, and, with his hat in his hand, put the one -straight question on his lips. - -"Is Miss Mackinnon here?" - -A great light broke over Agnes Fraser's mind. She nodded silently, -pointing to the dining-room, and followed him in. - -"This is God-sent, Mr. Drummond. I wad hae written to the Glen the day -if ye hadna come." - -"But what is wrong? I hope Miss Mackinnon is not ill?" he said with -eager apprehension. - -"Not ill in her body, though she has got very thin. But will you not sit -down, and I will tell you? She is not in the hoose at this very meenit, -though I think I can tell ye whaur to find her." - -Neil took the chair and waited for all that he might hear. - -"She has been in this hoose, sir--let me see--ten weeks a'thegither, -coontin' frae the time she cam' first. Three weeks of that time she was -at that queer hoose in Hans Crescent." - -"What queer house?" - -Agnes then grasped the fact that nobody in Glenogle or Balquhidder knew -aught of Isla's movements since she had come to London, and she -proceeded in her own terse and graphic way to describe them. - -"Weel, ye see, she cam' here--for why, I dinna ken. Them that's left in -the Glen are the wans that should ken that bit of it. But she cam', not -intendin' at a' to go to foreign places to Lady Mackinnon, but jist to -live by hersel' and get her ain livin'." - -Neil started in his chair. The thing was unthinkable--intolerable. It -could not be Isla of whom the woman was talking, yet her broad, comely -face was so full of honest concern and her voice rang so true that he -could not doubt a word. - -"I was wae for her, for I ken London through and through, and what a -hole it is--bar for them that hae money and heaps o' folk. In the Glen, -see, ye can live withoot onybody and no be that ill aff, but London -is--is fair hell unless ye hae folk; I'm sayin' that, that kens. I telt -her weel, though I was a prood woman to hae her in my hoose, and wad hae -dune ony mortal thing for her. But it was not the hoose for her that -had been brocht up in the Castle o' Achree wi' servants at her ca'. Her -idea was to lodge wi' me and work in the day-time, but she could get -naething like that to do." - -Agnes paused, breathless, and dashed away something from her eye. - -"When I tell ye ye'll maybe lauch, and maybe ye'll greet. It's what I -felt mair like. The first place she gaed to was to a woman that wantit -somebody to tak' oot her pet dogs for an airin' in the Park. Yes, she -went after that--Miss Mackinnon of Achree!--she did! And that'll show -ye far better than I can tell ye what London is for the woman-body that -has neither money nor folk." - -Drummond was silent, but the veins began to rise on his ruddy forehead, -and his kind eyes flashed fire. - -"She didna think she wad tak' that at seevin-an'-saxpence a week," -pursued Agnes with merciless candour, "and syne she gaed to the Hans -Crescent place to be a kind o' companion-hoosekeeper to a leddy. O' a' -the traps there is set in London for a woman-body--that's the warst, -for, look ye, Maister Drummond, a servant-lass kens what she is and what -she has to dae, but when you're that," she said, with a scornful snap of -her fingers, "you're neither fish nor flesh nor guid red herrin'. But -gang she would. It seems that Mrs. Bodley-Chard--sic a name to begin -wi'--but they're a' daft wi' their double-barrelled names here!--was an -auld wife married to a young man that had been her first man's clerk. -It was her money he was efter, and Miss Isla thocht he was tryin' to get -rid o' her wi' some pooshonous drug. Ye ken Miss Isla. Nae -joukery-pawkery can live near whaur she is, and she began to fecht the -scoondrel quietly-like, daein' what she could for the puir woman. But -at the end o' three weeks she was dismissed at a moment's notice, her -money flung at her--like. She didna tak' that, and she cam' back here, -whaur she's been ever since. And she's got naething to dae sin syne, -and her money's near dune, and--and she's--weel, if ye see her, ye'll -ken what wey I was gaun to write to the Glen this very day." - -Drummond rose up from his chair, and he was like a man ready to fight -the whole of London for Isla's sake. - -"But what did she mean by it?" he said a little hoarsely. "There was no -need----" - -"She seemed to think there was. Forby, she was not pu'in' in the same -boat wi' Maister Malcolm--the Laird, I mean--and she has never written -to him or heard frae him since she cam'. That I do ken." - -"Well, and where is she? I must see her and, if possible, take her back -with me to the Glen." - -"When the fog lifted she gaed oot for a walk in the Park. She hasna -been gane twenty minutes or so. Ye can easy follow her. Do ye ken -London, sir?" - -"Not this part of it, I am afraid." - -"But ye canna go wrang. Gang oot into the Edgeware Road, and turn to -your left, and gang on till ye come to the Marble Arch. Syne you're in -the Park. She's very fond o' walkin' roond by the Serpentine. Ony bobby -will tell ye which wey to tak' when you're inside the gates." - -Drummond departed without further parley, and Agnes, with a big sigh of -relief, returned to her polishing. - -She had given the entire story away without ever having paused to -inquire whether the Laird of Garrion had the right to hear it. He had -certainly assumed some such right, and, anyhow, the time had come when -something had to be done. - -The desperate look in Isla's eyes that morning had haunted and terrified -her. Each week Isla had insisted on scrupulously paying the full amount -for "The Picture Gallery" and for such food as she ate in the house, and -now her little store was well-nigh exhausted. - -It was a very searching and cruel experience for Isla, the memory of -which never afterwards wholly faded from her remembrance, though she -always said she could never regret the period of "Sturm und Drang" which -had given her such insight into the lives of thousands of women battling -with adverse circumstances from the cradle to the grave. - -Garrion's temper worked itself into fever-heat as his great, swinging -stride took him through the swirl of the traffic at the Marble Arch and -into the cool, wide spaces of the Park. Against Malcolm Mackinnon his -anger burned with an unholy fire. He would never forgive him for -this--for his callous indifference to his sister's fate, for his -absolute failure to make the smallest inquiry on her behalf. In future -she should be removed from her brother's jurisdiction altogether, and he -would have to answer to him. - -Such was Neil's mighty resolve as he strode along, his restless eyes, -sweeping from side to side in search of the dear, slim figure of the -woman he loved. There was very little alloy of self in his thoughts -that winter morning as he swept round by the windy Serpentine in search -of Isla. It was all of her he thought with a vast, encompassing -tenderness which equalled Rosmead's, and was less cautious and -deliberate in its operations. - -He did not doubt in the least that he would find her, but he had to walk -a little farther than he expected. At the end of the beautiful sheet of -water there is a winding path, and, passing there, he looked up and saw, -sitting on one of the seats, a solitary figure which he thought looked -like Isla. Only at the distance he could not be quite certain. It did -not take him long to cover it. Dashing past the smart nursemaids and -the bonnie bairns, whose sweet freshness even London fogs could not dim, -he came presently to her side. And Isla, sitting with her head slightly -turned away, was not aware of his presence till the gravel crunched -under his impetuous foot and her name was spoken in the quick accents of -apprehensive love. - -She rose up a little wildly, stretched out her hands, essayed to speak, -then went white all over, and collapsed, a little heap of unconscious -humanity, on the seat. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV - - THE ARCH-PLOTTERS - - -Lady Betty Neil, the aunt of the Drummonds, who lived with them at -Garrion, was a Highland lady of the old school. She loved the Gaelic -and deplored its increasing disuse in the Glen, she had all the lore of -the North country at her finger-ends, and was, moreover, gifted with the -second-sight. - -Certainly, when she received a peremptory telegram from her nephew on -the second day after his departure for London, she evinced neither -perturbation nor surprise. - -"You go to London, Aunt Betty!" cried Kitty, open-mouthed. "What does -he mean? How dare he? Let me see the telegram." - -Lady Betty, leaning on her ebony stick with her left hand, produced from -her reticule the crumpled piece of pink paper bearing the summons. - -"I need you in London. Will meet you to-morrow night. Euston, -half-past six." - -Kitty looked from the telegram to her aunt's face and back again in -sheer amaze. Never had Lady Betty looked more like "an ancestor," which -was Sadie Rosmead's name for her. - -She was a picturesque old lady of great height and commanding mien, her -hair and eyes still as black as sloes, her face beautiful still, in -spite of its wrinkles--the face that had once been the toast of a -county. She was the Drummonds' nearest relative, their mother's sister, -in fact, and, though immensely wealthy, she had no fixed habitation of -her own, and she had agreed to live at Garrion, at any rate until Neil -brought home a wife. - -That he had found one now she did not doubt, and she hoped that he had. -Isla Mackinnon was a woman after her own heart. Neil had confided to -her the nature of the business that had taken him to London, but he had -enjoined silence. - -"Kitty can't hold her tongue, as you know, Aunt Betty. Besides, she's -too thick at Achree at present, and I don't want them to get wind of it. -This is a business that has to be done on the quiet." - -"Aunt Betty, what took Neil to London?" quoth Kitty with a severe -expression on her piquant face. "You and he are keeping me in the dark. -It isn't fair." - -"Neil has his reasons, my dear, and they are good ones, depend on it." - -"But you can't go to London by yourself, auntie! The thing's -outrageous! It can't be contemplated for a moment. I must go with you -to take care of you." - -"No, I'll take Lisbeth, and I must go and arrange matters with her now." - -Lady Betty was now seventy-four, but she was as straight and supple as a -young birch tree. She carried a stick--not because she needed it, but -because it was her whim to do so and because it had been given to her by -an old sweetheart for a wager. She had never parted with it. It was -her faithful companion by day, and at night it stood in a handy corner -by her bed. Lady Betty had never married. But had any married wife a -life so full of romance? This is not Lady Betty's story, however. - -She sniffed a love story afar off and rose to it with the keen scent of -a war-horse for the fray. There she would be in her element--keen, -shrewd, sympathetic, and full of common-sense. Neil had made no mistake -in sending that telegram. He knew the hour had come, and the woman. - -Aunt Betty was as gay as a young girl over her preparations, which were -so elaborate that Kitty felt called upon to remonstrate. - -"Mind your own business, my dear. I know mine. A lassie like you can -afford to rise and run. A woman like me must uphold the dignity of her -age and position. Neil has not said what he wants me for. I must be -prepared for any emergency." - -Kitty was speechless, consumed with curiosity and inordinately jealous. -She travelled to Stirling, however, to put her aunt on the London train, -and on the way back drove to Achree to acquaint the inmates with the -astounding news of Lady Betty's departure for London, that gave her one -hour's rare enjoyment and partly consoled her for being left behind. - -Lady Betty arrived at Euston as fresh and gay as when she had left -Garrion in the raw of the winter morning, driving down Balquhidder in a -blast of half-frozen rain. - -And Neil was on the platform to greet her, overjoyed at sight of her -clever old face. - -"You are a brick, Aunt Betty. But I knew you would come. How did you -get rid of Kitty?" - -"Not easily, my lad. But I did manage it. Lisbeth is here. Where are -we going, and where can she ride? We want to talk together in the cab, -you and I." - -"I have a brougham waiting. It's quite fair, and Lisbeth can go on the -box. We are going to Brown's Hotel." - -Lady Betty nodded an approval. She was known at Brown's. In the old -days, when she had been a figure in London society, she had often spent -a season there. - -"It's Isla Mackinnon, of course. Where is she?" - -"She's with an old servant of Achree living in a place off the Edgeware -Road, from which you will fetch her to-morrow," said Neil quietly. - -"And do what with her?" - -"That's for you to say." - -"Tell me about her.--everything you can or will. I must know how I -stand, and where. It's not for nothing that an old woman of -seventy-four rises and runs at a young man's bidding." - -Neil nodded comprehendingly, and in his quickest and most graphic way he -put her in possession of the facts. - -"It's an unco story," she said, folding her slender hands with an -unusual grip on the ebony stick. "It's not a story that Donald -Mackinnon would have liked to bear in connexion with his one ewe lamb. -I'm glad he's in Balquhidder," she said brusquely. "But the spunk of -the lassie! There's grit there Neil Drummond! She'll fight--ay, and -starve, but nobody shall know of it. That's the true spirit that has -made Scotland great! It's in the women yet, Neil, but it's scarce, very -scarce among the men." - -Neil had no time for platitudes. His head was a whirl of plans. - -"Does Isla know I'm coming?" asked the old lady then. - -"Yes. She expects you to-morrow." - -"Has she left herself in your hands, then, lad?" asked Lady Betty with a -curious straight glance under which Neil reddened. - -"So far. She's run down, body and spirit, Aunt Betty. I want you to -realize that before you see her. She--she has lost grip. My God, to -see Isla Mackinnon like that! It makes me itch to get with my two hands -at Mackinnon's throat!" - -"Leave him out of the count, Neil. His Maker will deal with him, I -dinna doubt," said the old lady quietly. "Then, she's to be turned over -to me to do with what I think fit." - -"Yes, and what she will agree to." - -"But this is a big thing, Neil. Does it mean that one day she will come -to Garrion?" - -"Please God, it does mean that. But only a brute would think of himself -at such a time. She must first be made well in body and spirit, Auntie -Betty. I'll come in later." - -"But if she's let you do all this she must like you, Neil. Isla -Mackinnon is not the woman to take favours of this kind from frem folk." - -"Wait till you see her," he pleaded, and she said no more. - -She ate an astonishingly big dinner, insisting on going down to the -restaurant, dressed in an elegant gown of rich black satin, with -priceless lace on the bodice and a diamond star glistening among its -filmy folds. Many looked in the direction of the handsome young man and -the still handsomer old lady and wondered who they were. - -Aunt Betty slept like a tired child the whole night long and rose at -eight o'clock when Lisbeth brought her morning tea, every faculty alert -and braced for the day's work. - -At half-past ten the brougham came again, and Neil drove with her to the -end of the Edgeware Road, where he got down, saying that he would meet -her at lunch at Brown's, whither she was to bring Isla if she could -persuade her to come. - -Agnes Fraser herself joyfully opened the door to Lady Betty Neil. She -was graciously recognized, and her welfare was asked for before Isla's -name was even mentioned. - -"Miss Isla is in her own room, my lady. Will you come up? A very dark -mornin', isn't it? I hope you are not very tired wi' your journey." - -Lady Betty suitably replied, and, with the aid of the ebony stick, she -climbed to "The Pictur Gallery," where Isla was sitting over the fire, -very white and spent, but with a more restful look on her face than it -had worn for many a day. - -She sprang up at the opening of the door. - -"Lady Betty, Lady Betty! You came all this way to see me!" she cried -breathlessly, holding out both her hands. - -"Wheesht, my dear--that's nothing. I loved your father well. I just -missed being your mother: and if I had been there would have been none -of this gallivanting. Where can I sit?" - -Isla drew in the most comfortable chair she could find, and the old lady -sat down and assumed her most characteristic attitude, in which the -ebony stick played a prominent part. - -"We're not going to talk about what's past, Isla, nor even about what's -to come. Our concern is with the present moment. Now I have plumed my -feathers and flown from Balquhidder, I've no mind to go back until the -sun begins to shine again. Will you go with me to-morrow to the south -of France? I've not been there for eleven years. We'll go to Monty, my -dear, and have a fling with the bravest of them. It stands to reason -that I can't go alone. Will ye go?" - -Isla sat very still, and from the expression of her face her thoughts -could not have been gathered. Perhaps the old lady partly guessed them. -The gift of second-sight brings in its train a sort of sixth sense that -enables its possessor to be sure about things that other people only -wonder about. - -"But I have no money, Lady Betty, and it is Kitty that you ought to -take." - -"Kitty can come by and by. Besides, she has been so many times there -that she is not caring about going any more. As for the money, I have -plenty, and soon I shall not need it. We don't take it with us when we -lie down in Balquhidder, my dear. And to spend a little here and there -while we have it--why, that's a big pleasure, and it is one that you -ought not to deny an auld wife." - -It was delicately done. Isla raised her swimming eyes and capitulated -in a moment. The prospect allured her beyond any power of hers to tell, -and no feeling of obligation to Lady Betty troubled her. One fine -nature responds to another. It was what Isla herself would have done in -similar circumstances--what, indeed, she had often done on a small scale -in the glens when she had the chance. The kinship of good deeds was -between them, and there is none closer. - -An immense satisfaction shone in the old lady's eyes at this -unexpectedly easy capture of the fort. They positively glowed with her -inward triumph, and, without so much as alluding to the odd -circumstances that had brought them together, she proceeded to expatiate -on what they would do when they got away to the sunshine. This was the -crowning touch of the wisdom that comes from the second-sight. - -Isla was sick to death of herself and of the sordid problems of her -life. What she wanted was to get away from everything that would remind -her of them, and, above all, from the people that would talk about them. - -"I have no smart clothes for the Riviera, Lady Betty. But take me as -your maid." - -"Lisbeth is here," was the grim answer. "I can get a maid for the -hiring, but companions and friends have to be won. I suppose you have -things to cover you, and, if I mind rightly, the shops at Nice were not -that bad, though they put it on for the English. But you and me will -get the better of them. Come then, my dear, and we'll go back to -Brown's to lunch and talk about all our plans." - -Then an odd shyness seemed to come over the girl. - -"Neil will be there, Lady Betty?" - -"Yes, I suppose that he will." - -"Then, will you excuse me? I--I haven't got over things yet. Did he -tell you how he found me?" - -"In a general way he did, but Neil has not his sister's gift of the gab. -You have to fill in with him. Of this you may be sure, Isla--that Neil -Drummond will not tell to me, or to anybody a thing that would vex or -humble you. He has set you up there!" she added with a slight upward -inflection of her eyebrows as well as of her voice. "So come, and -remember that you and I are not women with a past, but only with a -future." - -Cackling at her own joke, she carried off Isla, who met Neil in the -luncheon-room of the restaurant in a way which commanded Lady Betty's -highest admiration. Isla Mackinnon was no fool. She was neither -hysterical nor emotional. Lady Betty knew that in what the girl had -done her reason had fully justified her, though her method perhaps had -been at fault. She guessed that in the sunny days to come she would -hear the full story, or at least enough of it to enable her to fill in -all the gaps. - -Neil's manner was also admirable, and they appeared just like a happy -little family party, of which the old lady was the life and soul. - -That evening after dinner, over the fire in Lady Betty's sitting-room, -she indicated to her nephew his course of action. - -"It will not be a good thing for you to come with us just now, Neil. We -can make the journey by ourselves and get settled. Then I'll write." - -Disappointment immediately wrote itself large upon his face. He had -already wired to Garrion for another trunk to be sent and he had looked -forward to being the director of the little travelling party to the -south. - -"I am understanding Isla better than you, my dear, and just at the -present moment the sight of you humiliates her just a wee bit. She -canna forget how you found her and the weakness she thought she -betrayed. She has to get over that, and she will do it all the quicker -if you are not on the spot." - -"But, hang it all, Aunt Betty, to go back to Garrion--and Christmas -without you, too! I won't do it!" - -"I didn't lay down the law as to times and seasons. What is at the back -of my mind is that you will bring Kitty to Nice, or to Monte Carlo, or -to wherever we have settled ourselves, and spend Christmas with us. -Then folk will not have any talk about us, because I, of course, can do -as I like and nobody dare say a word." - -Neil's face brightened as he consulted his pocket-diary. - -"This is the fifth, so we shall come inside of three weeks." - -"You will come when I bid ye--not a moment sooner or later," she said -severely. "Don't forget how you hauled the old wife from the Garrion -fastnesses to the gay world again. Now she must have her revenge." - -When Neil did not answer she leaned forward on the ebony stick, and her -eyes grew soft and luminous. - -"Listen, lad. Ye may trust your Aunt Betty. She is not without -knowledge of a woman's heart. If Isla is to be won it will take time -and some skill. Her heart is asleep, but if I can waken it it shall be -done. Do you think I am to be idle in these three weeks? I think ye -may safely leave her in my hands. I will be true to your cause, for I -would dearly like to see her in the house of Garrion for all our sakes -as well as for her own." - -It was Neil's turn to capitulate, which he did with all the grace he -could muster. - -Next day at two o'clock of the afternoon he saw his aunt and Isla off by -the boat-train at Charing Cross, and thereafter he got ready for his own -return at night to Scotland. There was nothing to keep him in London -now, and he had left certain loose ends of his affairs at home which -would be none the worse of his handling. - -At the station Isla had broken down, trying to thank him with a faint, -wavering smile on her pathetic lips. - -"Don't, Isla, for God's sake, don't! It's down on my knees I'd go to -serve you, and besides, we made the pact--didn't we?--that day long ago -when we went to Glasgow together and lunched at St. Enoch's. I've lived -on the memory of that day all these months. Don't grudge me what I've -been able to do now. Besides, it's nothing but what Highland folk are -doing for one another every day." - -Lady Betty, observing the emotional moment, frowned upon him warningly -from the background, and he tried to restrain himself. When the train -fairly moved out Isla leaned out of the window to wave to him, and when -she drew back to her seat her eyes were still wet. - -"I've a job with that laddie, Isla. He's very thrawn. I'm often -thinking I'll wash my hands of him and Kate. What with his dour temper -and her tongue, my life is not as peaceful as a woman of my years has -the right to expect." - -"Neil--a dour temper, Lady Betty!" cried Isla spiritedly. "This is the -first I have heard of it, and I don't believe it now!" - -"It's there, my dear. And forby, in some things he hasna the sense of a -paitrick on the moor. I'm tired of them both, I tell ye, and glad to -get away." - -Oh, the wily old plotter! Isla would have argued the point with her and -was only restrained from doing so by her sense of decency. But this was -the line of diplomacy Lady Betty started on--belittling Neil up to a -certain point and voicing her relief at being rid of his company until -Isla waxed furious and championed him both by spoken word and in her -secret thoughts all the way south. - -Lady Betty, a real diplomatist in her way, took care, however, not to -overact her part. She would throw in at intervals a judicious word -which had the odd effect in casting a full glare of sunshine on all that -was best of Neil and so giving unexpected glimpses of his fine young -manhood. Then, after a time, she left the subject in order that her -words might filter down to the bed-rock of Isla's heart. - -Very grey and dour seemed Balquhidder and the Garrion hills when -Drummond drove up in the snell winter morning, meeting a bitter wind -that seemed to skin his face. - -"All right at home, Hamish?" he asked the groom, and, being answered in -the affirmative, he spoke no further word until they turned in at the -Garrion gate. - -"Miss Kitty is at Achree, sir. They came and fetched her away the day -you left," observed Hamish stolidly. - -"Why didn't you tell me that at the station?" inquired Neil rather -hotly, to which question the man answered never a word. - -"I took the telegram over last nicht, sir, and she will come back -to-day," he said after a moment in the same stolid fashion, wondering -what had happened in London to shorten his master's usually placid -temper. - -Kitty arrived in the Achree motor, alone, about luncheon-time. - -"I want to hear all about Isla, Neil," she cried. "I thought I should -find her here. What have you done with her and Aunt Betty?" - -"They have gone to the South of France." - -"Oh!" said Kitty, and her piquant face fell. "I don't call that fair of -Aunt Betty. She might have taken me." - -"If you're a good girl and don't talk too much between now and -Christmas," said Neil provokingly, "I'll take you myself to be there in -time for Christmas." - -Kitty danced in ecstasy. - -"Oh, I shall be glad. It's going to