A Reconstructed Marriage. Barr Amelia E.

is so, but he will make a stand about this Theodora, and mother will have to give in. He is now master of the works, and you will see that he will be master of the house also. He will take possession of himself, and everything else. I fancy we shall all find more changes than we can imagine."

      "I don't care if we do! Anything for a change. I am almost weary of my life. Nothing ever happens in it."

      "Plenty will happen soon. Robert has a way of his own, and that will be seen and heard tell of."

      "He will not dare to counter mother very much. She will talk strict and positive, and hold her head as high as a hen drinking water. You know how she talks and acts."

      "I know also how Robert will take her talking. I have seen Robert's way twice lately."

      "What is his way?"

      "A dour, cold silence, worse than any words – a silence that minds you of a black frost."

      Having finished her story Isabel looked at her watch, and said: "I'll be going now, Christina, and you can think over what is coming. We be to consider ourselves in any change. I am almost sure Robert will be home to-day at one o'clock, for if I am not mistaken, it will be the Caledonian Railway Station at three o'clock. That train will land him in Kendal about eight o'clock, just in time to drink a cup of tea with Theodora, and have a stroll after it. There is a full moon to-night."

      "How did you find out about Kendal?"

      "Bradshaw; I suppose he knows."

      "Of course, but it will be late Saturday night when Robert arrives, and surely he will not think of making love so near the Sabbath Day. I would not believe that of him, however much he likes Theodora."

      "A handsome young Master of Iron Works can make love any day he pleases; even Scotchwomen would listen gladly to what he had to say. I think I would myself."

      "I would, but it might be wrong, Isabel."

      "I don't believe it would; anyway I would risk it."

      "So would I; but neither of us will be led into the temptation."

      "I fear not. Now I will be stepping downstairs. I have no more to say at present and I should not like to miss Robert."

      "We are friends again, Isabel?"

      "We are aye friends, Christina. Whiles, there is a shadow between us, but it is only a shadow – nothing to it but what a word puts right. There is the lunch bell."

      "I had no idea it was so late."

      "Let us go down together. I hate the servants to be whispering and snickering anent our little terrivees."

      They had scarcely seated themselves at the table when Robert entered the room. He was a typical Scot of his order – tall, blonde, and very erect. His eyes were his most noticeable feature; they were modern eyes with that steely point of electric light in them never seen in the older time. The lids, drawn horizontally over them, spoke for the man's acuteness and dexterity of mind, and perhaps also for his superior cunning. He was arrogant in manner, a trait either inherited or assumed from his mother. In disposition he was kindly disposed to all who had claims on him, but these claims required to be brought to his notice, for he did not voluntarily seek after them. He certainly had humanity of feeling, but of the delicacies and small considerations of life he was very ignorant.

      As yet he was commonplace, because nothing had happened to him. He had neither lost money, nor broken down in health, nor been unfairly treated or unjustly blamed. He had never known the want of money, nor the necessity for work; he had lost nothing by death and was only beginning to gain by loving. In the eyes of all who knew him his conduct was blameless. He was very righteous, and a great stickler for morality and all respectable conventions; so much so, that even if he should sin, it would be done with a certain decorum. But spiritually his soul lived in a lane – the narrow lane of a bigoted Calvinism.

      This morning he was in high spirits, and inclined to be unusually talkative. But it was not until the meal was nearly over that he said: "There will be a new preacher in our church to-morrow morning. I am sorry I shall not be able to hear him. Dr. Robertson says he has a wonderful gift in expounding the Word."

      "When did you see the doctor?" asked Mrs. Campbell.

      "This morning. He called at my office on a little matter of business."

      "And why will you not hear the new preacher?"

      "I am going to England by the three o'clock train, mother."

      At this answer Isabel looked at Christina, and Mrs. Campbell said: "I suppose you are going to Sheffield?"

      "Yes, I shall go to Sheffield."

      "You go there a great deal."

      "It belongs to my duty to go there."

      With these words he suddenly became – not exactly cross – but reserved and ungracious. His mother's words had betrayed her. As soon as she remarked on the frequency of his visits to Sheffield, he knew that she was aware of the facts that she had positively asserted she would not name, and he divined her intention to put him in the position of one who confesses a fault or acknowledges a weakness. He retired immediately into the fortress of his manly superiority. He was not going to be put to catechism by a cabal of women, so he hastily finished his lunch and rose from the table.

      "When will you return, Robert?" asked his mother.

      "In a few days. You had better give liberally to the church collection to-morrow – paper or gold – silver from you will be remarked on." He opened the door to these words, and, turning a moment, said "good-bye" with a glance which included every one in the room.

      Silence followed his exit. Mrs. Campbell cut her veal chop into minute strips, which she did not intend to eat; Isabel crumbled her bread on her plate, lifted her scornful eyes a moment, and then began to fold her napkin; Christina took the opportunity to help herself to another tartlet. It was an uncomfortable pause, not to be relieved until Mrs. Campbell chose to speak or rise. She continued the purposeless cutting of her food, until Isabel's patience was worn out, and she asked: "Shall I ring the bell, mother?"

      "No, I have not finished my lunch; you can safely bide my time. Christina, pass me a tart."

      "Take two, mother. McNab makes them smaller every day. There is only a mouthful in two of them."

      Mrs. Campbell took no notice of the criticism.

      "Isabel," she said, "what do you think of Robert's behavior?"

      "Do you mean the sudden change in his manner?"

      "Yes."

      "He had his own 'because' for it. I do not rightly comprehend what it could be, unless he suspected from your remark that you had seen the Bible, and were trying to lure him on to talk of Theodora."

      "That is uncommonly likely, but I'm not caring if he did."

      "Robert is very shrewd, and he sees through people as if they were made of glass."

      "If he is going to marry the girl, why should he object to tell us about her? Is she too good to talk about? Such perfect unreasonableness!"

      "He wished to tell us in his own time, and way, and thought a plot had been laid to force his confidence. Robert Campbell is a very suspicious man. He has a bad temper too. It is always near at hand, and short as a cat's hair. And he hates a scene."

      "So do I. Goodness knows, I have always lifted myself above the ordinary of quarrelling and disputing. Not so, Robert. He investigates the outs and the ins of everything, and argues and argues about the most trifling matter; but I must say, he is always in the wrong. And he can keep his confidence as long as he wants to – the longer the better. I shall never give him another opportunity."

      "It is a pity you offered him one this morning, mother."

      "I do not require to be reminded, Isabel. The whole affair, as it stands, is an utterly unspeakable business. We will let it alone until we have more facts, and more light given us."

      "Just so," answered Isabel.

      "Mother," interrupted Christina, "what do you say about the new preacher