Robert was hastening to the carriage and did not hear her reply, but when it was about to move, he bent forward and looked at the door he was leaving. Theodora stood on the steps. Her heart was in her eyes, her hands clasped above her breast. She saw him bend forward, and leaned towards him smiling. Never throughout all his life days did he forget that last glimpse of the beautiful woman who that morning watched him out of her sight. When he was quite gone she turned into the house with that sense of completeness so essential even to the sorrowful. She had seen the last of her husband. The bitterness of the separation was over.

She went to Davie and let him comfort her, then she dressed the boy, and left him in the care of McNab; for she knew that she must go to Mrs.

Oliphant's without delay. The door had been set wide open for them, and they must make the best of the opportunity; or perhaps lose their lucky hour forever.

Fortunately David Campbell was at Mrs. Oliphant's, having returned from Edinburgh not ten minutes previously. He heard Theodora's tidings with a calm pleasure. "We are ready," he said. "Your father and mother have been in Glasgow for a week. They are boarding at a house in Monteith Row, a pretty locality on Glasgow Green."

"Oh, David, were you not afraid?"

"Not at all," he answered, "the Campbells are exclusive West-Enders.

They would be as likely to go near Monteith Row as to go to Ashantee.

Your parents are known as Mr. and Mrs. Bell. You must not try to see them until you meet on the steamer."

"Very well. When shall we sail?"

"This is Tuesday. The Anchor Line have a good boat sailing at noon, Sat.u.r.day. Can you be ready?"

"Easily. About your daughters?"

"They are ready. They will be here Friday, or perhaps Thursday. Now I will go and secure the four best staterooms possible. I shall take them in the name of Kennedy--and that will be our name, until we reach New York."

Theodora remained with Mrs. Oliphant until David returned with the tickets for the four staterooms. She felt then, that there was no reprieve, and that her first duty now was to be as cheerful and brave as she ought to be. On reaching home, she found that David's cot had been carried to the maid's room, but she made no complaint. The fact swept away all doubts and misgivings; it was the last injustice, the last cruelty that could be inflicted, and it was a vain one, for David could sleep with her, until the end came.

On the following morning, she asked Jepson to send to her room the smallest of her trunks, and she put into it a few things belonging to her girlhood's life--her music, her textbooks, a novel she had nearly finished writing, and the beautiful linen she had made and embroidered with her own hands for her marriage outfit. Two dresses were all that remained of the gowns bought at this date. These she took with her. In her hand she would carry a Gladstone bag with toilet necessities, and plenty of clean white waists and collars for David and herself. Their suits, bought with reference to this necessity, were of dark blue cloth; David's made into his first breeches and jacket, and Theodora's in the simplest manner possible, but as Mrs. Campbell said to Isabel:

"Plain, of course. But look at the lines and the make o' it! Menzie's cutting and fitting no doubt. It cost five guineas to make that dress and the cloak with it. She's a wasteful creature."

"Robert said she bought it herself, and----"

"So she ought, so she ought! And the boy dressed up in broadcloth and linen waists! A few yards of lindsey would be more fitting."

"Mother, he is a beautiful boy."

"Is he? I cannot see myself where his beauty comes in."

During the next two days Theodora employed herself in folding carefully away all her clothing, and locking it up in its proper drawers. Her jewels she packed separately, and with a letter, put into McNab's charge, requesting her to give them to Mr. Campbell, if she did not return with him. When Friday morning came, she rose early, dressed herself and David, and was ready for the train that left just about the time the Campbell breakfast was served. In this way, she hoped to escape the presence of Jepson, whom she feared might be told to accompany her.

On the contrary, Mrs. Campbell grumbled at Jepson for helping the coachman with her trunk, and the only question she asked was: "What road did she take, Jepson?"

"The Caledonian, ma'am," was the answer.

"Hum-m-m! I thought so."

"Has she gone?" said Isabel.

"Yes, and a good riddance of her."