be a frightfully dismal Christmas -here this year, and nobody is going to do any entertaining. The -Rosmeads are all down in the mouth because their brother can't get away -for Christmas, and now it may be Easter, or even later, before they see -him. Bridge-building seems to be a very unsatisfactory business, though -you make so much money at it. Peter Rosmead has to work like a navvy. -He goes down into caissons--and things in diver's clothes to the bottom -of the river. That's where the difficulty is. Things are always -happening--silting, and queer things like that. Then the work has to be -done all over again. He seems annoyed about it, but he'll keep on at it. -He hasn't got that square jaw for nothing," cried Kitty breathlessly. -"Well, tell me all about Isla Mackinnon. What has she been doing all -this time?" - -"Nothing particular. There isn't any romance or tragedy--or anything. -She was simply living with an old servant of Achree and getting very -sick of it. She would have come home soon, anyway." - -"Did she seem glad to see you?" - -"Isla doesn't say much at any time. But, yes--I think she was glad. -Have you seen anything of Mackinnon at Achree, Kitty?" - -"Why, yes. I've seen him every day. He spends the most of his time -there, and I think it's going to be a match between him and Vivien." - -The colour rose a little in Drummond's cheeks. - -"I should have thought that she would have had enough of matrimony after -her experience," he observed drily. - -"I should have thought so, too, Neil. And at first I was angry at -Malcolm, thinking he was only after her money. But now anybody can see -that he cares. I wonder how long it will be before we hear the news, -and what Isla will say." - -Drummond had got fresh food for reflection. Knowing what he did of -Malcolm Mackinnon, he wondered just how much or how little the Rosmeads -guessed. It was a certain fact that had they known the whole truth -about Malcolm Mackinnon he never would have been permitted so much -intimacy at Achree. - -But the thought uppermost in Neil's mind was an unholy joy that -caissons, and silt, and other queer things, as Kitty put it, were -keeping Peter Rosmead safely out of the way at the bottom of the -Delaware River. He would not have minded much though he had never come -up again. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI - - THE LURE OF VIVIEN - - -Six weeks later, on a snowy January day, Neil Drummond rode one of his -big roans to the Lodge of Creagh, where he had a luncheon appointment -with Malcolm Mackinnon. It was one o'clock when he breasted the last -bit of rising ground and beheld in front of him the little house -standing sheer on the edge of the Moor of Silence, its bleak outline -silhouetted against the clear grey of the sky. - -The smell of Margaret Maclaren's baked meats was in his nostrils as he -turned in at the gate, whetting the appetite he had gained in his long -ride from Garrion. - -Neil never looked better than when astride a horse, and he was the best -judge of horse-flesh in all the Glen. In fact, that was his one -extravagance. He was looking particularly well that day. There was an -air of buoyancy about him which would not be repressed. He had whistled -and sung all the way from Balquhidder and had given Pride of Garrion her -head in a way which that damsel particularly liked and in which she had -seldom before been indulged. Her sleek sides were wet with foam as she -ran quivering to the door, tossing her pretty head, the breath coming -fast in her delicate nostrils, life brimming over in every pore and -muscle. - -Malcolm, who had been watching, opened the door immediately, bade him -good day, and in a word expressed his pleasure at sight of him. - -They walked together to the stable, where Neil himself rubbed down his -horse, saw that she had a modest drink, covered her up, and then turned, -ready to accompany his host back to the house. - -"Had a good time abroad--eh?" asked Malcolm with a somewhat covert -glance at Neil as they walked. - -Neil threw his head up with a joyous air. - -"Ripping. It's a bit thick coming back to the grey silence of the -glens. It's a white silence with us. We've heavy drifts from -Balquhidder up. You're pretty free here." - -"It's coming, though," said Malcolm, with an upward glance at the snell -skies. "Come inside. The house is small, but it's easily warmed. -That's one comfort." - -When Neil had washed his hands and brushed his clothes they passed into -the little snuggery, where Malcolm sat and smoked of an evening. He had -made some little alteration in the arrangement of the house, and the -room which the General had used as his library and sitting-room was now -converted into a dining-room, which it had originally been. It was a -man's house now, the few tokens of Isla's presence having long since -disappeared. - -Whether Malcolm was able to keep the peace between his two elderly and -contentious servants nobody knew. Truth to tell, he never bothered his -head about them, and many a storm rose and raged in the kitchen and was -followed by many a dead and ominous calm, but of these he seemed to be -totally unaware. He had none of those finer shades of feeling which had -rendered Isla immediately conscious of any rift in the domestic lute. - -Drummond stretched himself in the lounge-chair before the blazing peat -with a sigh of content. He was in the mood to be at peace with the -whole world and to give every man more than his due. It occurred to him -as he looked at Malcolm, on whose face the full light from the window -fell where he sat, that he had improved in looks of late. The -coarseness had disappeared from his features, and there was an -expression of refinement and delicacy which had been at one time wholly -absent. - -It was such an improvement that Drummond decided that Mackinnon's looks -had been underrated. The keen, hard, simple life, in conjunction with -the pursuit of a certain lofty ideal, had wrought its saving grace in -Malcolm Mackinnon, as it will in any man who gives it fair play. - -"Surely you didn't stop away as long as you intended," said Malcolm as -he lit up his pipe, while waiting for Diarmid's summons to eat. - -"I was there three weeks--long enough to idle about, though I could have -stopped three years," said Drummond significantly. - -"Your sister didn't come home with you?" - -"No. They haven't any plans just yet. Aunt Betty talks about staying -over Easter, and if they stop as long of course I'll go back." - -"Nice, is it, or Monte Carlo?" - -"Their headquarters are at Nice. My aunt has taken a villa. The old -lady is going strong, and she is looking younger every day. What a -warrior she is! She could give points to most of the girls one sees. -She knows how to enjoy life at seventy-five. She had her birthday when -I was there, and she had a dinner party of twelve. She has unearthed all -sorts of old friends on the Riviera, and more are turning up every day. -The latest is a Russian princess, whose mother was a Scotswoman -somewhere away back in the dark ages. They're all having the time of -their lives." - -Neil was making talk, and they both knew it. It was not to rehearse -these trivial items that he had come up that day to the Moor of Creagh. - -Just then Diarmid made timely diversion by announcing that luncheon was -served. His manner was irreproachable and dignified, and it could not -have been excelled in the most distinguished establishment. - -It was a great day for Diarmid, and he waited behind his young master's -chair with a secret pride, for the Laird of Garrion was a guest worthy -of honour. - -The luncheon, though simple, was excellent, and they both enjoyed it to -the full. A modest bottle of claret with the cheese just unloosed their -tongues, and when Diarmid had left them Neil looked across the table -very earnestly at Mackinnon's face. - -"I don't suppose it will come as a very great surprise to you, Malcolm." - -"What?" asked Malcolm with a start. - -"About Isla." - -"What about her? You saw her, of course. I didn't like to harry you -with questions, but I suppose she's all right with Lady Betty. She has -never written. I have managed, somehow, to commit the unpardonable sin -where Isla is concerned. I'm sorry, but there isn't anything I can do -now but wait her pleasure. You see it was she who cut the knot, so to -speak." - -Neil nodded as he crumbled the biscuit on his plate. - -"I don't know whether you know, Malcolm, that I have always wanted Isla. -I've asked her to marry me on the average about twice a year for the -last three or four years. Last year, I believe, I asked her six times." - -"Such persistence deserves its reward, and I hope you've got it, old -chap," said Malcolm, but his tone lacked warmth. - -He could not understand the man who wanted Isla. To him she seemed -lacking in most, if not all, of the qualities which make a woman -desirable. - -"She has said 'Yes' at last, Malcolm, and that's why I am here to-day," -said Neil. - -And his hand trembled ever so slightly as it rested on the sheer white -of the tablecloth. - -"Well, and what's going to happen next?" said Malcolm with a curious dry -note in his voice. "I'm glad, of course. It--it's a mighty relief to -me to hear that anything is likely to anchor Isla or settle her. Though -nobody may have given me credit for it, Neil, I've had many a bad -hour--ay, and day--about her up here." - -"I suppose you have," said Neil. "But, all the same, I can't help -saying that I don't think you ought to have left her as long as you -did--in London, I mean. That's all past, however, and there isn't any -use of going back on it now. It's the future, thank God, that concerns -us. I hope ours is going to be very bright." - -"She has agreed to marry you, then? Is it likely to be soon?" - -"What I should like, and what I'm hoping for, is that it may take place -at Nice. I've had to leave the details to Aunt Betty, and they're safe -with her. She's the most ripping General on earth. I owe this -happiness to her, I don't doubt. There's a Scotch church there, and we -could go south a bit for the honeymoon and get back to Garrion for the -summer." - -"It sounds all right, and in that way you would escape all the fuss and -talk of the glens," said Malcolm musingly. - -"I wanted to see you, Malcolm, because you're the head of the house, and -I must lay the position before you." - -"Oh, but there isn't any need, Neil,--between you and me, I mean. I -haven't the right. Isla has always managed her own affairs, and she -wouldn't like my interference now, I'm sure. Of course, anything I can -do I should like to do if I'm permitted. I'd go out to Nice to give her -away if she asked me." - -"We'll come to that later. I want to tell you that after I'm married -we'll have Garrion to ourselves. My aunt will get a place for herself -somewhere and take away Kitty. I'm not a very rich man, and you know -what Highland estates are in these times. But--again it's Aunt Betty to -the rescue. She says she'll give us ten thousand pounds as a wedding -gift and that there will be more to come later on. So you see you -needn't have any anxiety about Isla's financial position." - -"I couldn't have any in any case if she was in your hands," said Malcolm -with difficulty. "Ten thousand pounds and Garrion clear! By Gad, Neil, -you're a lucky beggar! Try to put yourself in my place for a moment and -see whether you wouldn't have some crumbs of pity for a poor devil who -can't make ends meet and who is just as anxious to have a home as you -can possibly be." - -A something swept over Malcolm's face--a spasm of infinite yearning -which oddly moved Neil Drummond. Happiness brings out all that is best -in a man. He forgot all his doubts of Malcolm Mackinnon, all his secret -and open blame of him, and he was able even to bury his anger against -him for his treatment of Isla as he stretched his hand across the table -to grasp Malcolm's. - -"Never mind, old chap. The luck will turn. It's bound to sooner or -later, you know. No man goes through the hards from first to last." - -Malcolm shook his head. - -"I suppose most men get the luck they deserve," he said a little -heavily. - -Later, these words recurred with poignancy to Drummond's mind. - -They smoked another pipe of peace together in the den afterwards, and -about half-past three Drummond took his horse once more and rode through -the fine powder of the newly-fallen snow towards the home that was now -illumined by so many stars of promise. - -A strange restlessness was upon Malcolm Mackinnon when he was left -alone, and, after a little deliberation, he took to his horse--the poor -common cob that had so often filled Drummond with compassion for the man -who had to mount it--and rode slowly down Glenogle. - -Though not bred in any of the glens, the cob had learned the way to -Achree and needed no guiding when he came to the gate. Achree, with the -delicate powder of the snow lying upon it and lightly touching the -exquisite tracery of the trees, was a dream-place that looked the fit -cradle for a thousand lovely hopes. - -Malcolm took his horse to the stables, and when he presented himself at -the door asked for Mrs. Rodney Payne. - -"She has gone to the village, to the post, sir," the man answered. - -This information caused Malcolm to turn about and walk away without -another word. What he had to say were