"I am going up the mountain," she said. "It is moonlight, and I know the
way. I can rest when I get to the top."
"Ah, be aisy, darlint!" urged the old woman. "It's much more likely he'll
come to ye if ye lie quiet."
"No, he will not come to me." There was unalterable conviction in
Isabel's voice. "It is I who must go to him. If I had waited on the
mountain I should never have missed him. He is waiting for me there now."
She flung off the bedclothes and rose, a gaunt, white figure from which
all the gracious lines of womanhood had long since departed. Her silvery
hair hung in two great plaits from her shoulders, wonderful hair that
shone in the shaded lamplight with a lustre that seemed luminous.
"Will I have to fetch Master Scott to ye?" said Biddy, eyeing her
wistfully. "He's very tired, poor young man. There's two nights he's had
no sleep at all. Won't ye try and rest aisy for his sake, Miss Isabel
darlint? Ye can go up the mountain in the morning, and maybe that little
Miss Bathurst will like to go with ye. Do wait till the morning now!" she
wheedled, laying a wiry old hand upon her. "It's no Christian hour at all
for going about now."
"Let me go!" said Isabel.
Biddy's black eyes pleaded with a desperate earnestness. "If ye'd only
listen to reason, Miss Isabel!" she said.
"How can I listen," Isabel answered, "when I can hear his voice in my
heart calling, calling, calling! Oh, let me go, Biddy! You don't
understand, or you couldn't seek to hold me back from him.
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