"You are an authority on quotations, I know; my father wants to verify one for his sermon this morning.Can you help him? It is this:
'Revealed in love and sacrifice, The Holiest passed before thine eyes, One and the same, in threefold guise.'""It is Whittier, I know," said Erica, promptly; "and I think it is in a poem called 'Trinitas.' Come home with me, and we will hunt for it."So they walked back together silently, and found the poem, and at Raeburn's request Brian stayed to breakfast, and fell back naturally into his old place with them all.
The following day Raeburn had to attend a meeting in the north of England; he returned on the Tuesday afternoon, looking, Erica fancied, tired and overdone.
"Railway journeys are not quite the rest they once were to me," he confessed, throwing himself down in a chair by the open window while she brought him some tea."This is very beguiling, little one; but see, I've all these letters to answer before five.""Your train must have been very late."
"Yes, there was a block on the line, and we stopped for half an hour in the middle of a bean field bliss that a Londoner can't often enjoy.""Did you get out?"
"Oh, yes, and sat upon the fence and meditated to the great delectation of my olfactory nerves."Erica's laugh was checked by a knock at the door.The servant announced that a gentleman wanted to see Miss Raeburn.
"Some message from Mr.Bircham, I expect," said Erica to her father."Ask him upstairs, please.I only hope he doesn't want me to write another article at the eleventh hour.If it's the little Irish sub-editor, you must be very polite to him, father, for he has been kind to me."But it was no message from the "Daily Review" office; a perfect stranger was shown into the room.
He bowed slightly as he entered.
"Are you Miss Erica Raeburn?" he asked, coming toward her.
"I am," she replied."What is your business with me?""I have to place this document in your hands."He gave her a paper which she rapidly unfolded.To her dying day she could always see that hateful bit of foolscap with its alternate printing and writing.The words were to this effect:
Writ Subpoena Ad Test, at Sittings of High Court.IN THE HIGH COURTOF JUSTICE, QUEEN'S BENCH DIVISION.Between Luke Raeburn, Plaintiff, and William Henry Pogson, Defendant VICTORIA, by the Grace of God, of the United kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland, Queen, Defender of the Faith, To Erica Raeburn, greeting.We command you to attend at the sittings of the Queen's Bench division of our High Court of Justice to be holden at Westminster on Tuesday, the Twentieth day of June, 18__, at the hour of half past Ten in the forenoon, and so from day to day during the said sittings, until the above cause is tried, to give evidence on behalf of the Defendant.Witness, etc., etc.
Erica read the paper twice before she looked up; she had grown white to the very lips.Raeburn, recognizing the form of a subpoena, came hastily forward, and in the merest glance saw how matters were.By no possibility could the most malicious of opponents have selected a surer means of torturing him.
"Is this legal?" asked Erica, lifting to him eyes that flashed with righteous indignation.
"Oh, it is legal," he replied bitterly "the pound of flesh was legal.A wife need not appear against her husband, but a daughter may be dragged into court and forced to give evidence against her father."As he spoke, such anger flashed from his eyes that the clerk shivered all down his backbone.He thought he would take his departure as quickly as might be, and drawing a little nearer, put down a coin upon the table beside Erica.
"This fee is to cover your expenses, madame," he said.
"What!" exclaimed Erica, her anger leaping up into a sudden flame, "do you think I shall take money from that man?"She had an insane desire to snatch up the sovereign and fling it at the clerk's head, but restraining herself merely flicked it back across the table to him, just touching it with the back of her hand as though it had been polluted.
"You can take that back again," she said, a look of scorn sweeping over her face."Tell Mr.Pogson that, when he martyrs people he need not say: 'The martyrdom will make you hungry here is luncheon money,' or 'The torture will tire you here is your cab fare!'""But, madame, excuse me," said the clerk, looking much embarrassed.
"I must leave the money, I am bound to leave it.""If you leave it, I shall just throw it into the fireplace before your eyes," said Erica."But if indeed it can't be sent back, then give it to the first gutter child you meet do anything you like with it! Hang it on your watch chain as a memento of the most cruel case your firm every had to do with!"Her color had come back again, her cheeks were glowing, in her wrath she looked most beautiful; the clerk would have been less than human if he had not felt sorry for her.There was a moment's silence; he glanced from the daughter to the father, whose face was still pale and rigid.A great pity surged up in the clerk's heart.
He was a father himself; involuntarily his thoughts turned to the little home at Kilburn where Mary and Kitty would be waiting for him that evening.What if they should ever be forced into a witness box to confirm a libel on his personal character? A sort of moisture came to his eyes at the bare idea.The counsel for the defense, too, was that Cringer, Q.C., the greatest bully that ever wore silk.Then he glanced once more at the silent, majestic figure with the rigid face, who, though an atheist, was yet a man and a father.
