Rosmead was impressed by the circumstance that there were no flowers upon the coffin--only the Union Jack and the old soldier’s sword, to the hilt of which was tied a bunch of white heather. All was simple, severe, and impressive. The short service was quickly over. Then a sudden, weird sound broke upon the listening ears--the wailing of the pipes, which filled the soundless air with a melancholy music. All this time Isla had not appeared, and Rosmead strained his eyes in vain for a sight of her. But it was denied him, and he had not even asked for her welfare. It was a great burying, the like of which had not been seen in the glens for many a year. As the cortège, half a mile long, slowly defiled through Lochearnhead it was joined by a score or more of vehicles that waited it there. And so it was all the way to the Braes of Balquhidder. Rosmead, who had left his car at Achree and entered one of the mourning coaches, felt the impressiveness of the whole scene, and was almost moved to tears when they turned away from the grave to the sweet haunting strains of the "Flowers of the Forest". As the mourners fell away slowly from the grave-side some one touched his arm. "I shall be glad if you will drive back to Achree with me, Mr. Rosmead," said the voice of Sir Thomas Mackinnon. "I should like to have a little talk with you." This was noted by the curious, and it was afterwards said that more attention could not have been paid to the American if he had been sib to the Mackinnons. But there was not one who added that the attention was misplaced. "A sad affair, isn’t it, for those who are left?" said Sir Thomas as they drove slowly away, "for my niece especially. You see, her father was her life-work, so to speak, and now that it is taken out of her hands she will feel stranded for a bit." "Miss Mackinnon is one who will always find something to occupy her heart and her hands," said Rosmead. Uncle Tom assented. "They tell me you have Achree on an option, Mr. Rosmead," he said--and it was evident that that was the thing uppermost in his mind. "I hope that you like the place, and feel minded to stop on." "I should like to, but I have not yet had any conversation about it. I shall have to see Mr. Mackinnon to-day, as I leave Scotland on Thursday." "You leave Scotland? But I understood that you were here indefinitely." "No. The business which brought me is concluded, and there is work lying to my hand in America." "Then, do you leave your ladies here?" "Yes, for six months. Our tenancy of Achree does not expire till the end of October, and nothing, therefore, need be decided now. But I think that my mother likes the place so well that we might take a lease of it--that is, if Mr. Mackinnon does not wish possession for himself. Will the General’s death alter nothing?"