"You are very near it, as far as I am concerned."

"I am alone, too. Will you remember that? You know whose fault it is."

Then he rose and left her, and Mrs. Campbell was conscious of a secret wish that the good old quarrelsome days would come back, even though it were Theodora and David who brought them.

A few days after this conversation Robert had business in the city, and after it was finished, he walked leisurely down Buchanan Street. It was a fine spring morning, and there was a glint of sunshine tempering the fresh west breeze. Pa.s.sing McLaren's, he saw a lady get out of a cab, and go into the shop. He followed her, and gently laid his hand on her shoulder, saying:

"Christina, sister!"

"Oh, Robert, Robert!" and she laughed, and cried, and clasped his hands.

"Come with me to my club," he said, "and we will have lunch and a good talk. You must have a deal to tell me."

"I have, I have! My cab is at the door. Will it do for you? You used to hate cabs." She laughed again and her laugh went to his heart, so he petted her hand, and said she was looking white and thin, and what was the matter?

"I had a little daughter only six weeks ago, the sweetest darling you ever saw, Robert. And I have a beautiful wee laddie, called Robert--called after you--he is nearly a year old."

"Then I must go with you and see my namesake."

"Do you really mean that?"

"I intend to give you this afternoon."

"I am so glad--so happy."

Then they were at the Club House, and Robert took her to a pleasant parlor and ordered a royal lunch, and a bottle of wine.

"We must drink the little chap's health," he said. "And now tell me, Christina, are you happy?"

"Yes, I am happy. I have some little anxieties about Jamie, but love makes all easy--and Jamie loves me and the children, and does his best for us. A man cannot do more than that, can he?"

"Have you ever regretted your treatment of Sir Thomas Wynton?"

"Never once! Wynton treated me handsomely, but you see, _I loved Jamie_.

You understand, Robert?"

"Yes."

"I heard about Theodora, of course. It was hard on you, but I do not blame Theodora. Since I was a mother, I have wondered she bore David's treatment as long as she did. I would not."

When lunch was over, they drove to Christina's home, and Robert laughed at its location. "Why, you are barely a mile from Traquair House," he said. "How was it we never found you out?"

"Perhaps you did not care about finding me out."

"Perhaps. Yet I know Isabel never went out without looking for you, and she has put many advertis.e.m.e.nts in the papers."

"Well, I was neither lost nor stolen, Robert, so I never read advertis.e.m.e.nts." She laughed in her old mocking way. "But I longed for Isabel, and have hard work to keep away from her."

There was just time for Robert to see his namesake, and give him a gold token, and admire the baby in its mother's arms, and the mother with the baby in her arms, when there was the sound of a latch-key in the door, and then a gay whistle. "Here comes Jamie," cried Christina, all her face aglow with love and expectation. Jamie was a personality you felt as soon as he entered the house. Robert looked anxiously for his appearance; but he was not prepared for the young man who entered. He was so handsome. Not Robert Burns himself had a more winning face, or more charming manners. He came into the room laughing, and when he saw Robert, went straight to him with outstretched hand. "Glad to see you, Campbell," he said heartily, and Robert felt he was glad. "You will take dinner with us?" he asked, and Robert said he would. Then he brought cigars, and began to discuss with Robert a subject which was at that time very interesting to the city. Robert found him clever and amusing, and he had a way of ill.u.s.trating all his points with stories so apt, and so amusing, you felt sure he invented them as needed.

They had a modest, cheerful dinner, after which Jamie played the fiddle and sang as Robert had never dreamed it was possible to fiddle and sing; and he fell completely under the man's charm. For he made fiddle strings of Robert's heart strings, with his wild Gathering Calls, his National Songs, and Strathspeys. It was impossible not to love the man, and whatever liking and admiration Robert Campbell had to give, he gave unresistingly that night to James Rathey. He went away reluctantly, though he had stayed some time after dinner, and when he clasped the beautiful hand of the violinist he held it a moment, and said: "You have made me happy for a few hours. I thank you! I shall not forget."

All the way home he was revolving a plan in his mind, which he was resolved to bring to perfection. With this object in view, he looked into the dining-room when he reached home, hoping to find Isabel there.

But Mrs. Campbell was sitting alone with a newspaper in her hand. She looked bored and forsaken, and he was sorry for her. "Where is Isabel?"

he asked.

"Where she always is, except at eating-times--in her room."

"I want to see her."

"Will not your mother do?"

"Not just yet. I may want you in a short time."

"And then I may not come. You are going to ask Isabel, whether it is prudent to tell me something, or not."

"Will you let Isabel know, or shall I send McNab?"

"I will tell her myself."

Then Robert went to his own parlor, and in a few minutes Isabel came to him. He took her hand, and seated her at his side. "Isabel," he said, "I have found Christina. I have had lunch and dinner with her. I have met James Rathey."

"Oh, Robert!"

"He is the most delightful of men. They are as happy as they can be."

Then Isabel began to cry softly. "Oh, Robert, Robert! Such good news!

Tell me all about them!" she exclaimed. And Robert told her all that Christina had said, and all that Jamie had said. He described Christina's and Rathey's appearance, he told her about the babies, he even made a few remarks about the floor and the furniture.

"I must go and see her the first thing in the morning, Robert."

"How soon will you start on your travels, Isabel?"

"In ten days, if Lady Mary is better."

"Is she sick?"

"I heard this morning she had an attack of measles--very peculiar in a woman of her age."

"I don't know, I'm sure. What I want is, that Christina should come into my rooms. I am going to give her all the furniture in them--everything-everything except some clothing. While you are away, she will be company for mother, who seems pitifully lonely."

"That is mother's fault, Robert. These empty rooms ought to be----"

"I know. There is no use speaking of it. All that hope is over. Do you think you can persuade Christina to come home?"

"She would have some submissions to make to mother--will she make them?"

"I think so. Go and ask her."