"I want to see Theodora."

"If you have a thimbleful o' sense, let her alone. Old love is a dangerous thing to touch. She'll gie you the heartache o' the world again, and you'll be down at her feet for comfort."

"Did I ever down at her feet for anything?"

"If you are tired o' freedom, and easy days, tak' yoursel' to California. And what about the works, while you are seeking dool and sorrow?"

"I shall only be gone about six weeks."

"Fiddlesticks! You are going into captivity--settle your business before you go, and see that you don't forget your mother and sisters' bed and board is in it."

"I shall be back in six weeks. Good-bye, mother. Give my love to Christina and Jamie, I will not trouble them now."

"They are full o' their ain to-do at the present. I'll gie them your message. Good-bye, and see you are home, ere I send after you."

He went hastily downstairs, and could hardly believe he was walking through Traquair House. Pretty girls in dancing dresses were constantly pa.s.sing him, young men were standing about in groups laughing and talking, and there was the sound of fiddles tuning up in the distance.

It was all so unnatural that it affected him like the phantasmal background of a dream. And he was suffering as he had never before suffered in all his life, for jealousy, that brutal, overwhelming pa.s.sion, had seized him, and he was in a fire constantly growing fiercer. Every thought he now had of Theodora fed it, and he hastened to his club and locked himself in his room. It was clear to him, that he must reach San Francis...o...b.. the swiftest means possible. In his condition, he felt delay might mean severe illness, if not insanity.

On the third morning after this determination, when he awoke he was out of sight of land. The wind was high, and the sea rough, but he was not sick, and the tumult of the elements suited his mood very well. He made no friends, and his trouble had such a strong personality, that many divined its reason.

"He looks as if he was after a runaway wife," said one man, and his companion answered: "I do not envy the fellow who has run away with her, he will get no mercy from yonder husband, and as for the wife!"

"G.o.d help her!"

"It is Campbell of the Campbell Iron Works near Glasgow," said a third.

"I never heard that he had a wife. I shouldn't think he would care for one. He lives only for those black, blasted furnaces. He is happy enough among their slag and cinders, and smoke and flame. The country round them is like Gehenna, but it suits him better than green pastures and still waters. He isn't such a big man physically, but when he is marching round among his workers, ordering this, and abusing that, you would think he was ten feet high, and the men are sure of it. But Campbell isn't a bad fellow take him by and long; he goes to Kirk regular, and when he feels like giving, gives with both hands."

"We might ask him to join us in a game of whist."

"Nay, we had better let him alone. I think some American has maybe stolen one o' his patents, or got ahead o' him in some way or other; and he is going to have it out with him face to face--that would be like Robert Campbell. He is in a fighting mood anyway, and he wouldn't help our pleasure; far from it."

This opinion seemed the general one, so on the voyage he made no acquaintances, and when the steamer reached New York, he went directly from her to the railway station, and bought a ticket for San Francisco.

His train was nearly ready, and in half-an-hour he was speeding westwards. For a few days he noticed nothing, but after he had pa.s.sed St. Louis, he began to be astonished, and even slightly terrified at the immense s.p.a.ce separating him from all he knew and loved. Often he had an urgent feeling that he must at once turn back, and he might have done so, if a still stronger feeling had not urged him forward. A journey from London to Edinburgh had always appeared to him a long one, and he had even felt Sheffield very far from Scotland; but the vastness of the present journey stupefied him. Before he reached San Francisco, he was subject to attacks of sentiment about his native city and country. He felt that he might never see them again.

But the end came at last, and San Francisco itself was the climax to all his wanderings. What could induce men to travel to the extremity of creation, and then build there a city so large and so splendid? How could they live and trade and make money so far from London and Paris and the centre of the civilized world? He went to the hotel at which his sister had stayed, and was obliged to admit that neither Glasgow, London, nor Paris had anything to rival its luxury and splendor. He began to be interested. He thought it might be worth while to dress a little for dinner.

