"Oh, Sir Thomas!"

"And to-morrow morning, I hope I will be able to tell you something about a companion for your journey. Do you know Mrs. Foster?"

"No. I have heard of her only."

He seemed on the point of going, but did not go until Mrs. Campbell came home. Then he stayed to lunch, and sat chatting with the two ladies until three o'clock. Even then he seemed reluctant to go away.

"Why should he come here at ten o'clock in the morning?" asked Mrs.

Campbell, when Sir Thomas had finally gone away.

"Lady Mary is too ill to travel. Sir Thomas thinks he can get me a proper companion. If not, mother, I shall go alone. I will not let anything disappoint me again."

"You will be talked of from Dan to Beersheba."

"I shall be doing nothing wrong, and I shall be happy. Let them talk."

In the morning Sir Thomas was in the drawing-room at ten o'clock, and Isabel, in a pretty lavender lawn gown, went with a smile to meet him.

He looked at her with delight, and said: "I have found you a companion--one that will take the greatest care of you. It is myself. I will trust you with no one else."

"But, Sir Thomas," and she attempted to draw her hand out of his.

"No, no," he said, clasping it still tighter. "Sit here by my side, and listen to what I say. I love you dearly, wisely, with all my heart. I will make you Lady Wynton to-morrow, if you desire it, and you and I--you and I--will take all those excellently planned journeys together.

We will travel slowly and comfortably, luxuriously when we can; we will see everything worth seeing. We will take a long, long honeymoon trip, all over the world. Say 'yes,' Isabel. May I call you Isabel?"

"Yes."

"My Isabel."

"I am your sincere friend."

"My wife! I want you for my wife."

"A wedding means a great deal of trouble. It would keep me back."

"Not an hour. We will meet in Dr. Robertson's parlor, each with a friend or two. My carriage will be at his door, and as soon as the ceremony is over, we will drive to the railway station, and take a train for London, be in London for dinner, and ready next day to start Tour No. 1, first landing-place St. Petersburg; eh, dear? Say yes, say yes, Isabel. _Do!_"

And how could Isabel say anything but "yes"? It was the dream of her life coming true.

"This is Wednesday," he continued joyfully, "what do you say to next Monday? Can you be ready for Monday?"

"I can be ready by Monday, Sir Thomas."

"We will drop the 'Sir,' my dear, forever. Now, I will go and arrange with Dr. Robertson for the ceremony at nine o'clock, Monday morning, and in the meantime, see your brother about the necessary business matters, and put all right at Wynton village for at least a year's stay. For after London, we will follow the route you laid out--nothing could be better."

And as this was one of those destined marriages, that may be delayed but cannot be prevented, every particular relating to it went as desired. Isabel in a pretty travelling suit, with her mother and brother, was at Dr. Robertson's at nine o'clock on the set Monday morning, and found Sir Thomas Wynton and his brother-in-law and sister, Lord and Lady Morpeth, waiting for them. It was a momentous interval for two of the party, but soon pa.s.sed; for in twenty minutes, Isabel received the congratulations due to her as Lady Wynton, and then amid smiles and good wishes she began with her husband their long wedding trip, of all over the world.

"It is the last of my Isabel," said Mrs. Campbell between smiles and tears.

"No," answered Robert, "it is the beginning of Isabel. When she comes back we shall hardly know her. It is a real marriage; they will improve each other," and he turned away with a sigh.

Mrs. Campbell had really no occasion for tears. She was not inclined to weep, even when weeping would have been in order, and Isabel had not lately been notable, either as a help or a comfort, so that her mother felt it no trial to exchange her presence, for the pleasure of talking of her dear daughter, Lady Wynton, her journeyings and her experiences.

There was also the returning home of Christina, the rearranging of Robert's rooms for her and her family, their moving into them and settlement, and these things engaged her warmest interest. She felt indeed that as regarded Robert's rooms falling to Christina's lot, she owed Providence a handsome acknowledgment. They had been prepared at an extravagant cost for an Englishwoman and a stranger, but had come, as it were, naturally, to her own daughter. But then she said: "Providence had always looked after the Campbells, and it was not likely that in this flagrant case Providence would forget its duty."

She was busy from morning to night until she had the new family under the same roof with her, and Robert also appeared to take a great interest in the change. He was very generous to his sister, and gave her freely all the beautiful furniture and ornaments he had bought for Theodora, even the piano would know her touch no more. All the books, music, and pretty ornaments and embroideries she had acc.u.mulated during her miserable six years of married life, she left behind her; and all were given to Christina. Christina had no reluctance in appropriating them. She began her new tenure in Traquair House by taking everything she could get, likely to add to her comfort or pleasure.

Robert was a great deal about the house while the change was in progress, afterward his visits decreased, until they settled into the Sunday dinner with his family. No one complained of his absence.

