Isla sprang forward and knelt down in a silence that could be felt. The old man lay slightly on his side, and Rosmead, as he too knelt down, saw at once that all was over.
Isla's white face and terrified eyes turned to him in swift appeal.
"Will you take your horse and ride quickly for Dr. Blair? I left him at the keeper's house at Rofallion. Any of them here will tell you where it is. And even if he is gone from there the people will know what direction he took."
Rosmead rose to his feet, and on his face was a great and sad gentleness.
"I will go if you wish, my dear, but it is useless. He is dead."
Isla sprang up, and her eyes flashed.
"Dead! How dare you say that? He can't be dead--it is impossible. He was quite well this morning--better than he has been for years. I told Dr. Blair so when he wished to come and see him this very morning. Oh, if only I had let him come!"
Her hand on the shabby old bell-pull sent a hundred echoes through the house and brought Diarmid, shaking and apprehensive, to the door.
Isla turned to him sharply.
"Come, Diarmid. The General has had a fit--or something. Help to lift him up, and carry him to his room. Will you, Mr. Rosmead? Oh, thank you very much. Then if you will ride for the doctor it will be the greatest service you can render."