Malcolm Mackinnon, busy with his own concerns, had no qualms about his sister even when the weeks went by, bringing no line or sign from her. The Barras Mackinnons did not write either, but when Malcolm thought of the matter at all he concluded that she was safe with them. Obviously there could be no other explanation of the silence. Towards the end of November, however, a somewhat disturbing note from Lady Mackinnon arrived at Creagh. "As Isla has not chosen to answer any of our letters I am writing to ask what is the matter with her. We kept on expecting her at Wimereaux up to the last, and Uncle Tom was much disappointed that she did not come. I am writing to say that we shall be in Glasgow on Thursday night, en route for Barras, and that if you and she will come up for the night to St. Enoch’s we can talk things over. If Isla likes to bring her things and go on with us to Barras we shall only be too glad." Malcolm stood, staring stupidly at the letter, and, for the moment, he was at his wits’ end. Isla had not gone to Wimereaux, their folk knew nothing of her!--where, then, was she? Had Malcolm lived in close intimacy with the folk in the Glen, as Isla had done, he would have heard by now from Elspeth Maclure that she had gone no farther than London and was there still. Truth to tell, he had been so relieved by his sister’s departure that he had not troubled his head about her or noticed the quick flight of time. Things were going well with him, and the spectre in the background was giving no unnecessary trouble. He was a great believer in luck, as many ignorant persons are, and he believed that his had turned. His chief business in life just then was the wooing of Vivien Rosmead, and he was now anticipating the day, not far distant, when he intended to ask her to be his wife. He hoped to arrange the matter quietly when Rosmead returned to Scotland, and to have his marriage an accomplished fact as soon thereafter as possible. Then he could snap his fingers at all the phantoms of the past. Malcolm, however, did not reckon with certain forces that are stronger than the poor planning of the human brain, and so he marched on unconcernedly to the crisis of his fate. He received his aunt’s letter one day at Lochearn when he was on his way to Glasgow to see Cattanach. At the station he met Neil Drummond, who was going up to Callander to see a man at the Dreadnought Hotel, and, being full of the news that had just come, he blurted it out to Neil, who had seemed of late disposed to be more friendly to him. "Look here, Drummond. Has your sister ever heard from Isla since she left Glenogle?" he asked as he offered Neil his cigarette-case. "No, she hasn’t, and Kitty has wondered, of course. I suppose she’s still with your uncle and aunt at Wimereaux?"