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."