perhaps better said in the open, -where none could hear and where there would be room to breathe and to -think. He had a die to cast that day which would make or mar the rest -of his life. - -It was below the Darrach Brig he met Vivien walking alone with step a -little fleet, the snow sprinkled over her long coat and lightly -powdering her beautiful hair. She was pleased to see him, but her -colour did not rise, nor were there about her any of the signs the -impatient lover can interpret to his own joy. - -That was the lure of Vivien. She was so still, like the waters of Loch -Earn on the quiet autumn days or in the hush of the early morning when -the dawn was waking upon its breast. - -"It is not a day for you to be out in. We are going to have a great -storm. At Creagh, Diarmid predicts the drift of the year. You must be -more careful of yourself." - -"Oh, but I love it!" she cried, her eyes lighting up. "There is -something ethereal in it all. I should like to walk on and on in it to -the limit of the world. Have you been at the house, and is there nobody -at home?" - -"I asked only for you," he made answer, greatly daring. - -But still the clear paleness of her face had no touch of flame upon it. - -"I had Drummond to lunch. Perhaps you met him? He went down the Glen in -front of me. I didn't ride with him, because I couldn't pit my sorry -old hack against his fine bit of horse-flesh." - -"He does have lovely horses, and he loves them--and don't they know it!" -said Vivien musingly. "Even a horse thrives best in an atmosphere of -appreciation and of kindly care." - -"And that's a true word, Mrs. Payne. May I tell you about Drummond and -what was his business with me to-day? It was a bit of family business, -but I hope you will do me the honour to be interested in it." - -"Surely, if you care to tell me I shall be interested," she answered -without a moment's hesitation. - -"You know, of course, that he has just come back from Nice?" - -"I knew he had gone anyhow, because Sadie has had budgets from Kitty." - -"And you know, too, that my sister is there with Lady Betty Neil?" - -"Yes," she answered quietly, "I knew that, too." - -"She is going to marry Drummond," said Malcolm then, not looking at her. - -It did not occur to him that she could have any acute personal interest -in the news. As for Rosmead, in his absence he had in more senses than -one dropped out of the count. - -"She is going to marry Neil Drummond!" said Vivien after a while, and -her voice was a little faint as if the news staggered her. "How very -extraordinary and unexpected!" - -"Why do you say that?" he asked anxiously. - -"Well, because, somehow, one never expected to hear that in this world. -Did you?" - -"I wasn't surprised. He has been in love with her since they were -children. He told me he had asked her six times last year." - -"Oh!" said Vivien with a little gasp. "Then one can only hope that they -will be very happy," she added, as if recovering herself by an effort of -the will. - -But her reception of the news was all very half-hearted, and Malcolm was -deeply disappointed. - -"I thought you would be pleased." - -"I am, if you are. I suppose you would like Mr. Drummond for a -brother-in-law." - -"Drummond is a very good sort. But what chiefly pleases me is that Isla -will have a proper home at Garrion and the position she ought to have. -It's a fine old place, and Drummond will be a rich man one day when Lady -Betty Neil is done with her money. She is to give them ten thousand -pounds as a wedding present." - -"'The Ancestor' has come up to expectation," said Vivien with a little -smile. "Have you heard from your sister? Is she very happy?" - -"I haven't heard from her," he answered lamely. "I'll be writing this -evening. May I send her a message from you?" - -"If you like. But I shall write myself--unless she is coming home -soon." - -"That is unlikely. Drummond talks of a marriage at the Scotch church at -Nice. In that case I, of course, would have to go there. But nothing -can be arranged till I have heard from Isla." - -"Don't you feel a little sore because she did not write to tell you -herself?" asked Vivien straightly and in a puzzled voice. - -The relations between Mackinnon and his sister had always puzzled and -saddened Vivien, and in her heart of hearts she had sometimes blamed -Isla. At other times, recalling the glimpse of the real woman she had -obtained on that never-to-be-forgotten day at the Lodge of Creagh, she -wondered whether there was not something in the background which, if -known, would have explained everything and justified Isla. - -"Well, you see, we are not a writing family, and I was so long abroad -that we got a little out of touch," said Malcolm lamely again. - -Vivien was fully conscious that there was evasion in the answer, but it -was not her business to probe into depths with which she had no personal -concern. - -Quite suddenly Malcolm stood still on the road and looked at her -straightly with a kind of dull fire in his eyes. - -"Vivien, I must speak! I haven't the right, for there is very little I -have to offer you. But I love you as my own soul--no, as some higher -thing, for my soul is a poor thing to mate with yours. Will you--will -you--be my wife?" - -He had often anticipated this hour and had conned in secret the phrases -in which he would plead with this woman for his very life. - -But all the fine, set phrases fell away from him and left him bare, so -that he could only blurt out his immense desire in words that had no -grace of diction to commend them. Yet they were warmed by an honest -passion, and they reached the heart of the woman to whom they were -spoken and awoke some response in her eyes. - -But she put up her hand as if she would ward off that which she feared. - -"Oh, don't!" she said rather brokenly. "I don't want to hear it. I--I -am afraid!" - -"Afraid of what?" he asked. - -And a new-born tenderness enveloped him and lifted him up from base -depths to the full height of the manhood that ought to have been his had -he not trailed his heritage in the dust. "Not afraid of me, -my--my--darling?" he said, and it was as if the torrent was let loose. -"Listen. This once will I speak, and then be silent, if you bid me, for -ever. I am not worthy of you. No man could be--but I am less worthy -than most. Yet if you would stoop and give the chance to prove what a -man might be and could be for your sake I should worship you to the last -day of my life and make your happiness, and that only, my chiefest care. -For God's sake, don't send me away! At least give me a crumb of -comfort. If I had but known there was a woman like you somewhere in the -world--my God, if I had only known!" - -The anguish of his voice appealed to the very woman in her, and, though -her face was very white, she stretched out a trembling hand and touched -his arm. - -"Don't speak like that. It--it hurts me," she said, and her whole body -seemed to quiver as if all the springs of being were stirred. "You have -never heard my story. You can't know that I, too, have been down in the -depths. I have suffered all, I think, that a woman can suffer. And -now, I am afraid! It is--it is so terrible a thing when one is bound -and there is no hope." - -It was all she could permit herself to say, but the unstudied intensity -of her words was more self-revealing than any deliberate account of her -unhappy married life could have been. - -Malcolm stood awed before it, and knew for the first time in his life -what a white thing the soul of a good woman can be, and how great are -the sufferings that can rend it. - -And in that moment he knew that he had not the right to take her life -into his; that there were no floods deep enough to wash him clean enough -to mate with this woman who had been down in the depths--and who knew. - -"Don't you see I am so afraid! I could not live through it a second -time. I don't know you well. And I am afraid! Let us put it away now, -and let us be friends, as we have been." - -"It can't be," said Malcolm simply. "If that is your final answer, I -will go away out of the Glen and never set foot in it again." - -"Oh, but that would be terrible! It is I who can go, for what does it -matter where I live now? This is your place. These are your people. -You can't leave them. You ought to be proud that you were born here and -that Achree is yours. It is a place that grows into one's heart. I love -it more than any place I have ever seen." - -"Then keep it, stay in it! Come to me, Vivien, and bless it and me," he -said, moved to an eloquence which amazed even himself. "I make no -pretensions. I have not been what a man should be. But there is -nothing I would not try to be and to do for your sake." - -She shivered slightly, but there was wavering in her eyes. - -"I vowed I would never marry again. I have been often asked," she said -simply. "But I have always given the same answer. It is a little -harder to-day--that is all." - -She suffered her eyes to meet his, and the next moment his arms were -round about her, and he knew that he had won. - -It was a strange wooing, and when Vivien crept back to the house, -knowing that she had pledged herself to another venture on the sea of -matrimony, her eyes had unfathomed depths in them. - -Yet when she went to her mother's side she said never a word about her -own story, but with a little accent of sad wonder in her voice asked, -"Mother, Isla Mackinnon is going to marry Drummond of Garrion and who is -going to tell Peter?" - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII - - THE CALL - - -Isla Mackinnon was sitting in the stone balustrade of the loggia in -front of Lady Betty's villa at Nice, reading a letter that had been -written three days before in the small hours of the morning at the Lodge -of Creagh in Glenogle. - -The sun was upon her hair and on her face, but her eyes were full of a -wide and mute astonishment. - -Lady Betty, attending to her own voluminous correspondence at the ormolu -desk which stood across the open window of the drawing-room, saw that -expression and wondered at it. - -It was now a fortnight since Neil Drummond had left Nice, carrying -Isla's promise with him, and this was Malcolm's first letter. It had -cost him much travail, and as Isla read it through she felt its note of -sincerity. - -"I dare say you have heard from Drummond about his visit to me the other -day. I have tried to write lots of times, but I haven't got the gift of -the pen and I found it difficult to get words. - -"Of course, I am glad, Isla, for Drummond is a ripping good chap and his -prospects are rather splendid. You who are living with Lady Betty know -what sort of fairy godmother she is to them. What I like best of all to -think of is you as mistress at Garrion with plenty of money at your -command. It will suit you down to the ground. There is no doubt that, -as a family, we Mackinnons have been cursed through lack of money. It -is easy to be good when one has plenty and nothing to worry about. - -"I have waited, half hoping you would write first. But as you haven't, -will you take this letter as an expression of my affectionate good will? -We haven't quite understood each other up till now, but things are going -to be better in future. - -"I also have a bit of news for you, and I am wondering whether or not it -will be a great surprise. Vivien Rosmead has promised to marry me, and -we are not going to wait long--only until her brother comes home, which -may be any day now. The last letters say that the initial difficulties -of his bridge-building have been overcome and that he can be spared--at -least for a few weeks. - -"I hardly know how or what to write about this, Isla, because it is a -thing that a man has a natural diffidence in speaking of. You know what -Vivien is--how good, how far above me. I will try honestly to be worthy -of her. I think I have convinced her of my sincerity. - -"Of course she has a large private fortune, which will lift all the -burdens off the old place and make it possible for us to start the new -life unencumbered. The luck of the Mackinnons has turned at last and, -after all our troubles, we may surely look forward to a little run of -prosperity and peace. I hope you'll write to Vivien, even if you don't -to me. I'm sure she expects it." - -Isla dropped the sheet on her lap, and her eyes swept the blue line of -the sea a little wildly. The colour which the soft southern air and the -restful life had wooed back to her face receded and left it a little -grey. The old terror, the vague, haunting dread crept over her once -more, and so insistent was it that she could not push it away. - -Had the luck of the Mackinnons really turned? She was pledged to marry -Neil Drummond, perhaps in two months' time, and there was not an atom of -joyful anticipation in her heart. Malcolm was engaged to Vivien -Rosmead, and what would be the end? - -In the whole of Malcolm's letter there was not one reference to the -past. She knew him too well to hope for a moment that he had laid it -bare to Vivien Rosmead--nay, rather was she certain that he had trusted -to luck. The purple lady!