"I will lend you the money."

"I do not wish to discharge her. She satisfies me thoroughly. I see no reason to send her away."

"You have the best of all reasons--my order to do so."

"I will ask Robert to-night."

"You will ask Robert, will you? So shall I."

Then Theodora called David, and the little lad came running to her. He was wearing a kilt of the Campbell tartan, a small philabeg, a black velvet jacket trimmed with gilt b.u.t.tons, and a Glengary ornamented with an eagle's feather. His frank, beautiful face, his strong vitality, and his pretty manners were instantly notable, for when he saw his grandmother was present, he lifted his cap and said: "Good-morning, grandmother." She did not answer, though she regarded him a moment with a pride she could not conceal, and as she left the room she told herself: "The boy is a Scot, in spite of his English dam. He is a Scot, even if he is not a Campbell, and please G.o.d we will mak' him a Campbell yet."

That day Theodora met at Mrs. Oliphant's a gentleman whom she had seen there not unfrequently during the winter, an American called Kennedy, and a very sincere friendship had grown up between them. After an early dinner he asked permission to take David to a circus then in Glasgow, and the boy's entreaties being added, Theodora could not resist them.

They went off in a hurry of delight, and finding herself alone with Mrs.

Oliphant, the long, carefully hidden sorrows of her heart burst forth in a flood that bore away all pride, all restraint, and all the jealously kept barriers of a long reticence and concealment.

How it happened she never knew, but with pa.s.sionate weeping she told her friend all the miseries of her daily life, and the greater dread that blackened and haunted her future--the terror lest David should be taken from her, and sent to some severe, disciplinary boarding-school. Weeping in each other's arms, the confession and consolation went on, until Margaret Oliphant dared to say the words Theodora feared to utter.

"You must take your child, and go where Robert Campbell will never find you, until David is a man, and able to defend himself."

"Thank you, Margaret. I have been longing to tell you that I see no other conclusion. But where shall I go? India, Australia, Canada, are all governed by English laws, and so then, anywhere in these countries, David could be taken from me, and my husband could force me to return to his home. So much I have learned, from similar cases to mine, reported in the newspapers."

"You must go to the United States. There, you may work and enjoy the money you earn; no husband can take it from you. There, you cannot be forced to live with a husband who treats you cruelly, and I am sure no court would allow a child of tender age to be taken from a mother so properly fitted to bring him up. You must have a talk with Mr. Kennedy.

He can help you. He will be glad to help you."

"I thought he had business here."

"He has business he thinks of great importance. His wife is dead, and he brought her two daughters to a school she remembered in Edinburgh, but not being sure his children would be happy there, he is staying to watch over them."

"Are they happy?"

"No. He is going to take them home again, when the school closes in June--perhaps before."

"Then, Margaret?"

"Then you could go with him?"

They went over and over this plan, constantly evolving new fears and new advantages, and were yet in the fever of the discussion, when Mr.

Kennedy and David returned. It was both David's and Ducie's first visit to a circus, and after a few minutes' rapturous description, they were permitted to go to another room and talk over the enchanting scenes.

Then Mrs. Oliphant said: "Come now, David Campbell, and tell your sister Theodora how heartily you are at her service." And the supposed Mr.

Kennedy took Theodora's hands, and said: "My dear sister. I have known all your sad life for the last half-year. I am here to help you."

But Theodora looked amazed and even troubled, and he sat down at her side and continued: "I am really David Campbell, your husband's elder brother. I am also the foster-son of Mrs. McNab, and I have heard all from her, and have been waiting here, knowing that the end to a life so unhappy must come, and wondering that you have borne it so long."

Then Theodora remembered that she had heard from Ducie, that McNab had a son come home from foreign parts, and that he took her out frequently, and gave her many presents. And she looked into her brother-in-law's face for some trace of his relationship, but could find none. David Campbell was more Celt than Gael, he was tall and slender, had a gentle voice and a manner that could only come from a good heart. His whole appearance was aquiline and American, and he was dressed in the loose, easy style of a citizen of the great Western Republic. After a most critical survey, Theodora was ready to confess, that his visits to McNab were perfectly safe from detection.

"I have sat with the servants in the kitchen, have eaten with them, and heard all they could tell me of your life, Theodora; and now I am at your service with all my heart."

"Then tell me what to do."

"First, let me go and see your father and mother. Your father will give us good advice, and we will not move till we get it--unless some desperate cause intervenes."

"Thank you. That is what I wish."

"Give me their address."

"I am sorry----"

"Say nothing, I entreat you! I have no other duty in Glasgow, but to look after you, and my splendid little namesake. And I a.s.sure you, if I saw any other way of bringing my dear brother to his senses, I would try it first. But not until Robert has lost you, will he find out what you really are to him."

"Have you seen your brother?"

"Many a time. I have even spoken to him, but he has no recollection of me. He cannot, for he seldom saw me. I should not have known him if I had met him anywhere but in the Campbell iron works. He is a hard master to his men."

"But there is another Robert, I a.s.sure you, a Robert I only know--or used to know. He was a n.o.ble, generous man, a man I loved with all my soul."

"I believe you, and that lost Robert only wants proper surroundings to give him a chance. See! We are going to educate that other Robert. I love my brother, Theodora, and we will work together to make him happy in spite of himself, and the other evil powers that now hold him in thrall."

"O, thank you! Thank you, David! I never had a brother, but have often longed for one. You are a true G.o.dsend to me."

"With G.o.d's help I will be! Your father's home is in Bradford?"

"Yes, he lives in Hanover Square, Bradford. Any one will tell you where the Rev. John Newton lives."

"I will leave by to-night's train. I will tell them all--for McNab has told me all--and your father will send his advice back by me."

With this comfort in her heart Theodora did not feel afraid, though she had stayed until the night had fallen. Mr. Oliphant took her home in his carriage, and Robert was compelled to thank him for his courtesy; but he followed his wife into their parlor with a dark countenance, and asked her angrily, "why she put herself under obligations to people like the Oliphants?"

"Are there any objections to the Oliphants?" she asked.

"My mother has never trusted them, never. And you know this."

"Your mother trusts no one."

"Where is Ducie?"

"She is attending to David's supper."

"Call her!"

"Will not a little later do?"

"No, I want her now."

"Ring the bell, then."

He looked astonished at the order, but he obeyed it. Theodora had sat down. Her face was sad and stern, and her eyes flashed so angrily he did not care to encounter them.

In a few minutes Ducie appeared. She came in smiling and curtsied to her master when he said: