"I have done nothing that the merest stranger might not have done better," he made answer. "What I feel now is that I dare not leave you here alone. If you could send some one down to Lochearn--or if you know where your brother is I will find him for you. It is imperative that you should not be left here alone."
"I don't know where he is, and he shall not come in here!" she cried a little wildly. "You don't understand! Nobody understands except me, but he must not come in here."
Rosmead did not know what to say, for tragedy was in the air.
"Come," he said gently, laying a slightly compelling hand on her arm. "Let me take you upstairs. It will do you good. He looks so beautiful and so gloriously at rest. If only you will let your mind dwell on that, half the bitterness will be gone--on that and on the fact of your long and beautiful devotion to him, which has been the wonder of all the glens."
Rosmead hardly knew himself, and certainly those who knew only one side of Peter Rosmead would have been amazed to hear him now.
Isla obeyed him without the smallest demur, and when she entered the room with the drawn blinds, and looked at the still figure on the bed with the majesty of death on the noble face her tears began to flow. And for that Rosmead thanked God.
She was like a little child in his hands then, begging him not to leave her; and his tenderness, his forethought, his encompassing care were like those of a kind elder brother.
But that came to an end with the sudden, swift arrival of some fresh person at the door and with the sound of Malcolm's loud--somewhat aggressive--voice, calling his sister by name.
Rosmead stood aside while she walked steadily from the room, and he very heartily wished that it were possible for him to escape by some back staircase. He had no desire to witness what he felt must come.
Isla sped swiftly down the stairs, and on the downmost step she paused and pointed an accusing finger at her brother.