--the vision of her arose before Isla's eyes -and shut out the incomparable view of the terraced garden, the -blossoming trees, the wide blue sweep of the southern sea. - -A quick tap on the window pane attracted her attention, and, looking up, -she beheld Lady Betty beckoning to her sharply. She rose slowly, picked -up the letter, and went in through the open window. - -"What ails ye, lass?" asked the old lady brusquely. "You look as if ye -had the wail of the pibroch in your ears." - -"I've had a letter from Malcolm, Lady Betty." - -"Well? And is he ill pleased about you and Neil?" - -"Oh, no. He tells me he is engaged to Mrs. Rodney Payne. I want to go -home, Lady Betty." - -Lady Betty sat back in her chair, set her eyeglass more firmly on her -aristocratic old nose, and looked Isla straight in the face. - -"What for do ye want to go home?" - -"If I could tell you I would," she answered simply. "You have the gift, -and you know that when the call comes one does not question, but just -rises up to obey. That is how it is with me. The Glen is calling me. -There is something for me to do at the Lodge of Creagh." - -Isla spoke quite quietly, and the old lady neither flouted nor rebuked -her. - -"It's very unfortunate. Do you know that every day for the next month -is filled up? And you have been such a success here and so many wish to -know you that we need not have an idle hour." - -"I shall have to go," was all that Isla said. - -"And what will become of me? What will be the end of it? I have the -house till Easter. Will you come back after you have answered the call? -Neil could bring you." - -"I can't promise anything," answered Isla. "Will you mind very much if -I go to-day?" - -Lady Betty did mind, but she knew that to throw obstacles in the way was -useless. She might delay Isla's departure, but she could not altogether -prevent it. Besides, there was the call. When it came clear and swift, -as it had done to Isla, everything else had to give way. - -"You would travel by yourself? You are not afraid?" she said kindly. - -"Oh, I am afraid of nothing, dear Lady Betty, but the forces that work -in the dark--the things we can't grapple with." - -Lady Betty once or twice slowly inclined her head. - -"I understand. Well, then, make your arrangements. The train-de-luxe -to-night, I suppose, and London the day after to-morrow? Oh, Isla, ye -mind me on nothing but a petrel that has no rest night or day from the -storm. God go with ye, my dear, and at the long last give ye peace." - -The words were very solemnly, very tenderly spoken, and Isla with a -swift movement knelt beside the old lady's chair. - -"Dearest Lady Betty! How can I thank you? I won't even try. You -know--don't you?--oh, you must know how full my heart is!----" - -Lady Betty dropped her fine white hand with its sparkling rings on the -girl's bent head. - -"I know nothing but good of you, Isla Mackinnon, and I love ye as ye -were my own. But, oh, lass, my heart is heavy, and I would fain rise up -and away to the hills with ye! My one consolation is that you are going -back to Neil. I will wire to him this evening." - -"No, don't, dear Lady Betty. It would be certain to bring him to -London. I want no one to meet me there. If I have to sleep the night I -will go to Agnes Fraser's. I--I would rather be alone." - -Then something smote hard and cold on Lady Betty's heart, and she knew -by the inward vision of her soul that the thing on which she had built -high her pride and her hope would never take place. She did not know -what was going to happen to prevent it, but she felt that Neil's cause -was lost from that hour! - -She suffered no depression to manifest itself, however. She undertook to -still Kitty's garrulous questioning, and she herself saw Isla off at the -station by the night train. But she did not close an eye all that night, -being haunted by a sense of the futility of earthly planning and of the -vanity of human hopes. - -Isla arrived at Charing Cross Station at five o'clock in the afternoon -of one of the loveliest of spring days. By that time she had a quite -clear idea of what she wished to do. Speaking of it afterwards, she -declared that each step of the way seemed to have been planned out for -her, leaving her in no doubt whatever about the next. - -She had her luggage transferred to the Charing Cross Hotel, engaged a -room for the night, and, having enjoyed a very excellent cup of tea, -sallied forth to take an omnibus for the West End. - -Those weeks spent under Agnes Fraser's roof, and the long days she had -utilized in traversing the length and breadth of London in search of -impossible employment, had given her an intimate knowledge of the best -and quickest and most economical means of transit. - -But on a pleasant spring evening the omnibus was the most enjoyable. -She had bought a copy of the "Morning Post" at the station, and she -unfolded it in her seat with a view to taking a glance through the -pages. There two items of intelligence which were of the deepest -interest to her met her eyes. The first was purely personal and -occurred a little way down the page, below the Court Circular. - -"A marriage has been arranged, and will take place before the end of the -season, between Malcolm John Mackinnon, Esq. of Achree and Glenogle, and -Mrs. Rodney Payne of Carleton, Virginia, and 31 Avenue Castellare, -Champs Elysees, Paris." - -Her face flushed as she read these significant words and for the moment -she felt as if all her fellow-travellers had read them with her and were -aware of their meaning. - -She sat a long time pondering, surprised beyond measure at the -announcement, which seemed premature. She wondered who was responsible -for its appearance, but decided that it was probably Malcolm who had -sent it to the newspaper for the purpose of establishing his credit and -consolidating his position. As yet Isla was disposed to be hard on him -and to credit him with merely sordid motives. - -Turning over the page she discovered the second item of intelligence, -which riveted her attention immediately and sent her thoughts flying in -another direction. It was under the heading of Wills and Bequests, and -merely stated that the will of Mrs. Jane Bodley-Chard had been proved at -seventy-five thousand pounds, the greater part of which passed to her -husband, who was her sole executor. - -By the time Isla had come out of the reverie induced by the reading of -these paragraphs the omnibus had rolled her to her destination. - -She alighted at the Marble Arch, crossed the way, and proceeded quickly -along the Edgeware Road until she reached the end of the street where -she had first seen Malcolm with the purple lady. She had not made a -note of the address, but she remembered it vividly, and she made no -mistake about the number. - -Her slightly hesitating ring was answered by a person who seemed to be a -charwoman, and who, in reply to her inquiry for Mrs. Bisley, shook her -head. - -"She ain't 'ere, Miss." - -"But can't you tell me where she is, or at least how long she has been -gone?" - -"Oh, she ain't bin gone long--only since this mornin'. Are you a friend -of 'ers?" she asked, peering rather inquisitively into Isla's face. - -"At least I can claim to know her, and I particularly wished to see her -to-day." - -"Well, you carn't. She's gone to Scotland. She was orful upset this -mornin' by sumfink she saw in the papers, and she went orf all of a -'eap, like, not even takin' proper luggage wiv 'er. Said she didn't -know w'en she'd be back." - -Isla turned away, so sick at heart that her dismay was visible on her -face. - -"I don't know nothink, but it's got summat to do wiv that military gent. -she knew in India. A toff, 'e was, and she expected to marry 'im, don't -you see? And 'e'es given 'er the slip--leastways that's wot I think. -But, of course, I don't know nothink for certing, and you needn't say as -I said anythink. I didn't hev no call fer to say anythink, reely." - -Isla thanked her and turned away. - -She was just one day too late. What could she do now? Even if she were -to hasten by the night train to Glenogle, what could she do there? A -meeting between Vivien and this woman seemed inevitable. At least -Malcolm would have to explain his position and, if possible, justify -himself. - -Just for one brief moment she regretted having acted on the swift -impulse to leave the pleasant sanctuary she had found by the -Mediterranean Sea. What good had she done, or could she do? She had -only once more committed the mistake of thinking that she could -arbitrate in the destiny of others--she, who had so sadly mismanaged her -own! - -She crept dejectedly along the street, still clutching the paper in her -hand, and when she reached the wider thoroughfare crossed it in a -slanting direction and, as if through force of habit, turned in at -Cromer Street and made her way to Agnes Fraser's familiar door. - -It was the busiest hour of that good woman's day, because her first -floor came in to dinner at half-past seven and it was now half-past six. -But when she heard who it was that had asked for her she ran up the -kitchen stairs, several steps at a time. - -"Oh, Miss Isla, excuse my apron and the flour on my hands. But I -couldna wait. I'm terribly busy jist for a meenit or twa. Can you come -in and wait till I get the denners fairly on the road? It'll no tak' me -mair nor a quarter o' an 'oor." - -"I can't wait, dear woman--at least not now. I didn't mean to see you -to-night, really, but I had business in this neighbourhood, and I just -ran in for a look at you. I shall be in Glenogle to-morrow night." - -"Yes," said Agnes breathlessly. "And it is true that ye are going to -marry Mr. Drummond? I've aye been expeckin' to hear from yoursel' aboot -it. But Elspeth Maclure says that it's quite true and that everybody is -pleased I am, I'm sure. I jist sat doon and had a guid greet when -Elspeth's letter cam'. And Andra lauched at me and said it wasna a -thing to greet ower. But that wass hoo I felt." - -Isla nodded, and her proud mouth trembled. - -"You're lookin' fine--quite like yersel'," resumed Agnes. "And when is -it to be, Miss Isla? Oh, hang their denners! Come in here and let me -hear ye speak." - -But Isla, laughing a little hysterically, shook her head, and began to -move towards the door. - -"It was very bad of me not to write, but I've been passing through all -sorts of phases, Agnes, and even now I don't know quite where I am. -When I get home I'll sit down and write you a very long letter. Have -you seen the 'Morning Post' to-day with the announcement of my brother's -engagement to Mrs. Rodney Payne?" - -"No, but that news was in Elspeth's letter, too, and so Achree is on the -mend again, thank God. Are ye awa'? Oh, I am sorry, Miss Isla! I -would have liked to keep you for the nicht. Can ye not come back?" - -"Not to-night. But probably I shall be in London again soon. Good -night, dear soul, and thank you very much. Whatever the future may hold -for me, Agnes Fraser will have a warm place in it. I hope that some day -I shall be able to thank you properly for all you did for me." - -Agnes was able to give only a very divided attention to the cooking when -she returned to the gloom of her underground kitchen, while Isla rode -back the way she had come, singularly out of love with life. - -She had done no good by her impetuous journey--none at all. She was -half minded to take the night mail to Calais again and throw herself -once more on the tender mercies of Lady Betty. Her uppermost feeling -was one of shrinking from Glenogle and all that might happen there. - -The dusk was falling when she got down at Trafalgar Square, where she -crossed to the hotel entrance at Charing Cross. It is always busy -there, arrivals and departures taking place at all hours of the day and -night. A four-wheeler, piled high with luggage, stood before the door, -and a tall man in a long travelling-coat with a fur collar was directing -the hotel porter what he wished to be done with the larger boxes. - -He turned his head as Isla was about to pass in, and he found herself -face to face with Peter Rosmead. - -It was a supreme moment for them both. All Rosmead's heart leaped to -his eyes, he dropped his dispatch-case, and grasped both her hands while -his gaze covered her with an overmastering and encompassing tenderness. - -"This is a bit of God's own luck!" he said, and his voice was thick with -the passion of his soul. "How is it you are here?" - -"I came from Nice only to-day. I am going home to Glenogle to-morrow," -she answered, and her voice had a faint, far-away sound in it, as if she -suddenly felt very tired. "And you?" - -"Just arrived by the Norddeutscher-Lloyd steamer at Southampton at noon -to-day. Are you here alone for the night?" - -She inclined her head. - -"It's God's own luck," he repeated. "You'll dine with me, then--in half -an hour or an hour, or at any time that you choose to name?" - -She hesitated just a moment. Should she refuse? But why? In another -day it would be all over. Only the present hour was hers. She nodded -and sped from him quickly, ascending to her room on the third floor by -the lift. - -When she entered it she turned the key and looked round a little wildly, -working her hands in front of her nervously. Then, with a sob, she -threw herself face downwards on the bed and buried her face. - -She wanted to weep, but a song was in her heart, because, though she was -pledged to marry Neil Drummond and was bound to him by every tie of -gratitude and honour, she belonged to Peter Rosmead and he to her, and -nothing could alter it. For the moment she, who had had so little of -the joy of life, gave herself up to the vision of the might-have-been. -And it was so glorious that it transformed the bleak hotel bedroom into -a heavenly place. - -After a long time, when she had risen and was making her toilet, there -came a quick tap at the door. When she opened it a chambermaid stood -without, smiling. - -"Please, Miss, can I help you? The gentleman is waiting, and dinner is -served in eighty-nine." - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII - - WITH HASTENING FEET - - -Because this was her hour and to-morrow all would be over, Isla did not -disdain a woman's art. She wished to look beautiful for once in the -eyes of the man who loved her, even though she should henceforth -disappear from them for ever. - -She put on a wonderful frock that had come from the hands of a clever -_couturiere_ at Nice--a simple black thing, fashioned with such -consummate art that it seemed moulded to her figure, showing all its -grace. As Riviera fashion dictates, it was high to the neck, with a yoke -of clear net through which her white skin shone, while a string of -pearls about her stately throat made her sole adornment. - -"Oh, Miss, you do look nice!" said the chambermaid as she stepped back -from fastening the skirt. - -Isla smiled into her eyes. Then she asked where she could find -eighty-nine. The girl took her down to the next floor and to the door -of the room where Rosmead, in evening dress, was waiting. - -"Come," he said with a smile. - -He drew her in, and the door was shut. - -The warmth of the cheerful fire and the fragrance of flowers met her on -the threshold of the private room, where Rosmead had ordered the meal to -be served. This was no night for them to dine in a public -restaurant--they must be immune from prying eyes. - -"You don't look so tired now! And to think I was cursing the luck that -would keep me here for another twenty-four hours! I have an appointment -at the Colonial Office to-morrow and can't go north till Friday. But I -never in my wildest dreams anticipated this." - -She smiled as she took the chair he offered. Her eyes had a far-away -look, her cheeks were softly flushed, she seemed like a dream-woman, and -she was so beautiful that Rosmead blamed himself that the vision of her -he had carried with him so long had fallen so far short of the reality. - -The waiter came in with the soup presently and waited upon them deftly. -But Isla ate little. While the small, daintily-appointed, and exquisite -meal was being served they talked of commonplace things--of the Riviera -in the season, of Rosmead's business in America, of the bridge whose -foundations had taken so long to lay. - -"But it is accomplished, isn't it?" she asked with her swift glance -across the table. "Of course I always knew it would be. I remember -that you said that in your estimation difficulties existed only to be -demolished." - -"That was a very high and mighty utterance," said Rosmead a little -shyly. "But this time I thought I was going to get beaten. Do you know -that I left the very day after the thing had passed the bar of my own -judgment, just five days after the other experts had pronounced it -unassailable." - -"You always trust yourself last?" she said inquiringly. - -"It is I who have to pay the price of failure, and so I leave nothing to -chance," he answered. "Will you take nothing to drink? I am a -teetotaller myself. Some day I will tell you why. But you are tired, -and wine will do you good." - -She shook her head. - -"No. It is delightful to think that one can dine without it. I do -believe that you are the first man I have ever met who could." - -"Oh, come!" said Rosmead, laughing. "Where I come from there are many." - -Isla laughed a little and shrugged her shoulders. She was feeling so -warm and comforted and happy that she wished the hour to last for ever. - -"How kind of you to think of this room! As I was dressing I thought how -horrid it would be in the restaurant to-night." - -"I knew it would be. I grudged it. This was the thing," he said. - -And his pulses thrilled as he thought of all the days that were coming -when they should dine together alone. - -It came to an end at last, and Rosmead showed haste in getting the table -cleared and the coffee-tray brought in. - -Then he wheeled a big easy chair towards the fire for her, and he -himself stood against the end of the mantel-shelf, while an odd silence -fell between them. - -"I am sure you want to smoke. I should like it," she said a little -nervously, fearing what she saw in his eyes. - -He shook his head. - -"That would be desecration. By and by, perhaps, but not yet. I wonder -if you know just what it meant to me to see you to-night downstairs, -just what it means to have you here like this, alone?" - -She made no answer, and the veil dropped over her eyes, but her lips -trembled, and she worked with her fingers in the fringes of the delicate -white scarf which had fallen from her shoulders across her arms. - -"You must know that I love you," he said. Then in a low voice which -vibrated keenly with intense feeling he added, "I have lived for this -hour during all these interminable months. I have risen up each new -day, thinking it brought me a day nearer to it and to you. I know all -you have suffered. Let me try to make you forget. Give your precious -life into my keeping, Isla. You are the only woman I have ever cared -for. The knowledge that you were waiting somewhere for me has kept me a -boy in heart for your sake. Will you give yourself to me?" - -There was terror, anguish, hopelessness in her eyes. She gave a small -shuddering sigh and buried her face in her hands. Instantly he was on -his knees beside her, trying with a very gentle force to take her hands -away. - -Suddenly she drew back, rose to her feet, and faced him--very pale, very -stricken, but wholly calm. - -"Oh, please don't say any more. I--I must not listen. It was even -wicked of me to come here when I knew--when I knew--and even hoped that -you would speak. I--I am not free. I am the promised wife of another -man." - -Rosmead's face became set like a stone. - -"But you are the woman God has given to me," he said quietly. "Who is -the man?" - -"Neil Drummond," she answered feverishly. "Don't look at me like that! -Let me sit down again, and you stand where you were before and I will -tell you how it came about. You said that you knew all I have suffered. -But you don't. I want to tell you everything. Then you will -understand." - -He obeyed her to the letter, and with the breadth of the hearth between -them she began her recital. - -She went back a long way, even to the days of her troubled girlhood, -keeping nothing back, telling him in simple language all the story of -her life. - -All unconscious was she of its complete self-revelation. Peter Rosmead, -listening, with only a brief word interjected here and there, was filled -with a pity so vast that he did not know how to contain himself. He saw -this young woman-creature, at the time when she ought to have been -enjoying girlhood, doing not only a woman's work in the world but also -forced to act the man's part--to face abnormal difficulties, to solve -the problems of existence in loneliness and without help. - -And when she came to the end and related simply, yet with a sort of bald -power, the story of her London experiences, he could bear no more. - -"My God, Isla, you must cease! I tell you I can't hear any more." - -"You must," she said clearly, "because this is the part which -explains--which explains--why I am not free. You see, I had got so very -tired and hopeless, and my money was all done, and I had no more heart -left to fight. And just then Neil Drummond came, and he was like a -brother to me, and--and he had loved me all my life, and I thought I, -too, could care a little, and that we might be happy together." - -He put his hand up to his forehead with a sudden gesture and kept it -there until he felt the flash of Isla's mournful reproach on his face. - -"If only you had written a single line!" she said almost piteously. "If -I had ever known or guessed that you remembered my existence I could -have held out. But I was so tired, so tired!" - -She who had been strong so long, whom trouble had never daunted, gave -way before the insistent clamour of her woman's heart. For the moment -she could not forgo the real heritage of her womanhood--could not make -the final renunciation. For she was not old yet, and life can be very -long to the sad. - -Rosmead was as one who took swift and decisive counsel with himself. - -He lifted a chair to the hearth in front of her and sat down so that he -could the better see her face. - -"Listen to me, my dear," he said in his quiet, compelling voice. "We -must face this thing together, try to grasp exactly what it means, and -decide what is to be done. Let us do it quietly, try to deal with it as -if we were not the chief actors in it." - -Isla sat back and folded her hands on her lap. She was willing to -listen--nay, listen she must. And, somehow, she did not seem to care. -She had rolled away the stone from the door of her heart. Peter Rosmead -knew that she loved him, just as she knew that he loved her. Well, he -was strong and good, he would decide and act for her. Hence the peace -upon her face, at which Rosmead, himself torn with conflict, wondered. - -"It does not mean only a disappointment to me--a lifelong -disappointment, the overthrow of everything that I have been waiting -for," he began slowly. "It means the shipwreck of three lives. If you -don't care for Drummond how can you be a good wife to him or make him -happy?" - -"There are many women who are married to men they do not care very much -for. I have seen them, and they seem to get along," was all she said. - -"What other women might do with impunity you couldn't. You are the soul -of truth, and, moreover, you cannot hide what you think and feel. If -you could have done it better, dear woman, life might perhaps have been -a little less hard for you." - -"But after a while," she said in a low voice, "it might be possible. I -should try very hard. And, after all, it is not happiness we are here -for. One has only to look around to see how very little of it there is -in this world." - -"By heaven, Isla, I can't accept that--no, I can't! God means us to be -happy. It is what He has created us for. Only we do wrong things. It -is we who make the shipwreck, and I believe that if you go on with this -marriage you will ruin three lives." - -She only shook her head. - -"Is Drummond the man--do you think?--to be contented with what you -purpose to give him--wifely duty, without wifely love?" - -"He is very good," she said wearily. "His kindness and his patience -never fail." - -"That may be true. But afterwards would come the crucial test. You -can't do it, Isla--you can't! There is--there must be a way out, and we -must find it together. Will you leave it to me?" - -"I'll leave everything! I am so tired! I can do nothing more. But I -will be true to Neil Drummond. I may tell him, but I will keep my -promise if he holds me to it, and if you will let me go now I will say -good night. It is nearly ten o'clock. I have been travelling for two -days, and I feel as if I could not bear any more." - -He instantly forgot his own sore disappointment and was concerned only -for her with that great and tender concern which belongs to the strong -and which the tired woman felt so perilously sweet. - -"Just a moment; what about to-morrow? Can't you wait until Friday? If -I could get away I would travel with you to-morrow, but it is impossible -to do so without giving offence in quarters where it is important not to -give offence. Will you wait till Friday? You are not fit to travel -alone." - -She looked up at him, and her eyes wavered. - -"I should like to, but I can't stay here. Let us meet in the morning -and decide. At least, I need not travel until the two o'clock train." - -He suffered her to go then, merely touching her hand at parting, because -of the barrier that was between. - -Rosmead had boasted that difficulties in his way existed only for the -purpose of being demolished, but he was now in front of one that taxed -his boasted powers. - -Isla slept the dreamless sleep of complete exhaustion, but he fought -with the problem the night through, and in the morning he was no nearer -its solution. They did not meet at breakfast, but at ten o'clock she -sent him a message that she would see him in the drawing-room. - -She met him, tranquil and calm-eyed, a little pale, but without trace of -stress or strain. Rosmead himself had a slightly haggard look. - -"Good morning," she said quietly. "I think I shall wait until -to-morrow. To-day I shall go back to my old quarters in Cromer Street, -Bayswater, and I shall meet you to-morrow at the station." - -"And am I not to see you to-day at all?" he asked, and his eyes -travelled hungrily over her face. - -She shook her head. - -"I don't think so. If there is any more to be said there will be time -to say it to-morrow. You will help me to do the right thing, won't you? -It is--it is what I look for in you." - -The words were a rebuke to Peter Rosmead, but he took it well. - -"I will do the right thing--yes," he answered humbly, "but only until we -get back to