For to a man as insular in mind as Robert Campbell, the scene was amazing. He could have gone every day for fifty years to Glasgow Exchange, and never witnessed anything like its cosmopolitan variety.

There did not seem to be two persons alike in nationality, caste, or occupation. Even the Americans present were as diverse as the states from which they came. For the first time in his life it struck Robert Campbell, that Scotchmen might not possibly be the dominant race in all the world's great business thoroughfares.

He forgot his absorbing trouble for awhile, or at least it blended itself with elements that diluted and even changed its character. Thus, he began to fancy Theodora in her loveliest, proudest mood walking through this motley crowd. How would she regard him in it? How would the crowd regard her? He was busy with this question, when his attention was attracted by a man who reminded him of something known and familiar. "He at least has the look of a Scotchman," he mused. "I must have seen him before somewhere." If he had kept any memory of his own face and figure, perhaps he might have traced the resemblance home. But often as we look in our mirrors, who does not straightway forget what manner of man, or woman, they are?

For the stranger who had been able to interest Robert Campbell was his brother David. He was talking earnestly to two men whom Robert could not cla.s.sify. They wore no coats, or vests, and the wide, strong leather belts with which they were girdled had somehow a formidable look; for though quite innocent of offensive weapons, they appeared to promise or threaten them. David was evidently their superior, perhaps their employer, but there was a kind of equality unconsciously exhibited which Robert wondered at, and did not approve. He felt that under no circ.u.mstances would he have been seen talking familiarly to men so manifestly of the lower cla.s.ses.

But when they went away, David shook hands with them and then stood still a moment as if undecided about his next movement; and Robert watched him so fixedly, that he probably compelled his brother's attention. For he suddenly lifted his eyes, and they met Robert's eyes, and his face brightened, and he walked rapidly forward, till he placed his hands on Robert's shoulders, and with a glad smile cried:

"Robert, Robert Campbell! Don't you know me, Robert? Don't you know me?"

And Robert gazing into his eager face answered slowly: "Are you David--my brother? Are you David Campbell, my brother David?"

"Sit down, dear lad! I am David Campbell. Sure as death, I am your brother David. Get yourself together, and we will go and have dinner.

You look as if you were going to faint--why, Robert!"

"I forgot dinner. I have had nothing to-day but a cup of coffee. Oh, David, David! what a Providence you are! How did you happen in here?"

"I came to watch for you. I have been coming every day for three weeks.

Can you walk a few steps now? You are requiring food. What made you forget to eat?"

"Trouble, great trouble--crazy love, and crazy jealousy. My wife and my child have left me!"

"I know."

"How do you know?"

"They are my dearest neighbors."

"Then you saw Isabel?"

"I did not. I was at the mine, but Theodora told me all about her visit, and as I knew Isabel would tell you where your wife and child were living, I have been watching for your arrival. Come now, and let us have something to eat. Afterwards we will talk."

"What a splendid dining-room!"

"Isn't it? And you will get a splendid meal!" He called a negro and said: "Tobin, bring us the best dinner you can serve."

The order was promptly and amply obeyed, and before dinner was half over Robert's irritability and faintness had vanished, and he was the usual a.s.sertive, domineering Robert Campbell. But not until they had finished eating, and were sitting in the shady court with their cigars would David allow their personal conversation to be renewed. He began it by saying:

"You will wish to see Theodora to-morrow, I suppose?"

"I wish to see her at once--to-night."

"That will not do! You want a good sleep, you want a bath and a barber, and some decent clothes on you."

"I am not going courting, David."

"Then you need not go at all. You will require to do the best courting you ever did, or ever can do, if you hope to get a hearing from Theodora."

"She is my wife, David, and she----"

"Will be far harder to win, than ever Miss Newton was."

"Win! She was won long ago."

"Won--and lost. You will not find this second winning an easy one."

"How do you know so much about her?"

"I knew all about her miserable life, before I knew her; but I finally met her at my friend Oliphant's."

"And it was the Oliphants who told you all her complainings. Mother never trusted them. It seems she was right--as usual."