CHAPTER XVIIHER TRUE FRIENDSFortune 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 XVIIIGOODBYE TO GLENOGLEHalf 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 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.