"Yes, I am tolerably well off."

"And very happy?"

"As happy as a man can be, who has lost the dearest and sweetest of wives."

"But you will marry again?"

"Not until my daughters are married! I will never give them a stepmother; she might make me a stepfather. But when they are settled, I may marry again."

"Do you know any one likely to take the place of your dead wife?"

"No one can ever take her place. There is a very n.o.ble woman who may make her own place in my heart and home. I think it would be a very strong, sweet place."

"Is she Scotch?"

"No."

"English?"

"No."

"American?"

"Spanish-American."

"Beautiful?"

"Very--and of lovely disposition and great attainments. She is also rich, but that I do not count."

"What is her name?"

"Mercedes Morena. She is a Roman Catholic, a woman of fervent piety."

"Spanish. And a Papist. What will mother say?

"All kinds of hard things--no doubt--though money makes a good deal of difference in mother's conclusions. But I care nothing for her opinion; a wife is a man's most sacred and personal relation. No one has a right to object to the woman he chooses. It is no one's business but his own."

"When I married Theodora, she looked as she looked to-night, only to-night she is far more lovely. Oh, David, I cannot give her up! She is tied to me by my heart-strings. I shall cease to live, if she refuses me."

"And, Robert, she is good as she is lovely. I marvel that you could live six years at her side, and not grow into her spiritual and mental likeness."

"The Campbells have a strong individuality, David."

"I tell you frankly, she has lifted me upward almost unconsciously. I would not do the things to-day I did without uneasiness four years ago.

For instance, I would not to-day go into my mother's home and presence unknown to her. I would not to-day visit you and your works as a stranger. I enjoyed the incognito four years ago. It appears to me now dishonorable and vulgar. No one has told me so, or corrected me for it--the knowledge came with the gradual and general uplift of my ideals, through companionship and conversation with your wife. How did you escape her sweet influences?"

"I kept out of their way."

"Did you never make any effort to find your wife and child?"

"I spent four thousand pounds looking for her. Then Isabel advised me to give the search up, and leave the whole affair to Destiny. I did not mind the money--much, but I did mind terribly the talk and the newspapers. I felt it to be a great trial to face even my workmen."

"How did mother take the event?"

"She defied it--laughed at it--defended her cruelty--said she would do it all over again."

"I have no doubt of it."

"Dr. Robertson--who heard the whole story from Mrs. Oliphant--came out to the works to see me, and he said some awful things. He even told me, that until I repented of my sinful conduct, and acknowledged it before a session of the Kirk officers, he would refuse the Holy Communion."

"He did right, Robert, and I am glad to hear that Scotch dominies are still brave enough to reprove sin in the rich places of the Kirk."

"Then he went to mother, and told her the same thing."

"Well?"

"He could do nothing with mother. She ordered him to 'attend to his Kirk and his bit sermons, and leave her household alone.' I will not repeat their conversation--you would not believe any one would dare to browbeat a minister as she did. He forbid her the sacramental occasion, and she ordered him out of her house. It made a great scandal. It made me wretched."

"What did you do about the Sabbath Day?"

"There was a new church very near to us, and they were a struggling congregation, with a boyish kind of minister. Mother was gladly received there. She rented the most extravagant pew, gave one hundred pounds to the church fund, and took the minister into her personal care and protection. Christina and her husband went with her. Mother owns the Kirk and the minister, and the elders and the deacons, and all the congregation now. Every one praises her orthodoxy and her generosity, and she does as she thinks right in Free St. Jude's."

David laughed heartily, and Robert continued: "All the ladies' societies meet in Traquair House, and all of them are prosperous. She is president of some, treasurer of others, and she entertains all of them with a splendid hospitality. And Christina tells me, she never fails to speak with pitying scorn of Dr. Robertson and his Kirk. I heard her myself one day tell them, 'that he was clean behind the times in Christian work.

What is a Kirk worth?' she asked, 'without plenty of Ladies' Auxiliary Societies? The women in a Kirk must work, G.o.d knows the men won't! They spin a sovereign into the collection box, and think they have done their full share. Poor things, it is maybe all they can do! The women of Free St. Jude's must be an example to the Robertson Kirk, and the like o' it.'"

"She is a great woman, is mother, in some ways," said David, and he laughed disdainfully.

"She is," answered Robert. "I think I will go home to-morrow. Theodora no longer loves me, and yet, David, I love her a million times more than ever. No, I can not give her up; I can not, I will not! I will win her over again--if I stay a year to do it."

"You would be unworthy of love, or even life, if you gave her up. But you are worn out and not able to arrange yourself. Come, I will take you to your room, and to-morrow go and ask her plainly, if she still loves you."

"I will."

CHAPTER XIII

THE RECONSTRUCTED MARRIAGE

During the following three weeks, Robert lived in an earthly paradise.

His brother drew him with cords of strong wisdom and affection always into the ways of pleasantness and peace. Theodora grew every day more lovely and more familiar; her little coolnesses vanished in the warmth of Robert's smiles, her shy pride was conquered by his persistent and pa.s.sionate wooing; and the days went by in a glory of innocent amus.e.m.e.nts. Theodora and little David were clever and fearless riders, and they soon made the accomplishment easy to Robert, who was delighted with its joyful mastery, and greatly disappointed if bad weather, or any other event, prevented their morning gallop.

Very frequently he accompanied his brother into San Francisco, met many of her great financiers and merchants, and was their guest at such elaborate lunches and dinners as he had never dreamed possible. Or, he went with Mr. Newton to his vineyard and watched the process of raisin-making. And Theodora had a dance for him, and the lovely young girls present taught him the American steps, and made him wonder over their beauty, their brightness, their perfect ease of manner, and their manifest superiority and authority over male adorers, who appeared to be perfectly delighted with their own subjugation. A full course at the greatest university in the world would not have given him such a civilizing social education as the pretty girls of San Francisco did in a month.

But all things come to an end, and one day Robert received two letters which compelled a pause in this pleasant life. They were from his mother and his head manager. His mother wrote: "You be to come home, Robert Campbell; everything is going to the mischief wanting you! I am hearing that the men are on strike at the works, and that the fires have been banked, and the gates locked. Jamie Rathey is drinking too much wine and neglecting his business, and Christina is whimpering and scolding, for she knows well he will not behave himself until he gets the word from you. As for myself, I am barely holding up against the great strain, for there's none to help me, Christina having trouble enough in her own shoes, and My Lady Wynton having almost forgotten the way to her own home, since she was promoted to a residence in Wynton Castle. So, Robert, my lad, come back as quick as you can, for your mother is sorely needing you."