They had a modest, cheerful dinner, after which Jamie played the fiddle and sang as Robert had never dreamed it was possible to fiddle and sing; and he fell completely under the man's charm. For he made fiddle strings of Robert's heart strings, with his wild Gathering Calls, his National Songs, and Strathspeys. It was impossible not to love the man, and whatever liking and admiration Robert Campbell had to give, he gave unresistingly that night to James Rathey. He went away reluctantly, though he had stayed some time after dinner, and when he clasped the beautiful hand of the violinist he held it a moment, and said: "You have made me happy for a few hours. I thank you! I shall not forget."
All the way home he was revolving a plan in his mind, which he was resolved to bring to perfection. With this object in view, he looked into the dining-room when he reached home, hoping to find Isabel there. But Mrs. Campbell was sitting alone with a newspaper in her hand. She looked bored and forsaken, and he was sorry for her. "Where is Isabel?" he asked.
"Where she always is, except at eating-times—in her room."
"I want to see her."
"Will not your mother do?"
"Not just yet. I may want you in a short time."
"And then I may not come. You are going to ask Isabel, whether it is prudent to tell me something, or not."
"Will you let Isabel know, or shall I send McNab?"
"I will tell her myself."
Then Robert went to his own parlor, and in a few minutes Isabel came to him. He took her hand, and seated her at his side. "Isabel," he said, "I have found Christina. I have had lunch and dinner with her. I have met James Rathey."