"Your heart will dictate the fitting word, my child. Give this to the poor girl, and if she will come to us here to rest awhile in the house where she was born we shall try not to make her feel that we have taken her home from her."
Rosmead tucked his sister in, and, just as the horse was about to start, he spoke again.
"You won't be discouraged if it is a little difficult at first, Vivien? Try to think only of her desperate need."
"Poor old Peter," she said whimsically. "I never saw him so much in earnest about anything. I do believe he would like nothing better than to be going back himself."
Their eyes met in a smile, and she drove off, waving her hand.
He drifted about the place all the afternoon, conscious of a growing restlessness that he could not shake off, his thoughts all the while following Vivien to the Moor of Creagh.
When she arrived at the small plain house, which she now saw for the first time, a vast pity filled her heart. Creagh had beautiful surroundings, but nothing could make it a home. It was bare and uninviting--a mere shelter; and Vivien, who loved beautiful places, and who had the whole art of the Home Beautiful at her finger-ends, wondered how Isla could have borne to exchange the old-world charm of Achree for this.
She had not heard the whole story of the transaction. Rosmead had preserved a singular reticence regarding the terms of his tenancy of Achree, and Vivien merely thought that the Mackinnons either wanted the money badly or had some other family reason for letting their ancestral home.
The blinds were all down, but, as she directed the man to stop outside the gate, she could see the open door at the end of the short avenue.
"Wait here, Farquhar. I will not disturb them by driving up to the door."