The following year Jean and her bairns came to live at Ellisland. He received them with quiet affection, and Jean, who had grown strangely humbled and passive, did her utmost to please him at all times, never referring to the past, and tactfully avoiding all irritating subjects, and by her soothing presence, her loving words of comfort and sympathy, soon made her presence indispensable to her moody husband. Another year passed by, a year of anxiety for Jean, who was compelled to witness her husband’s lapses from sobriety, which now came so often, and to watch his health decline slowly, but surely, in consequence. In the midst of all his wanderings Robert met nothing in his domestic circle but gentleness and forgiveness, except the gnawings of his own remorse. He acknowledged his transgressions to his patient wife, promised amendment, and again received pardon for his offenses. But as the strength of his body decayed, his resolution became feebler, and habit acquired predominating strength. All this time Robert had entertained hopes of promotion in the exercise, but circumstances occurred which retarded their fulfillment, and which in his own mind destroyed all expectation of their ever being fulfilled. His steady friend, Mr. Mackenzie, interposed his good offices in his behalf, however, and he was suffered to retain his situation, but given to understand that his promotion was deferred, and must depend on his future behavior. This circumstance made a deep impression on Robert. He fancied that everyone held him in contemptuous pity, as a man of some genius who had dwindled into a paltry exciseman, and who was slinking out the rest of his insignificant existence in the meanest of pursuits, and among the lowest of mankind; and for days he would sit quietly on the banks of the river plunged in the gloomiest meditation. About this time he received word of Lord Glencairn’s death. The news plunged him into another fit of melancholy gloom, lessened somewhat, however, by the assurance that his noble benefactor had died knowing the truth, believing in Robert’s innocence, and asking his forgiveness. As his health declined his thoughts became more and more fixed upon Mary, who was once more in Mossgiel at Colonel Montgomery’s. He yearned with bitter longing to gaze upon her sweet face again, to hear her dear voice speak his name. These thoughts he strove vainly to conquer, to banish from his mind, for Jean’s patience and goodness, her loving forbearance, filled him with shame at his own unworthiness. But she gave no sign of the bitter heartache she endured. She accepted it all in patient resignation, striving by uniform prudence and good management to relieve his distress of mind regarding the material welfare of his little flock.