Two erroneous conclusions are likely to be formed concerning Robert Campbell on this unlooked for transformation of life in Traquair House--one, that he had suddenly developed a most unusual generosity, and the other, that he had forgotten his wife, and become resigned to her loss. Neither of these conclusions would be correct. Few, indeed, of our actions ring true through all their depths, and Robert's generosity to his sister arose from a desire to make his own life more bearable. Those lonely, lifeless, deserted rooms, over which he had spent so much love and gold filled him with a terror he hated to face. If Christina would bring into them life and song, and the voices of children, perhaps their haunting misery might die out of his heart. He could not prevent Isabel leaving home, but he did dread the house with no one but his mother and himself in it. So when Christina stepped into both dilemmas, with a comfortable solution, he felt grateful to her, and it was pleasant to give her things, and pleasant to help Jamie Rathey, and to see the dark, silent house alive with mirth and company, and the prattle of little children. But there was another Robert that none of these things touched, who in fact would neither see them, nor listen to them. This Robert sat hours motionless and speechless, dreaming of the woman he still loved--longing for her with heart-breaking accusations and remorse. _Oh, to hear from her! Oh, to see her_, if but for a moment! Would the hour for their reconciliation never, never come? This was the faithful, bitter cry of his best nature, as raking in the ashes of memory, he made of his lost wife a thousand lovely and sorrowful pictures. And this Robert Campbell, no one but Robert's angels, and Robert's God knew. To the world in general he seemed to be harder than ever, indifferent to all interests but money-making, stripped even of his old time gloss and politeness, yielding only when necessary to get his own way. His kindness to Christina had been in the main kindness to himself, and the ready help given to Jamie Rathey was the result of several selfish reasons, united with that singular liking which men occasionally feel for some other man gifted as they never can be--an affection doubtless dating from some life anterior to this life. With these exceptions, Robert Campbell was the old Robert Campbell, a little older, and a little rougher, and the national emblem of the repellent _Thistle_, with its churlish command, "_Hands off!_" represented him very fairly. CHAPTER XII ROBERT CAMPBELL GOES WOOING