"Mother, mother!" cried Theodora, clasping her in her strong arms; "why are you weeping?"

"It is that man here again," Mrs. Newton faltered. "I thought that trouble was over. I can bear no more of it, dear."

"He will never give you another moment's grief, dear mother. He is totally changed. He has had an experience; he has been what we call--converted--mother."

"Do you believe that?"

"With all my soul! He has given up everything that made sin and trouble."

"Then all is well. I am satisfied."

"Robert will not be happy until you have welcomed him."

"Then I will go and do so."

That evening as they sat together David said: "Father and mother, I wish to speak for my brother and myself. We are going into a business partnership, as soon as Robert has been to Glasgow, and turned all his property into cash. Whatever he is worth, I will double, and 'Campbell Brothers, Bankers,' I believe, will soon become an important factor in the financial world of San Francisco."

"It is a good thing, David. You two working as one will be a mult.i.tude.

No one knows the financial conditions here better than you do, David, and as an investor, I do not believe you have ever made a mistake."

"I think not, father. Well, then, we will all go into San Francisco as soon as Robert has rested a little, and select a home for him. I know of two houses for sale, either of which would be suitable."

"And when the house is chosen," said Robert, "I hope, mother, you will a.s.sist Theodora in furnishing it just as she wishes, keeping her in mind, however, that she must be quite extravagant. Simplicity and economy are out of place in a banker's home, for entertaining on a large scale will have to be done."

It was arranged that David should go East with Robert, and see him safely on board a good liner, and the details of these projects occupied the family happily for three days; at the end of which they went to San Francisco. When Theodora's future home had been selected, David and Robert took the train for New York; the whole family sending them off with smiles and blessings. And Robert thought of his previous leaving, and was unspeakably happy and grateful.

On their journey to New York, the brothers settled every detail of their banking business, and Robert was amazed at his brother's financial instinct and business enterprise. "We shall make a great deal of money, Robert," he said, "and we must do a great deal of good with it. I have some ideas on that subject which we will talk over at the proper time."

So the journey was not tiresome, and when it was over, both were a little sorry. But work was to do, and Robert knew that he would be restless until he had finished his preparations for his new life, and got rid of all enc.u.mbrances of the past.

The sea journey was short and pleasant, and it removed the most evident traces of his illness. His face was thinner, but that was an improvement; and his figure, if more slender was more active, and there was about him the light and aura of one who is thoroughly happy, and at peace with G.o.d and man.

As soon as he arrived in Glasgow, he went to his club, and looked over the acc.u.mulation of letters waiting him. It was raining steadily--that summer rain which we feel to be so particularly unwanted. The streets were sloppy, the air damp, the sky dull, and not brightened by the occasional glints of pale sunshine; but when he had relieved his mind of its most pressing business, he went to Traquair House. Jepson opened the door for him, but the man looked ill, and said he was on the point of leaving Glasgow. Robert could now sympathize with him, for he had learned the agony of constant headache, and he said so. The man looked at him in amazement, and he told McNab of the circ.u.mstance, adding: "The master was never so kind to me in all his life, as he was to-day." McNab answered curtly:

"No wonder! He has been living wi' decent folk lately, and decency tells. Them Californians are the civilest o' mortals. You'll mind my ain lad, that was here about four years syne?"

"I'll never forget him, Mistress McNab. A perfect gentleman."

"Weel, he was, in a way, a Californian--born, of course, in Scotland, but knocked about among the Californians, until he learned how to behave himsel' to rich and poor and auld and young, and special to women and bairns."

While this conversation was going on Robert sat in the old dining-room.

It was dismal enough at all times, especially so in rainy weather, and more specially so when it was summer rain, and no blazing fire brightened the dark mahogany and the crimson draperies.

His mother was at home, but he was told Christina was occupying the little villa he had bought at Inverkip. He had not been asked for its use, and it contained a good deal of Theodora's needlework, and much summer clothing. For a few minutes he was angry, but he quickly reasoned his anger away. "There are no happy memories about any of the things. It is better they should not come into our future life," he said to himself. He wondered his mother did not come, and asked Jepson if she had been told. "Yes, she had been told, and had sent word 'she would be down as soon as dressed.'"

It was an hour before she was dressed, and Robert felt the gloom and chill of waiting. Indeed, he was so uncomfortably cold, that he asked for a fire, and was standing before it enjoying its blaze and warmth when Mrs. Campbell entered.

"Good gracious, Robert!" she cried, "a fire in August! I never heard tell of such a thing."

"I am just from a warm, sunny country, mother, and I have also been ill, and so I feel the cold."

"Well, well! Put a screen between me and the blaze. I am not auld enou'

yet, to require a blaze in August."

"To-morrow, it will be the first of September. How are you, mother?"

"Fine. That foolish fellow you left over the works came here--came special, mind ye--to tell me you were vera ill. He said he had received a letter from a Dr. Stuart, living in a place called Denver, saying you were at Death's door, or words to that effect; but I sent him back to his proper business wi' a solid rebuke for leaving it. I'm not the woman to thank any one for bringing me bad news--lies, too, very likely."

"No, I was very ill."

"Say so, where was there any necessity for the man to be sending word o'

it half round the world? n.o.body here could help. It was just making discomfort for no good at all."

"I suppose he thought, if I died, my friends might possibly like to know what had become of me."

"I wasna feared for you dying. Not I! I knew Robert Campbell had mair sense than to die among strangers. Then there was the works left to themselves, as it were, and that weary woman you've been seeking mair than four years, just found out, and I said to myself, if I know Robert Campbell, he won't be stravaganting to another world, whilst his affairs in this world are all helter-skelter."

"I have come here to put my affairs as I desire them. Then I am going back to California."

"I do not believe you. You are just leeing to me."

"Mother, I am going to sell the works. I want to live in California."

"To please Theodora," she said scornfully.

"To please Theodora and myself. I like the country; it is sunny and delightful, and the people are wonderfully gracious and kind."

"Of course, they have to be more than ordinary civil, or what decent people would live among the crowd that went there?"

"That element has disappeared. There are no finer men and women in the world than the Californians. I shall ask for citizenship among them."

Then the temper she had been trying to control broke loose, and carried all before it. "You base fellow!" she cried, "you traitor to all good!

You are unworthy of the country, the home, and the business you desert.

I am ashamed to have brought you into the world. To surrender everything for a creature like your runaway wife is monstrously wicked--is incredibly shameful!"

"If I could surrender more for Theodora, I would gladly do it, so that I might atone for what I, and you, made her suffer. And she has not taken me to California--you drove her there."

"I'm gey glad I did."

"And as she will not come back here, I must go to her there. Your own work, mother."

"Very good. I accept it. I'm proud o' it."

"My dear mother----"

"Stop palavering! You can cut out 'dear.'"

"Let us talk reasonably. I came here to ask whether you will remain a shareholder in the works, or withdraw your money?"