Christina and Rathey introduced a new life--a life of constant visiting, gaiety, and entertaining; and Mrs. Campbell accepted it without dissent.

Jamie Rathey indeed ruled her more absolutely than he ruled his wife.

And she petted him, as she had never petted her own sons--ordered luxuries for his eating, gave him presents, paid his bills, and excused all his extravagances.

"Between Jamie and little Margaret, I am not my own woman at all," she admitted, and as time went on, it was difficult to say which of these two treated her with the most tyrannical affection.

Two erroneous conclusions are likely to be formed concerning Robert Campbell on this unlooked for transformation of life in Traquair House--one, that he had suddenly developed a most unusual generosity, and the other, that he had forgotten his wife, and become resigned to her loss. Neither of these conclusions would be correct. Few, indeed, of our actions ring true through all their depths, and Robert's generosity to his sister arose from a desire to make his own life more bearable.

Those lonely, lifeless, deserted rooms, over which he had spent so much love and gold filled him with a terror he hated to face. If Christina would bring into them life and song, and the voices of children, perhaps their haunting misery might die out of his heart. He could not prevent Isabel leaving home, but he did dread the house with no one but his mother and himself in it. So when Christina stepped into both dilemmas, with a comfortable solution, he felt grateful to her, and it was pleasant to give her things, and pleasant to help Jamie Rathey, and to see the dark, silent house alive with mirth and company, and the prattle of little children.

But there was another Robert that none of these things touched, who in fact would neither see them, nor listen to them. This Robert sat hours motionless and speechless, dreaming of the woman he still loved--longing for her with heart-breaking accusations and remorse. _Oh, to hear from her! Oh, to see her_, if but for a moment! Would the hour for their reconciliation never, never come? This was the faithful, bitter cry of his best nature, as raking in the ashes of memory, he made of his lost wife a thousand lovely and sorrowful pictures. And this Robert Campbell, no one but Robert's angels, and Robert's G.o.d knew.

To the world in general he seemed to be harder than ever, indifferent to all interests but money-making, stripped even of his old time gloss and politeness, yielding only when necessary to get his own way. His kindness to Christina had been in the main kindness to himself, and the ready help given to Jamie Rathey was the result of several selfish reasons, united with that singular liking which men occasionally feel for some other man gifted as they never can be--an affection doubtless dating from some life anterior to this life. With these exceptions, Robert Campbell was the old Robert Campbell, a little older, and a little rougher, and the national emblem of the repellent _Thistle_, with its churlish command, "_Hands off!_" represented him very fairly.

CHAPTER XII

ROBERT CAMPBELL GOES WOOING

It will not now be difficult for any one to construct in their imagination the life in Traquair House for the next two years. But at the end of that time, a great change was approaching, and the bringer of it was Isabel, Lady Wynton. She was sitting at her husband's side one afternoon, in the office or foyer of a large hotel in San Francisco. Sir Thomas was smoking and watching with her the constant kaleidoscope of humanity pa.s.sing in and out. They were not talking, but there was a thorough, though silent sympathy between them. Sometimes Sir Thomas looked at her with an admiring glance, which she answered with a smile, or a move of her chair closer to him; but her att.i.tude was that of a woman silently interested and satisfied. It was the old Isabel in a repose, informed, vigilant, and conscious of a perfect communion of feeling.

Suddenly her whole appearance changed. She became eager and watchful, and her personality appeared to be on the tiptoe of expectation. With her eyes she followed every movement of a beautiful young woman attended by a scholarly-looking man, nearing sixty years of age. The couple were quickly joined by a much younger man, they walked with him to the main entrance, stood talking a few minutes, and then bid him farewell. The woman and older man then turned back into the hotel, and Lady Wynton had a full leisurely look at them. She did not recognize the man at all, but she was perfectly satisfied as to the ident.i.ty of the woman, and she stepped hastily forward, crying softly:

"Theodora, Theodora! I know it is you. I have found you at last. Oh, how glad I am, how glad I am!"

"Isabel!"

"And here is my husband, Dora."

"I need no introduction, Mrs. Campbell," said Sir Thomas, with smiling courtesy. "I remember you perfectly, though you have been growing younger, instead of older."

Theodora quickly introduced her father, leaving him with Sir Thomas while she and Lady Wynton went to the Wyntons' parlor for conversation.

"I must write Robert at once," said Lady Wynton. "It will be such a wonderful thing to him, for I am sure he has given up all hope of ever seeing you again, Dora. Two years ago he left Traquair House; he could not endure his empty lonely rooms any longer."

"Poor, dark, sad rooms! I try to forget them also."

"They are not dark and empty now, Christina and her husband and babies are living in them, and they make them lively enough, I have no doubt."

A shadow pa.s.sed over Theodora's face, and she did not speak for a few moments. Then she asked: "What was done with the furniture and the things I used to believe were mine?"

"Christina wrote me that Robert had given everything in the rooms to her."