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.