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 passed St. Louis, he began to be astonished, and even slightly terrified at the immense space 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?