"In wet weather, of which Glenogle has its full share, we shall fight like Kilkenny cats," said Malcolm with a grimace. Isla passed over the vulgarity of the remark in silence, and, after a moment, said quite straightly. "But surely you won’t stop long in the Glen, Malcolm. You’ll try to get an appointment of some kind." "I’d be glad if you’d mention the sort of appointment I’d be likely to get," he answered carelessly. "I must say it’s very cold cheer you have for a chap, Isla, after three years’ absence. If I weren’t the most unsuspicious of men I might suspect you of having underhand motives." Isla, staring hard into the crackling embers of the peat-fire, answered nothing. "It strikes me from all I can gather that the place wants a good deal of looking into. I’ll make that my first business. I thought them all slack when I was home before, and Heaven only knows what they’ll be like now. Then, I must be on the spot on account of the way the old man is. I shouldn’t like to be out of the way if anything should happen." Isla rose to her feet and bade him good night. She had had just about as much as her tired body and strained mind could stand. "Dead men’s shoes" were the words that beat upon her brain through the hours of a restless night. CHAPTER VIII MALCOLM’S PROSPECTS It is the mission of the morning to clear the air, and next morning things looked brighter. The sun shone out gloriously, and the air was soft and balmy as a child’s kiss. Isla slept late and rather heavily after a restless night, and she was horrified when she awakened with a start to find that it was nine o’clock. She sprang up, threw her window open to the sun, and leaned over it for a moment to inhale the delicious breath of the morning. She had taken one of the attic rooms for her own, Margaret Maclaren occupying the other one, while Diarmid had made shift with a bed in his pantry. The attics had storm-windows on the roof, from which you could see across the angle of the Moor and get a glimpse of Glenogle. Also from that high coign of vantage there was a fascinating view of Ben Voirlich, on whose peak still rested the cap of morning mist. But all the little hills huddled around and below were clear, and the day gave promise of being fine. Margaret, who had been up twice to the door, now appeared with her hot water. "So glad you had a good rest, Miss Isla. I thought you looked terrible tired last night. The General is still sleeping. Diarmid says he has hardly moved all night." "Oh, I am glad of that--and Mr. Malcolm?" "Been out since the back of six and had his porridge with Diarmid and me," answered Margaret proudly. "Now he is asking for his breakfast and inquiring when you are coming down." "Serve the breakfast. I’ll be as quick as I can," said Isla.