"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.