"Oh, mother, and none of us bid her good-bye, or wished her a pleasant time. I intended to go to the train with her--now I have missed----"

"Making a fool of yourself. That is all you have missed."

"What train would Mrs. Campbell take, Jepson?"

"The nine o'clock train, I suppose, miss."

But Theodora did not take the nine o'clock train. She gave a porter a shilling to care for her trunk, and watched an hour in a waiting-room.

No one suspicious appearing, she requested the porter to call a cab, and put her trunk upon it, and then without fear or hurry, she drove to a certain store, where David Campbell was waiting. He went with her at once to the pier of the Anchor Line, where they left her trunk to be placed with the rest of the Kennedy luggage in the hold. "And now, where will you hide yourself until to-morrow morning, Theodora?" he asked kindly.

"Mrs. Oliphant----"

"No. She wants you, but I told her it could not be. Her servants will be closely questioned, no doubt."

"I see."

"The steamer touches at Greenock. Get a room in the Tontine Inn. Have your food served in your room, and keep quiet until you walk down to meet the steamer."

"I will do so. It is the best plan."

So they went to the railway station, and David Campbell put them into a comfortable carriage for Greenock. "You will see your father and mother to-morrow," he said. "They are as happy as two little children over the journey. It is a great event for them, and they are talking of their little grandson continually. They long to see him."

Theodora hardly knew what was being said to her. She was in a kind of dreamlike state--a state, however, in which no mistakes are ever made.

The Inner Woman had control, and she had quite resigned herself to its leading. "David and I will meet the steamer in the morning. Be on the watch for us, brother," she said.

"I will. You will go to the Tontine?"

"Certainly."

"And if they should not have room for you there, then go to the----"

"I will go to the Tontine. There is a room ready for me there."

He looked at her kindly and understood. Those who have watched long, solemn nights away with the Beloved One, slowly dying, know something beyond the lines of science, or the teachings of creeds. He said good-bye to her, without a fear of any mistake.

At Greenock she found the prepared room in the Tontine, and she made herself and little Davie comfortable, and then ordered their dinner to be brought to them. She was glad of this pause in her affairs, and long after Davie was asleep, she sat pondering the past and the future. At first she was dazed and half-unbelieving of the great event that had taken place in her life. In the darkness of the room, she fell into short sleeps, and kept feeling around in the darkness of her mind to learn what troubled her, until suddenly, in cruel starts from sleep, her sorrow found her out.

But this is the depth in our nature, where the divine and human are one.

Here, in our weakness and weariness, we are visited by the Upholder of the tranquil soul, and words wonderful and secret, cheer the weary and heavy-laden; for G.o.d has royal compa.s.sions for the broken in heart.

Theodora awoke in the morning full of hope, and in one of her most cheerful moods. The road no longer frightened her, the ocean no longer separated her. She had wings now for all the chasms of life, and when she opened a little book for a word to clear the way, and the day, she cried out joyfully, for this was her message:

"_The Lord is with me, hastening me forward._"[2]

[Footnote 2: 1st Esdras 1, 27.]

At the time appointed the steamer reached Greenock, she was there to meet it, and David Campbell was at the gangway watching for her. There was a crowd of incomers and outgoers, and David was glad of it, for Theodora with her child reached their stateroom without notice from any one. There she found her father and mother, and the joy and wonder of that meeting may well be left to the imagination.

It had been decided, that until David found out whether any of the pa.s.sengers were sitters in Dr. Robertson's church, or people from any circ.u.mstance likely to know Theodora, she should remain in seclusion; but in a couple of days, David had clearly established the safety of her appearance; and after that a.s.surance, she was constantly on deck with the rest of the party. All the way across the Atlantic they had a blue sky, a blue sea, sunshine, and good company; and one morning they were awakened by some one calling "Land! Land in sight!" and hastening on deck they stood together watching their approach to the low-lying sh.o.r.es of that New World which held for them the promise of a happy home and a prosperous future.

CHAPTER XI