CHAPTER XVII.
THE UNKNOWN FORCE "Arrah thin, Miss Isabel darlint, and can't ye rest at all ?" Old Biddy stooped over her charge, her parchment face a mass of wrinkles.
Isabel was lying in bed, but raised upon one elbow in the attitude of one about to rise.

She looked at the old woman with a queer, ironical smile in her tragic eyes.
"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.