Away with the train or car that would convey him only to Balquhidder when Isla had expressed even the faintest desire to see him! It would be their last meeting until he could return from America, for on Thursday he must set out upon the journey which never in all his life had he been so loth to take.
He pondered on all the details of the day in front of him, and, by copious use of the telephone in his room, had arranged them all before he went down to breakfast. He did not wait for his sisters. There was nothing to hurry them in the mornings in Glasgow, and generally they breakfasted with their mother in her sitting-room.
At nine o'clock, dressed in full motor garb, he tapped at his mother's door.
"I have had a letter from Miss Mackinnon this morning, asking me to go out to the funeral at Achree, and I'm going now. It will take me quite all my time to get there by noon."
Mrs. Rosmead smiled upon him, well pleased. She did not ask to see the letter. She only bade him take care of himself and give her love to Isla, and to assure her that there was no need to hurry away from Achree. He felt glad that neither of his sisters had yet appeared. He left a message for them and went off to the waiting car, ready for what lay in front of him.
It was not a very pleasant day in the city. There was a light fog hanging over it, through which a fine rain was beginning to filter dismally. But when they got away from the river-bed the rain stopped, and, though the sky remained grey and pensive, it was fair overhead.
No sun shone all the way, and when he came to the hills Rosmead thought it was an ideal day for a burying--just typical of the grief which overshadowed a whole glen. The sky was grey and very soft, and a mist lay upon the hills, while the heaviness of unshed tears was in the soundless air.
About eleven o'clock Rosmead, who had had a splendid run without mishap or stop, swept by the incomparable beauty of Loch Lubnaig, through bonnie Strathyre, and down upon the valley of the Earn.
Long before he reached it he was struck by the signs of activity on the usually quiet and lonely road. All sorts and conditions of vehicles moved towards Glenogle, containing all sorts and conditions of people. At the hotel door there was quite a medley of waiting traps. Rosmead drew up there and went inside to remove his motor garb and to put on the decent mourning, safely stowed at the back of the car.
He looked graver and older in the tall silk hat and dark overcoat with the black band on the arm, and he was respectfully recognized by many.