Glenogle. Then, I warn you, I'm going to fight for you with -all the powers I possess. I don't know how it is going to be done, but -win you I shall. You have not come into my life only to go out of it -again." - -She smiled as she turned away, and a strange, deep contentment, gathered -in her eyes. She asked no questions, troubled herself not at all about -what was coming. So far as she was concerned the fight was over, and -the issue lay with Peter Rosmead. Her trust in him was so large and -fine a thing that she was content to leave herself and her cause in his -strong, tender hands and to let him undertake for her. - -They parted then, and they met no more until they entered the train -together at Euston next morning. But during the hours of that -interminable day there was no sense of distance or of separation between -them. The same sky covered them, they breathed the same air, they were -within call of each other; it sufficed. - -Rosmead went early to the station, and he had made his full arrangements -for Isla's comfort by the time she arrived. She smiled when she saw a -first-class compartment marked "reserved," but she made neither remark -nor demur. She had left him to legislate for her and would not cavil at -trifles. That she was happy for the moment there was no need to ask. - -Many times that day when Rosmead looked at her dear face he registered a -mighty vow that the man did not live who would be able to keep her from -him. Drummond must take his defeat like a man. He was young, and there -were others to choose from. In all his life Rosmead had not, until now, -met a woman who could stir his pulses or make him long to lay his -freedom at her feet as a thing for which he had no further use. - -The train glided out of the station, and the sunshine was upon their -faces and in their hearts. Rosmead, an accomplished traveller, had left -nothing undone to secure the comfort of his fellow-traveller, but all -his love and care were powerless to save her from the last bomb flung by -fate. - -She did not care for papers, she said, but she begged him to look at -his, while she watched the swift retreat of London roofs before the -speeding train. - -He unfolded the pages of the "Daily Telegraph," and had Isla happened to -glance round at the moment she must have discovered that something fresh -and terrible had happened. - -On the first page this paragraph confronted Rosmead's eyes under large -head-lines:-- - - - "TRAGEDY IN SCOTTISH HIGHLANDS. - -"A sad occurrence took place yesterday on Loch Earn in Western -Perthshire--one of those deplorable accidents which show what care -should be taken in handling small boats on these treacherous inland -seas. Full particulars are not to hand, but it seems that late last -evening Mr. Malcolm Mackinnon of Achree and Glenogle, who had been in -Lochearnhead earlier in the day, left there, ostensibly to go to his -home at the Lodge of Creagh, four miles distant. That he had not done -so was clearly evidenced by the fact that his body was found by a -boatman, washed up on the shores of Loch Earn at a point about two miles -from its head. The boat, bottom upwards, was floating near. The day -had been one of the very stormiest of the season, with blinding showers -and a squally wind. Mr. Mackinnon was a skilled oarsman, but it is -supposed that he had been caught by one of the sudden squalls which so -frequently rise on these Highland lochs and constitute a danger that it -is necessary to guard against. It is not known why Mr. Mackinnon should -have gone on the loch late in the afternoon, and he had no fishing gear -with him. The occurrence has cast a gloom over the whole Glen, where -the family are so well known and so beloved. The tragedy is accentuated -by the fact that Mr. Mackinnon had only recently become engaged to Mrs. -Rodney Payne, whose family are the present tenants of Achree. We -understand that Mr. Mackinnon's only sister is at present abroad. Much -sympathy is felt and expressed for her." - - -Rosmead, with the paper held high in front of him. stared steadily at -it, his face very white and set, his lips twitching. It was a full -minute before he obtained complete control of himself and dared to -glance over the edge of the paper at his companion. - -But she apparently had forgotten him. Her chin was resting on her hand, -and her eyes were fixed upon the landscape, bathed in sunshine, which -was speeding past them. She did not even look round when he carefully -folded the paper and put it well under his travelling-rug in the tar -corner of the rack. Then he lifted the "Times" and glanced through it, -only to find on the second page the same item of intelligence -considerably condensed. That also he removed, and took up one of the -magazines. - -He was totally unaware that he was holding it upside down. He had to -find some way out of this awful difficulty--to coin words which would -acquaint Isla with what seemed to be the final tragedy of her life. He -was scarcely alive to the fact that he now learned for the first time of -Mackinnon's engagement to Vivien, the letter informing him of it having -only reached America the day after he had left it. - -He had concern only for one at the moment, and his sole consideration -was how to break the news to her. One moment he thought of giving her -the newspaper casually, and thus getting over it; the next he thought he -would keep it from her to the last moment. But they were speeding -towards Glenogle, where the last act of Malcolm Mackinnon's tragic life -had been played. - -Presently Isla turned to him with a smile. - -"It is very pleasant to be going home, don't you think? I was just -counting how many weeks I had been out of Glenogle and thinking how glad -I shall be to see it again. When I left it I never thought I should wish -to come back any more." - -"I am glad you feel like that," he said with an odd note of strain in -his voice. "I have ordered the car to meet us at Stirling, so that we -shall get home ahead of the train." - -Her eyes sparkled with a child-like enjoyment. - -"Oh, that will be delightful! I wrote to Malcolm yesterday. He will -probably be waiting at Lochearnhead Station. I must wire to him at -Crewe." - -"I'll see to it," said Rosmead heavily, and his tongue felt as if it -were cleaving to the roof of his mouth. - -He took her to lunch, and she enjoyed it all, though it concerned her -that he ate so little. She was not troubling herself that the other -matter seemed to have disappeared into the background, and that he made -not the smallest allusion to it. She was grateful to him for his -consideration, but she was not surprised. From Peter Rosmead she would -expect only the best. He would neither say nor do that which would vex -the heart of a woman or increase by a hairsbreadth her perplexities. - -Oh, she had made no mistake! she thought as she glanced confidently -across at his grave, strong face, when she left him to act for her. - -After carefully observing that the papers were out of the way, he got -out at Crewe and made his way hastily to the telegraph office to send an -explanatory message to his mother. By that time he had arrived at a -quite clear estimate of what was in front and at a decision as to the -right thing to do. - -He would tell Isla after they were in the car, and prepare her as best -he might for what she had to meet. - -But he was spared the need. All his carefully concerted plan for saving -her was rendered unavailing by the shrill tones of a newsboy's voice. -The passing of the smallest coin of the realm in exchange for the first -edition of an evening paper, and Rosmead got back to the compartment to -discover that Isla knew the truth. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX - - THE LAST LEAF ON THE TREE - - -Once more the burying-place of the Mackinnons in Balquhidder kirkyard -was opened to receive a Laird of Achree. While a small band of mourners -stood by it in the soft spring sunshine Isla sat with her Aunt Jean in -the library of the Lodge of Creagh, staring in front of her with a -far-away expression on her face. Lady Mackinnon, who had not yet -recovered from the effects of the hurried journey from Barras, was -talking in subdued tones about the future. But Isla heard her as she -heard her not. - -"Of course you will just come to Barras, my dear, and we'll do our best. -It is a very fortunate thing that the Rosmeads have Achree for another -year and more. It will give us time to turn round. Don't look like -that, Isla. It is all very terrible, of course, but it is not the end -of everything." - -At the moment there was a tap at the door, and Diarmid's grey head -appeared, his lace looking old and worn, his eyes tired with weeping. - -"Please, Miss Isla, it's a leddy. She will not go away, whatefer, and I -have putten her in the little pack room till I ask whether you will see -her." - -"No, of course not. I will," said Lady Mackinnon, bustling up. "A -lady! Don't you know her, Diarmid? Hasn't she given you a name?" - -"No, my Leddy, I don't ken her. She's frem to Glenogle, and she says -Miss Isla would not ken her name, forby." - -Isla was already at the door. - -"No, Aunt Jean. Thank you very much, but I must see her. I think I -know who it is." - -Rather disappointed--for anything would have served to break the dreary -monotony of this awful house--Lady Mackinnon sank back into her chair, -but a moment after, acting on a sudden impulse, she rose and swiftly -drew up the blind. She then saw that a hired trap was waiting outside -the gate, the man nodding on the box-seat, while the reins lay loosely -across the horse's neck. - -She knew nothing of the tragedy at the back of Malcolm's life, and, -though it had been more than whispered in the Glen that there had been -no accident on Loch Earn, but that Mackinnon had gone forth, meaning to -take his own life in the way that seemed easiest and would occasion -least remark, these rumours had not been permitted to reach Creagh. - -But Isla, in her heart, had knowledge and confirmation of these things, -though she had not heard of them. - -How surprised, then, would Lady Mackinnon have been could she have heard -what passed in the little room behind. - -Isla entered quietly, closed the door, and faced the woman with whom she -had already spoken twice and who, in some strange way, was mixed up with -the tragedy of Malcolm's life and death. - -"You're not surprised to see me, I can see," she said without -preliminary. "Did you know I was in Scotland?" - -"Yes," answered Isla clearly. "Please to sit down and tell me all that -you wish to tell me and that it is necessary I should hear. But first, -let me ask one question--Are you, were you, my brother's wife?" - -She shook her head. - -"I ought to have been, but I wasn't. That was the beginning and the end -of the trouble. I waited for him so long, and he promised me faithful -and true that if I would only wait quietly till he got out of his sea of -troubles he would marry me." - -"I understand," said Isla rather faintly. "Please say no more now, but -tell me as quickly as you can what you know about it all." - -Neither sat down. Isla stood by the table with her white, frail hand on -the red baize of the tablecover, her shadowed eyes looking forth with a -strange sad pity on the woman's face. - -All her high colour had faded, her eyes were dimmed with weeping, she -had forgotten to take a pride in her beautiful hair, she looked what she -was--a dishevelled and broken creature on whom even a hard heart must -needs have had compassion. And Isla's heart was not hard any more. - -"Well, you see, Miss Mackinnon," she said, wiping her eyes with her -sodden handkerchief, "you don't want to hear the whole story as to how -we got to know each other in India and how fond he was of me and I of -him. So I'll hurry on to where I met you first. I came to Scotland -then, because he hadn't written to me for such a long time and because, -when I learned that his father had died and that he had come into the -property, I thought it was time I looked after myself. He spoke very -fair then--explained how hard up he was and what a tangle everything was -in, and he promised that if only I'd wait other six months he'd make -everything straight and right. He told me all that right down by the -water at Strathyre that night when he rode down from here to see me--the -night before you and I met on the London train. Well, I went back to -London, because he asked me to trust him a little longer. But I was not -very easy in my mind. I kept quiet, living on my little bit of money -and doing a bit of needlework and going out occasionally with a friend, -but never forgetting that some day I was to be lady here and wife to the -man I loved. Then I saw the thing in the paper--that he was going to -marry the American woman, and I think that I went mad for a bit. I -don't know quite where I was or what I did. I only know that I rose and -went to Scotland straight to the hotel at Lochearnhead, and in the -afternoon I walked up to Achree and asked for Mrs. Rodney Payne." - -"Oh!" said Isla with a little gasp, and she pressed her hand to her -heart. - -"You feel for her. Perhaps she's a friend of yours, but it had to be -done. You don't know what it is to see another woman get hold of the -man you care for and who belongs to you. I like you, and I pray God you -may never know what it's like. Well, I told her just the whole -story--the story I haven't told you, though you're sharp enough and can -fill it all up. - -"What did she say?