climate of
Devonshire. "She'll die if she stays in Glasgo' through the winter,"
he urged, and David consented. Then, as David could not leave his
business, John himself took the poor woman to Torbay, and no one but
she and God ever knew how tenderly he cared for her, and how solemnly
he tried to prepare her for the great change he saw approaching. She
had not thought of death before, but when they parted he knew she had
understood him, for weeping bitterly, she said, "You will take care of
the children, Uncle John? I fear I shall see them no more."

"I will, Isabel. While I live I will."

"And, O uncle, poor David! I have not been a good wife to him.
Whatever happens, think of that and judge him mercifully. It is my
fault, uncle, my fault, my fault! God forgive me!"

"Nae, nae, lassie; I am far from innocent mysel';" and with these
mournful accusations they parted for ever.

For Isabel's sickness suddenly assumed an alarming character, and her
dissolution was so rapid that John had scarcely got back to Glasgow
ere David was sent for to see his wife die. He came back a bereaved
and very wretched man; the great house was dismantled and sold, and he
went home once more to Blytheswood Square.

But he could not go back to his old innocent life and self; and the
change only revealed to John how terribly far astray his nephew had
gone. And even Isabel's death had no reforming influence on him; it
only roused regrets and self-reproaches, which made liquor all the
more necessary to him. Then the breaking up of the house entailed much
bargain-making, all of which was unfortunately cemented with glasses
of whiskey toddy. Still his uncle had some new element of hope on
which to work. David's home was now near enough to his place of
business to afford no excuse for remaining away all night. The
children were not to be hid away in some upper room; John was
determined they should be at the table and on the hearthstone; and
surely their father would respect their innocence and keep himself
sober for their sakes.

"It is the highest earthly motive I can gie him," argued the anxious
old man, "and he has aye had grace enough to keep out o' my sight when
he wasna himsel'; he'll ne'er let wee John and Flora and Davie see him
when the whiskey is aboon the will and the wit--that's no to be
believed."

And for a time it seemed as if John's tactics would prevail. There
were many evenings when they were very happy. The children made so