"Was there nothing worth taking to your new home? No single thing that had a loving, or a pleasant memory?"

"Not one. The whole mess of needlework, and painted cards, toilet toys, and sham trinkets represented my existence until Dora came. It was just as useless and unsatisfying as the trash flung into the kitchen. Dora opened the gates of life for me. Poor Dora!"

"Why do you say 'poor Dora'?"

"She is unhappy, disappointed, I have sometimes thought almost frightened. She is much changed. Robert is not kind to her, and he ought to be ashamed of himself. I wonder if my intended husband will act as Robert has done?"

"Sir Thomas is much in love with you."

"Robert was much in love with Dora. See how it ends. He sits reading, or he lies asleep on the sofa the evenings he is with her--and he used to feel as if the day was not long enough to tell her how lovely and how dear she was. I suppose Sir Thomas will act in the same way."

"I do not think he will."

"He had better not."

"Oh, Christina, do not talk--do not even think of such contingencies.

Women should never threaten."

"Pray, why not?"

"Because it is dangerous to themselves to show their teeth if they cannot bite, and they cannot. Women in this country are helpless as babies."

"Then there are other countries."

"_Hush!_ This is uncanny talk. What a pretty suit! Are you going to wear it to-day?"

"Yes, it is a spring suit, and this is a lovely spring morning. I heard the robins singing as you came upstairs."

"Mother has gone to order the wedding cake--you ought to be a happy woman, Christina."

"I am--and yet, Isabel, life will be bare without you. All my life long you have been my comfort, and I love you, yes, I love you dearly, Isabel."

"And I love you, Christina. I shall miss you every hour of the day."

Then they were both silent, they had said all they could say, and much more than was usual. Christina finished her toilet, and Isabel sat watching her, then they clasped hands and walked downstairs together, and so to the front door, which Jepson opened as Christina approached it. For a few moments Isabel stood there and watched her sister enter the waiting carriage, and felt well repaid when Christina, as the horses moved, fluttered her white handkerchief in a parting salute.

Mrs. Campbell returned in time for lunch. She had quite recovered her dignity, and was indeed more than usually vaunting and exultant. "I have ordered a cake twice the ordinary size," she said, "and the small boxes, and the narrow white ribbon, in which to send friends not present at the ceremony a portion. It will be a labor to tie them up, and direct them, but there will be a house full to help you. When will your dress be done, Isabel?"

"To-night, mother."

"And Christina's comes to-morrow night. Mine is finished. I called at Dalmeny's to examine it. The lace is particularly effective, and it fits--which is a wonder. Will Sir Thomas be here to dinner?"

"He has gone to Edinburgh for the Wynton diamonds. He has set his heart on Christina wearing them at the marriage ceremony."

"I do not approve his determination. A bride, in my opinion, ought to be dressed with great simplicity. I was. A few orange blossoms, or the like of them, are enough."

"Not always. A young girl looks well enough with a few flowers, but a woman in the prime of life, like Christina, can wear diamonds even on her wedding-day, and look grander and lovelier for them."

"Well, well! Your way be it. I do not expect my opinions to be regarded, but can tell you one thing--if Sir Thomas goes on giving her gems at the rate he has done, the Wynton baronage will be in a state of perfect beggary, before the end of their lives. I was just telling Mrs. Malcolm that I verily believed the sum-total o' Sir Thomas Wynton's gifts to my daughter might reach all o' a ten thousand pounds, and she was that astonished, she could barely keep her composure."

"That is just like yourself, mother. I do wish you would not boast so much about Sir Thomas. He is not any kind of a miraculous G.o.dsend, for Christina is quite as good as he is."

"Isabel, if my family has been honored with extraordinar' mercies, I am not the woman to deny them, or even hide them in a napkin, as it were. I am going to be thankful for them and speak well of them to all and sundry. I am going to rejoice day and night over the circ.u.mstance. I think it just and right to testify my grat.i.tude so far; and I would think shame o' myself if I did not do it."

"Very well, mother. Christina had a new spring suit on to-day. She looked exceedingly handsome in it."

"Bailie Littlejohn remarked to me lately, that my daughter Christina was the very picture o' myself, when I was about her age. And he remembered me ever since we were in the dancing cla.s.s together--that is forty years--maybe forty-one, or two, or perhaps as many as forty----"

"Never mind the years, mother. It is very nice of the Bailie to remember so long."

"I always made long--I may say lasting impressions, Isabel. It was my way--or gift--a kind of power I had. People who once know me, never forget me. It is rather a peculiar power, I think."

"Christina seems very happy, mother."

"Of course she is happy! It would be a black, burning shame if she were not. Sir Thomas is all she deserves, and more too, yet I am glad he has withdrawn himself to-night, for I am fairly f.a.gged out with fine dinners, and I shall tell McNab to give us some mutton broth and collops to-night. It will be a thanksgiving to have the plainest dinner she can cook."

"Christina may not like it."

"Then she can dislike it. I am not fearing Christina. I wish you would ask Dora what she is going to wear."

"Tell Robert to do so."

"I have heard tell of no new dress, and it would be just like her to wear her own wedding dress."

"Is there anything against her doing so?"

"Is there anything against it? Certainly there is. We do not want any one in white satin but Christina."

"Oh! I see. Robert must explain that to her. Tell him so to-night. You had better take a sleep this afternoon, mother. You look tired."

"I will rest until seven. What time will Christina be home?"

"She did not tell me."

"Where was she going?"

"To Marion Brodie's. She spoke of Flora McLeod being with Marion to-day, and of the necessity of making each of them understand their duties."

"Duties?"

"As chief bride-maidens."

"Yes, yes, of course! But she will be home to dinner?"

"Oh, certainly; and Marion may come back with her. If so, how will the plain dinner do?"

"Well enough! Marion's mother was brought up on mutton broth and haggis; and the wealth o' the Brodies is o'er young to be in the fashions yet awhile. I will be down at seven, and meanwhile you may speak to Christina anent her duty. I do think her wedding dress ought to be home even the now."

"Mother, it will not come until the day before the marriage. She is afraid of it being handled."