She knew nothing of the tragedy at the back of Malcolm's life, and, though it had been more than whispered in the Glen that there had been no accident on Loch Earn, but that Mackinnon had gone forth, meaning to take his own life in the way that seemed easiest and would occasion least remark, these rumours had not been permitted to reach Creagh.
But Isla, in her heart, had knowledge and confirmation of these things, though she had not heard of them.
How surprised, then, would Lady Mackinnon have been could she have heard what passed in the little room behind.
Isla entered quietly, closed the door, and faced the woman with whom she had already spoken twice and who, in some strange way, was mixed up with the tragedy of Malcolm's life and death.
"You're not surprised to see me, I can see," she said without preliminary. "Did you know I was in Scotland?"
"Yes," answered Isla clearly. "Please to sit down and tell me all that you wish to tell me and that it is necessary I should hear. But first, let me ask one question--Are you, were you, my brother's wife?"
She shook her head.
"I ought to have been, but I wasn't. That was the beginning and the end of the trouble. I waited for him so long, and he promised me faithful and true that if I would only wait quietly till he got out of his sea of troubles he would marry me."
"I understand," said Isla rather faintly. "Please say no more now, but tell me as quickly as you can what you know about it all."
Neither sat down. Isla stood by the table with her white, frail hand on the red baize of the tablecover, her shadowed eyes looking forth with a strange sad pity on the woman's face.