“He may repent.”
“We will give him time and reason to do so. He has been too comfortable. You have given him constant temptation to wrong you. He will not repent until he feels the pinch of poverty and the want of a home. Then he may seek you in earnest, and I suppose you will forgive him.”
“What else could I do? Would not God forgive him?”
“That is a subject for later consideration. If you will take my advice you must do it with all your heart, and be as busy as I will be. We want no altercation with him just yet.”
“I give you my word, Reggie, that for two years I will do as you advise. Then we will reconsider the question.”
Then Reginald clasped her hand, and drew her 274 to his side. “It is for your salvation, dear, every way, and loneliness and deprivation may be for his good. We will hope so.”
“You once liked him, Reggie.”
“Yes, I did. He betrayed me in every way he could. He purposely quarreled with me. He wanted a free hand to follow out his own business ideas—which were not mine. But this is now idle talk. Neil will never be saved by people helping him. He must be left to help himself.”
“That is hope enough to work on. Tell me now, exactly what to do.”
Reginald’s plans had long been perfected, and by the noon of the third day the beautiful home was nothing but bare walls and bare floors. That same night, Reginald Rath and his sister left Glasgow by the midnight train, and the following morning, Bruce Kinlock, with his wife and five children, moved into the dismantled house, and in two days it was in a fairly habitable condition. There was, of course, confusion and a multitude of bustling servants and helpers, and a pretty, frail-looking little lady, sitting helplessly in a large chair, and Bruce ordering round, and five children in every place they ought not be, but there was universal good temper, and pleasurable excitement, and a brilliantly lighted house, when on the following Saturday night, Neil drove up to his residence.