--not much, but I could see that it finished him in -that quarter, which was all I cared about. - -"Well, then I sent for him. When he came he had seen her. I could tell -it by the white despair on his face, and then I knew that it was not her -money he wanted at all, but that he cared about her as he had never -cared about me, that she was his own kind--the sort that would lift him -right up and make the best of him. - -"Something seemed to snap inside of me. I believe it was my heart that -broke. I didn't reproach him. He did all the reproaching--there, in -the dark, by that God-forsaken loch. We seemed to walk for hours, and I -don't know where we were when he left me. He said his life was over, -but I never thought or believed he would take it away. To tell you the -truth, Miss, I didn't believe he had the courage to do it." - -"You think he did it, then?" said Isla in a low, tense whisper. - -"I know it. He simply went out in that boat, never meaning to come -back. You and I know it, but we needn't tell. And anyway, perhaps it's -better; only I wish it had been me--I wish it had been me!" - -Her voice broke into a little wail, and she covered her face with her -hands. Isla went to her side and laid her hand, which trembled very -much, on her shoulder. - -"I am very sorry for you. If I knew how to help or comfort you I -would." - -She caught Isla's hand, laid her cheek a moment against it, and then -began to walk unsteadily towards the door. - -"You're a good woman--one of the best," she said, pausing a moment. "I -hope you'll be happy yet. You'll never hear of me again. I'm going -away to-night back to my own place. But I thought I'd like to see you -before I went and tell you the truth. Good-bye." - -But even after Isla's hand was on the door she lingered, as if something -still remained unsaid. - -"When you see her tell her that I loved him and that I could never have -been so hard on him as she was. If he had really cared, tell her, she -would have forgiven even me." - -"Oh, hush!" cried Isla in distress. "You don't know all she has -suffered. But it is no good to talk. Life is an awful thing. Thank -you for coming. I shall often think of you, and, though I have no -right, for I, too, have been hard, I'll--I'll pray for you." - -A kiss passed between them, and they parted--never to meet again in this -world. - -Isla went through the house and out by the kitchen door to the hill -beyond. She was so long gone that when she came back the Garrion -carriage was at the door, and Sir Tom with Neil Drummond was in the -drawing-room with her aunt. - -Isla's face went a little white when she saw Neil, and she stood by the -tea table with her back to him for a moment. Even Sir Tom's genial -personality could not relieve the great strain. When Isla after a time, -in response to a certain question in Drummond's eyes, left the room with -him, Sir Tom turned eagerly to his wife. - -"We must positively get away in the morning, Jean. Another day in this -house would finish me. There seems to be a curse on Achree. Have you -spoken to Isla, and is she going back with us?" - -"I don't know. She hardly speaks at all, but of course she must go. -There isn't anything else to do, and the sooner Neil Drummond follows -her and we have a quiet wedding at Barras the better it will be. It is -the only solution of the problem of Isla's life. I'm more tired of that -problem than of anything else in this world, Tom." - -He took a turn across the floor. - -"The American chap was at the funeral. There's something uncommon -taking about him. He and Drummond were talking together for a good -half-hour after we had left the churchyard, and, judging from their -faces, I'm sure it was some matter in which they had a life-and-death -interest that they were talking about. Then Drummond, looking a little -white about the gills, came up to me and said he was coming over to see -Isla, and asked if I would drive with him." - -"It was quite natural for him to come and see Isla, of course, and -probably he was only discussing the situation with Mr. Rosmead. Neil -will have to act for Isla now." - -Lady Mackinnon had very little imagination, but Sir Tom was not easy in -his mind. - -Isla went out of doors with Neil Drummond, and they climbed up the slope -to the edge of the Moor, and there they stood still. They were very -near the house, but nobody could see them, and Isla waited--for what she -did not know. - -"I've seen Rosmead, Isla. I suppose the thing he has told me is true?" - -"What did he tell you?" - -"That you and he--that you and he care for each other." - -"Yes, that is true. But I will keep my promise to you, Neil. A little -suffering more or less--what does it matter? There is nothing else in -the world." - -He smiled a little hardly. - -"I've cared a long time, and a lot, Isla. But I haven't sunk so -low----" he made answer. "I give you back your freedom." - -"But even if you do, it does not follow that I will marry him." - -"If you care about him it is what you must do," he said quietly. "Tell -me, Isla--Are you sure about this? If I thought there was any chance I -wouldn't give you up. Are you sure?" - -She was silent for a moment, her unfathomable eyes following the flight -of a wild bird on the wing until it was lost in illimitable distance. - -Neil Drummond had no great gifts. He was only a simple, honest soul who -did his duty according to his lights, but in that moment he tasted to -the full at once the anguish and the high joy of renunciation. Such -clear understanding of a woman's heart came to him that for a moment he -forgot the intolerable ache of his own. - -Isla's gaze came back and fell upon his face as she answered simply, "I -am sure. I would follow him to the end of the world without a question -or a doubt, and I would not have a wish apart from his will. That is -how I care, Neil. If I could feel like that for you I would give the -best years of my life. I didn't seek this thing," she went on when he -made no answer. "It came to me, and I think when it is like that -we----we cannot help ourselves, Neil. It is part of the mystery of -life. I am so tired with it all that I would wish to-day that I could -lie down in Balquhidder beside them." - -"Your life is only beginning," he said slowly and with difficulty. "I -will say good-bye, and I will ask you to believe that there is nothing -in the world I want so much as your happiness. You have had none, and, -though I am not the man who can give it to you, I ask you to take -it--and to take it soon--from the man who can." - -Thus did Neil Drummond, a commonplace, everyday man such as we meet so -often upon the highway, rise to the height of renunciation and prove -himself a hero. - -Isla's eyes swam in a strange tenderness as she turned to him, trying to -thank him. But even while she would have spoken he had left her, and -soon she heard the rumble of the wheels on the road--the wheels which -took him back to Garrion--never more, in obedience to a lover's quest, -to speed across the rough road to the Moor of Creagh. - -After a time Isla went back very quietly and soberly to the house to -astonish her relatives by another vagary. - -"I am ready to go to Barras to-morrow, Aunt Jean, and to stop as long as -you like." - -"And will Neil come with us or after us, my dear?" asked Lady Mackinnon, -her shrewd eyes lighting up cheerfully. "You know there is room and to -spare in the house." - -"No, Aunt Jean, Neil will not come. I am not going to marry him -now--nor any man," she answered. - -And she sped away to make her preparations for the journey which, an -hour before, she thought nothing on earth would induce her to undertake. - -A strange peace seemed to brood that night upon the Lodge of Creagh and -the Moor of Silence. Sleep was very far from Isla's eyes as she sat -before her uncurtained window, looking out upon the limitless space on -which the white moonlight lay. - -The end of all things had come, so far as human judgment could -determine. The last Mackinnon of Achree slept with his forefathers, and -she, a poor weak woman of no account, was left to tie up the broken -threads. Her thoughts of Malcolm were very tender, nor had she any -misgiving, thinking of where he might be. - -"It is better to fall into the hands of the living God than into the -hands of men," she might have said, had she been called upon for an -expression of her state of mind. - -Upon her knees, with her chin upon the sill of the open window and her -eyes upon the great silence where the moonlight lay, she asked to be -forgiven for her hardness of heart, for her swift condemnation, for her -poor, puny, disastrous efforts to set the world right. She knew now, in -that moment of clear vision, that no man or woman is called to so great -a task, but that what is asked of us all is merely and only the simple -performance of each day's homely duty, by the doing of which, -nevertheless, the whole fabric of human life and human achievement is -ennobled and perfected. - -With her chin resting upon the window-sill and her eyes, uplifted to the -kindly, but impenetrable skies, Isla prayed. And then, leaving herself -and her destiny for ever in the Hand which alone is capable of -unravelling and setting in fair order human affairs, she crept to her -bed to sleep off the overwhelming fatigue of the day. - -Next morning there were many leave-takings in the Lodge of Creagh, and -Diarmid and Margaret, whom the sorrows of their folk had drawn together -in a touching unity, stood side by side on the step to watch Isla drive -away with her uncle and aunt. - -The young, small, frail woman, to whom their fealty was still due and -who represented all that was left of the Glenogle Mackinnons, waved to -them smilingly, bidding them be of good cheer until she should come -back. - -And when the last bend of the road was taken and the rumble of the -departing wheels had died upon the air, the two old servants looked at -each other a little pitifully, while tears rose in Margaret's eyes. - -"She nefer will come pack, Diarmid, and you and me maype will grow old -man and woman here in Creagh till they come to lay us in Balquhidder." - -Diarmid answered never a word, but, later in the day, he delivered -himself to Rosmead, who came on the swift feet of impatience to seek -Isla. - -"She hass gone away, sir, to Barras with Sir Thomas Mackinnon and his -leddy, but whether it pe a long time or a short time afore she comes -back I am not able to say." - -"To Barras!" said Rosmead with musing in his eyes. "Tell me how she is, -Diarmid. Did she seem sad?" - -"Not so fery sad, considering sir," answered Diarmid, compelled, he knew -not why, to lay bare his innermost thought to the man before him. "Me -and Marget stood here, watchin' them, and she smiled as she went, and -her face seemed to shine. But it iss a fery peetifu' thing, Maister -Rosmead, for me and Marget to ken that soon the Mackinnons will be swept -from the Glen, root and branch, and their fery name forgot." - -"As long as she lives, Diarmid, that can never be," said Rosmead with -the conviction of a man who knew. "Good-day, my man. Keep up your -heart. There are new days coming for Achree and the name you love." - -Before he turned away from the Lodge of Creagh, Rosmead climbed to the -edge of the Moor of Silence and stood still for a moment on the very -spot, though he knew it not, where Isla had stood with Neil Drummond but -yesterday. - -From where he stood he commanded a vast view, the Moor behind and -beyond, and the winding road down Glenogle, with all the little hills -huddling on its flanks, and widening out to the glory of Loch Earn. - -Achree he could not see, but his eyes, as they ranged towards it, were -filled with that vast tenderness which proclaims that the deeps of being -are stirred. - -Isla had gone away without message or sign, but that neither grieved nor -troubled him. Some day, from out the silence, the sign would come, or -he would himself know the day and the hour of her need of him. - -And as he turned, with the westering light upon his face, he made his -vow that if God should give him a son, Donald Rosmead Mackinnon he -should be called, so that the name should not die for ever out of -Glenogle and the Moor of Silence. - - - - - THE END - - - - - * * * * * * * * - - - - - Novels and Stories by - - ANNIE S. SWAN - - -Between the Tides -Young Blood -The Fairweathers -The Last of Their Race -The Ivory God -Rhona Keith -The Forerunners -Nancy Nicholson -Meg Hamilton -Mary Garth -The Magic of Love -Love Unlocks the Door -Love's Miracle -The Bridge Builders -The Stepmother -Christian's Cross -Maid of the Isles -MacLeod's Wife -Love the Master Key -Mask of Gold -Shore Beyond -Woven of the Wind - - - HODDER AND STOUGHTON LIMITED - LONDON - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LAST OF THEIR RACE *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/42926 - -Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no one -owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation (and -you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without permission -and without paying copyright royalties. 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