CHAPTER VIITHE HOME-COMINGHaving 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 VIIIMALCOLM'S PROSPECTSIt 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 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.