Isla shook her head, drew her chair a little nearer that of Agnes, and looked at her very straightly.
"I can't afford to go to Martin, even if I liked her--which I never did. Things have not been going very well with me lately, Agnes, and--and it became imperative that I should get away. I can't explain it to you this morning, and I know you will never ask questions."
"I hope I ken my place a little better than that, Miss Isla," said Mrs. Fraser.
But her tone was sad.
"I'm not at all well off, and, in fact, I must look about immediately for something to do."
At this strange announcement Mrs. Fraser fell back in her chair, as if overcome.
"Oh, Miss Isla, ye don't say so! It's awful, my dear! You to be seekin' something to do! It's no richt--it canna be richt. Oh, my dear, what is the meanin' o' it?"
Isla dashed away a sudden moisture from her eyes.
"It's difficult to explain. You must have known that things were not going well at Achree for a long time, not even in my father's lifetime. Since he died and my brother has become the Laird affairs have got all muddled, and the outlook is hopeless. Further, we don't get on, Agnes. You knew Malcolm as a boy of seven years. So perhaps I needn't say much more."
"No. But to let you go out into the world like this--it's a cryin' shame! You--a Mackinnon o' Achree! It shouldna be," said Agnes desperately.