"Dear Robert, you make me more happy than I can tell."
"And the Oliphants will be delighted you are going to be near them. There may be some nice families there, and it is not unlikely Dr. Robertson will be of the number."
All came to pass like a wish, and early in April Theodora was comfortably settled at Inverkip, and the Oliphants and Dr. Robertson soon followed her. Inverkip was hardly a fashionable summer resort, but it was pleasant and secluded, and also beautifully situated—facing Inellen, and the slopes of Cowal, with a fine background of mountains.
After a winter in dark, wet, bitter Glasgow, the country in April was like Paradise. Robert went down with her one lovely Friday, Ducie and two other servants, with such furniture and ornaments as they thought necessary, having preceded them nearly a week. So the villa was in comparative order and a perfect little dinner awaited them. Theodora experienced a child's enchantment; her simple, eager surprise, her deep sense of the wonder and beauty of the brooding spring, and her delightful expression of it, went to Robert's heart. For her tender eyes were laughing with boundless good humor, her lips parted as if forced to speak by the inner fulness of her happy heart, and he saw in her
—"a soul
Joying to find itself alive,
Lord over Nature, lord of the visible earth,
Lord of the senses five."
"There is even a taste of green things in the air, Robert," she said; "and look at the trees! They are misty with buds and plumes, and tufts and tassels; and the larches and pines are whispering like a thousand girls. O, it is heavenly! And listen to the waters running and leaping down the mountains! It is a tongue of life in the lonely places," and as she passed the open piano, she stood still, touched a few notes, and sang in a captivating, simple manner:
"O the springtime! the springtime!
Who does not know it well?
When the little birds begin to build,
And the buds begin to swell,
When the sun and the clouds play hide and seek,
And the lambs are softly bleating;
And the color mounts to the maiden's cheek,
At her lover's tender greeting,—
In the springtime, in the joyous springtime."
Then Robert stayed her simple song, saying: "Let us go and walk in the garden while I smoke my cigar." And she went gladly, and they walked and talked together until the soft gray afternoon was verging to purple and red on the horizon.
That night her heart was too full of hope and sweet content to let her sleep. She had not been as happy for many months. She had not been as hopeful. She told herself this detached life was all that was required to secure Robert's affection, and that six months of it would make him impatient of any intrusion into the sacredness of his home. And she was full of sweet, innocent plans to increase and settle certainly and firmly the treasure of his love. They kept her waking, so she rose long before morning, and, opening a casement, looked out into the dusky night full of stars. She sat there, watching Nature in those ineffable moments when she is dreaming, until the cold white light of the dawning showed her the waning moon blue in the west.