"I wish you would get the music, Dora. I am sure you could learn to sing it very well," said Christina; and Theodora smiled and answered, "I will try and get the music, if you wish, Christina."
"No, no!" cried Mrs. Campbell. "I would not have the memory of this morning's song spoiled for a great deal."
"Nor I, mother," added Isabel. "Would you, Robert?"
The better man had possession of Robert at that hour and he replied with a strong fervor:
"No, not for anything. It is one memory I shall hope to keep green as long as I live." He looked at Theodora, and if any there had had eyes to see, they might have read the secret in their beaming faces.
In their own parlor Robert was more enthusiastic than Theodora had seen him for a long time. "You have often gone to my heart, Dora," he said, "but this morning you touched my soul." And they were very happy together. This was the man Theodora loved. This was the man to whom she had given her heart and hand. Oh, how was she to keep this Robert Campbell always to the fore?
To do any great thing with the heart of another, you must vivisect your own, and this truth Theodora had to practise continually. Her life was one of such painful self-denial as left all its little pleasant places bare and barren; but she knew that in this way only could peace be bought, and she paid the price, excepting always, when it struck at her self-respect or violated her conscience. For she had constant opportunities of seeing that the spirit of submission carried too far was responsible for most of the misery and wrongs of the household; since despotism is never the sin of one, but comes from the servility of those around the despot. And as Robert was not always indifferent, but had frequent visitings from his better self, she made the most of these happy times, and took the envy and hatred of the rest as she took wet weather, or wind, or snow, or any other exhibition of the Higher Powers. For if training and education had made Theodora self-respectful, it had also made her avoid everything like self-indulgence.
"To her there never came the thought,
That this her life was meant to be
A pleasure house, where peace unbought
Should minister to pride and glee.
"Sublimely she endured each ill
As a plain fact, whose right or wrong
She questioned not; confiding still
That it would last—not over long.
"Willing from first to last to take
The mysteries of her life as given,
Leaving her time-worn soul to slake
Its thirst, in an undoubted heaven."