And it will be so to the end of the chapter.You can't shut her up in a beautiful casket, and keep her from all pain.If you could she would no longer be the Erica you love.As for the rest, I may be wrong.She may have room for wifely love even now.I have only told you what I think.And whether she ever be your wife or not and from my heart I hope she may be your love will in no case be wasted.Pure love can't be wasted; it's an impossibility."Brian sighed heavily, but made no answer.Presently he took up his hat and went out.He walked on and on without the faintest idea of time or place, occupied only with the terrible struggle which was going on in his heart, which seemed only endurable with the help of rapid and mechanical exercise.When at length he came to himself, he was miles away from home, right down at Shepherd's Bush, and he heard the church clocks striking twelve.Then he turned back, and walked home more quietly, his resolution made.
If he told Erica of his love, and she refused him now, he should not only add to her troubles, but he should inevitably put an end to the comfort of the close friendship which now existed between the two families.He would keep silence.
Erica and her father returned on the Saturday, and then began a most trying time.Tom seemed to shrink from her just as he had done at the time of her mother's death.He was shy and vexed, too, and kept as much out of her way as possible.Mrs.Craigie, on the contrary, could not leave her alone.In spite of her brother's words, she tried every possible argument and remonstrance in the hope of reconvincing her niece.With the best intentions, she was often grossly unfair, and Erica, with a naturally quick temper, and her Raeburn inheritance of fluency and satire, found her patience sorely tried.Raeburn was excessively busy, and they saw very little of him; perhaps he thought it expedient that Erica should fight her own battles, and fully realize the seriousness of the steps she had taken.
"Have you thought," urged Mrs.Craigie, as a last argument "have you thought what offense you will give to our whole party? What do you think they will slay when they learn that you of all people have deserted the cause?"The tears started to Erica's eyes, for naturally she did feel this a great deal.But she answered bravely, and with a sort of ring in her voice, which made Tom look up from his newspaper.
"They will know that Luke Raeburn's daughter must be true to her convictions at whatever cost.""Will you go on writing in the 'Idol'?" asked Tom, for the first time ****** an observation to her which was not altogether necessary.
"No," said Erica "how can I?"
Tom shrugged his shoulders, and made no further remark.
"Then how do you mean to live? How else can you support yourself?"asked Aunt Jean.
"I don't know," said Erica."I must get some other work somewhere."But her heart failed her, though she spoke firmly.She knew that to find work in London was no easy matter.
"Offer yourself to the 'Church Chronicle,'" said Mrs.Craigie sarcastically, "or, better still, to the 'Watch Dog.' They always make a good deal of capital out of a convert."Erica colored and had to bite her lip hard to keep back the quick retort which occurred to her all too naturally.
By and by Mr.Masterman and another well-known secularist walked in.They both knew of Erica's defection.Mr.Masterman attacked her at once in a sort of bantering way.
"So Miss Raeburn, now I understand why some time ago you walked out in the middle of my lecture one evening."And then followed a most irritating semi-serious remonstrance, in questionable taste.Erica writhed under it.A flippant canvassing of her most private and sacred thoughts was hard to bear, but she held her ground, and, being not without a touch of her father's dignity, Mr.Masterman presently beat a retreat, not feeling quite so well satisfied with himself as usual.His companion did not allude directly to her change of views, but treated her with a sort of pitying condescension, as if she had been a mild lunatic.
There was some sort of committee being held in the study that evening.The next person to arrive was Professor Gosse and almost immediately after came Mr.Harmston, a charming old man, whom Erica had known from her childhood.They came in and had some coffee before going into the study.Mrs.Craigie talked to Mr.Harmston.
Erica, looking her loveliest waited on them.Tom watched them all philosophically from the hearth rug.
"I am sorry to hear you have deserted your colors," said the professor, looking more grave than she had ever seen him look before.Then, his voice softening a little as he looked at her, "Iexpect it all comes of that illness of yours.I believe religion is just an outgrowth of bad health mens sana in corpore sano, you know.Never mind, you must still come to my workshop, and I shall see if science won't reconvert you."He moved away with his good-humored, shaggy-looking face, leaving Erica to old Mr.Harmston.
"I am much grieved to hear this of you, Erica," he said, lowering his voice, and bringing his gray head near to hers "as grieved as if you were my own child.You will be a sore loss to us all."Erica felt this keenly, for she was very fond of the old man.
"Do you think it does not hurt me to grieve you all?" she said, piteously."But one must be honest.""Quite right, my dear," said the old man, "but that does not make our loss the less heavy.We had hoped great things of you, Erica.
It is grievous to me that you should have fallen back to the miserable superstitions against which your father has fought so bravely.""Come, Mr.Harmston," said the professor; "we are late, I fancy."And before Erica could make any reply Mrs.Craigie and the two visitors had adjourned to the committee room, leaving her alone with Tom.
