"Dead men's shoes" were the words that beat upon her brain through the hours of a restless night.
CHAPTER VIII
MALCOLM'S PROSPECTS
It is the mission of the morning to clear the air, and next morning things looked brighter. The sun shone out gloriously, and the air was soft and balmy as a child's kiss.
Isla slept late and rather heavily after a restless night, and she was horrified when she awakened with a start to find that it was nine o'clock. She sprang up, threw her window open to the sun, and leaned over it for a moment to inhale the delicious breath of the morning. She had taken one of the attic rooms for her own, Margaret Maclaren occupying the other one, while Diarmid had made shift with a bed in his pantry.
The attics had storm-windows on the roof, from which you could see across the angle of the Moor and get a glimpse of Glenogle. Also from that high coign of vantage there was a fascinating view of Ben Voirlich, on whose peak still rested the cap of morning mist. But all the little hills huddled around and below were clear, and the day gave promise of being fine.
Margaret, who had been up twice to the door, now appeared with her hot water.
"So glad you had a good rest, Miss Isla. I thought you looked terrible tired last night. The General is still sleeping. Diarmid says he has hardly moved all night."
"Oh, I am glad of that--and Mr. Malcolm?"
"Been out since the back of six and had his porridge with Diarmid and me," answered Margaret proudly. "Now he is asking for his breakfast and inquiring when you are coming down."