Driving very slowly towards Achree, Rosmead was astonished at the increasing number of people both in vehicles and on foot. He was unaware that in Scotland a burying--especially the burying of a great chief--is a public event, in which every man, woman, and child of the district takes a personal interest. Everybody came as a matter of course to see Mackinnon of Achree laid to rest, and all were made welcome, though no invitations, in the ordinary sense, had been sent out. In some doubt as to whether he should take his car up to the house, Rosmead addressed himself to a policeman--a most unusual spectacle in Glenogle--who was on duty at the gate. "Mr. Rosmead, sir, I think?" said the man, touching his hat. "Yes, my man." "Then you are to go up, please. I had my orders this morning. They are expecting you at the house." Rosmead gave the order to drive slowly, and presently he came within sight of the house where the cortège stood before the open door. There were two other cars, and the Garrion roans were conspicuous at the bend of the avenue. Rosmead alighted and walked over to the door where Diarmid was on the look-out. "Mr. Rosmead, sir. I haf a message from Miss Isla for you, if it pe that she would not see you pefore you leave." "Yes, my man." "She says will you please come pack to the house if you can spare the time after you haf peen at Balquhidder, as she would like to speak with you, whatefer." Rosmead silently nodded. Had the American boat sailed that very afternoon it is safe to say that one passenger at least would have failed to take his berth. Diarmid, very respectful with a touch of gratitude in his mien, waited upon Rosmead and finally ushered him to the library where a small company were already assembled for the service that was to take place at a quarter to twelve. Malcolm, very pale and slightly haggard, came forward immediately to greet Rosmead, whom he introduced to his uncle. "Happy to meet you, sir," said Sir Tom, as his great hand grasped the American’s slender one in a grip of iron. "We, as a family, will not readily forget your kindness at this time to the son and daughter of my poor brother. It was a Christian act, sir--a Christian act." Rosmead asked him not to say more, passing it over as if ashamed that so much should be made of it. Then he stepped back and looked about at the people in the room. Some of them he recognized, but Neil Drummond, sourly resentful of his intimate presence there, unaware, of course, that he came by Isla’s special invitation, did not suffer his eyes to alight on his face.