"He looks jolly bad, poor old chap," said Malcolm, when Isla came down about ten o'clock from seeing him safely in bed. "He can't last long. It was a pity that you didn't let him see it out at Achree."
"He has not got any worse in the last six months that I can see. Of course the excitement to-night wore him out. He will be brighter in the morning."
"I still think it was a beastly shame to bring him up here. There isn't even decent comfort. This is the only room worth mentioning."
"Well, he has it. He is quite comfortable," said Isla, stoutly. "We must take what is left."
"In wet weather, of which Glenogle has its full share, we shall fight like Kilkenny cats," said Malcolm with a grimace.
Isla passed over the vulgarity of the remark in silence, and, after a moment, said quite straightly. "But surely you won't stop long in the Glen, Malcolm. You'll try to get an appointment of some kind."
"I'd be glad if you'd mention the sort of appointment I'd be likely to get," he answered carelessly. "I must say it's very cold cheer you have for a chap, Isla, after three years' absence. If I weren't the most unsuspicious of men I might suspect you of having underhand motives."
Isla, staring hard into the crackling embers of the peat-fire, answered nothing.
"It strikes me from all I can gather that the place wants a good deal of looking into. I'll make that my first business. I thought them all slack when I was home before, and Heaven only knows what they'll be like now. Then, I must be on the spot on account of the way the old man is. I shouldn't like to be out of the way if anything should happen."
Isla rose to her feet and bade him good night. She had had just about as much as her tired body and strained mind could stand.