we two-第43部分

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re；　but　stepped　out　of　the　French　window；　and　began　to　pace　to　an　fro　under　the　veranda。

Erica　did　not　stir；　she　was　like　one　crushed。　　Sad　and　harassed　as　her　life　had　been；　it　yet　seemed　to　her　that　she　had　never　known　such　indescribably　bitter　pain。　　The　outside　world　looked　bright　and　sunshiny；　she　could　see　the　waves　breaking　on　the　shore；　while　beyond；　sailing　out　into　the　wide　expanse　was　a　brown…sailed　fishing　boat。　　Every　now　and　then　her　vision　was　interrupted　by　a　tall；　dark　figure　pacing　to　and　fro；　every　now　and　then　the　sunlight　glinted　on　snow…white　hair；　and　then　a　fresh　stab　of　pain　awoke　in　her　heart。

The　brown…sailed　fishing　boat　dwindled　into　a　tiny　dark　spot　on　the　horizon；　the　sea　tossed　and　foamed　and　sparked　in　the　sunshine。　　Erica　turned　away；　she　could　not　bear　to　look　at　it；　for　just　now　it　seemed　to　her　merely　the　type　of　the　terrible　separation　which　had　arisen　between　herself　and　her　father。　　She　felt　as　if　she　were　being　borne　away　in　the　little　fishing　boat；　while　he　was　left　on　the　land；　and　the　distance　between　them　slowly　widened　and　widened。

All　through　that　grievous　conversation　she　had　held　in　her　hand　a　little　bit　of　mignonette。　　She　had　held　it　unconsciously；　it　was　withered　and　drooping；　its　sweetness　seemed　to　her　now　sickly　and　hateful。　　She　identified　it　with　her　pain；　and　years　after　the　smell　of　mignonette　was　intolerable　to　her。　　She　would　have　thrown　it　away；　but　remembered　that　her　father　had　given　it　her。　　And　then；　with　the　recollection　of　her　birthday　gift；　came　the　realization　of　all　the　long　years　of　unbroken　and　perfect　love；　so　rudely　interrupted　today。　　Was　it　always　to　be　like　this？　　Must　they　drift　further　and　further　apart？

Her　heart　was　almost　breaking；　she　had　endured　to　the　very　uttermost；　when　at　length　comfort　came。　　The　sword　had　only　come　to　bring　the　higher　peace。　　No　terrible　sea　of　division　could　part　those　whom　love　could　bind　together。　　The　peace　of　God　stole　once　more　into　her　heart。

〃How　loud　soe'er　the　world　may　roar；　We　know　love　will　be　conqueror。〃

Meanwhile　Raeburn　paced　to　and　fro　in　grievous　pain　The　fact　that　his　pain　could　scarcely　perhaps　have　been　comprehended　by　the　generality　of　people　did　not　make　it　less　real　or　less　hard　to　bear。　　A　really　honest　atheist；　who　is　convinced　that　Christianity　is　false　and　misleading；　suffers　as　much　at　the　sight　of　what　he　considers　a　mischievous　belief　as　a　Christian　would　suffer　while　watching　a　service　in　some　heathen　temple。　　Rather　his　pain　would　be　greater；　for　his　belief　in　the　gradual　progress　of　his　creed　is　shadowy　and　dim　compared　with　the　Christian's　conviction　that　the　〃Saviour　of　all　men〃　exists。

Once；　some　years　before；　a　very　able　man；　one　of　his　most　devoted　followers；　had　〃fallen　back〃　into　Christianity。　　That　had　been　a　bitter　disappointment；　but　that　his　own　child　whom　he　loved　more　than　anything　in　the　world；　should　have　forsaken　him　and　gone　over　to　the　enemy；　was　a　grief　well…nigh　intolerable。　　It　was　a　grief　he　had　never　for　one　moment　contemplated。

Could　anything　be　more　improbable　than　that　Erica；　carefully　trained　as　she　had　been；　should　relapse　so　strangely？　　Her　whole　life　had　been　spent　among　atheists；　there　was　not　a　single　objection　to　Christianity　which　had　not　been　placed　before　her。　　She　had　read　much；　thought　much；　she　had　worked　indefatigably　to　aid　the　cause。　　Again　and　again　she　had　braved　personal　insult　and　wounding　injustice　as　an　atheist。　　She　had　voluntarily　gone　into　exile　to　help　her　father　in　his　difficulties。　　Through　the　shameful　injustice　of　a　Christian；　she　had　missed　the　last　years　of　her　mother's　life；　and　had　been　absent　from　her　death　bed。　　She　had　borne　on　behalf　of　her　father's　cause　a　thousand　irritating　privations；　a　thousand　harassing　cares；　she　had　been　hard…working；　and　loyal；　and　devoted；　and　now　all　at　once　she　had　turned　completely　round　and　placed　herself　in　the　opposing　ranks！

Raeburn　had　all　his　life　been　fighting　against　desperate　odds；　and　in　the　conflict　he　had　lost　well…nigh　everything。　　He　had　lost　his　home　long　ago；　he　had　lost　his　father's　good　will；　he　had　lost　the　whole　of　his　inheritance；　he　had　lost　health；　and　strength；　and　reputation；　and　money；　he　had　lost　all　the　lesser　comforts　of　life；　and　now　he　said　to　himself　that　he　was　to　lose　his　dearest　treasure　of　all；　his　child。

Bitter；　hopeless；　life…long　division　had　arisen　between　them。　　For　twenty…three　years　he　had　loved　her　as　truly　as　ever　father　loved　child；　and　this　was　his　reward！　　A　miserable　sense　of　isolation　arose　in　his　heart。　　Erica　had　been　so　much　to　him　how　could　he　live　without　her？　　The　muscles　of　his　face　quivered　with　emotion；　he　clinched　his　hands　almost　fiercely。

Then　he　tortured　himself　by　letting　his　thoughts　wander　back　to　the　past。　　That　very　day　years　ago；　when　he　had　first　learned　what　fatherhood　meant；　the　pride　of　watching　his　little　girl　as　the　years　rolled　on；　the　terrible　anxiety　of　one　long　and　dangerous　illness　she　had　passed　through　how　well　he　remembered　the　time！　　They　were　very　poor；　could　afford　no　expensive　luxuries；　he　had　shared　the　nursing　with　his　wife。　　One　night　he　remembered　toiling　away　with　his　pen　while　the　sick　child　was　actually　on　his　knee；　he　always　fancied　that　the　pamphlet　he　had　then　been　at　work　on　was　more　bitterly　sarcastic　than　anything　he　had　ever　written。　　Then　on　once　more　into　years　of　desperately　hard　work　and　disappointingly　small　results；　imbittered　by　persecution；　crippled　by　penalties　and　never…ending　litigation；　but　always　there　had　been　the　little　child　waiting　for　him　at　home；　who　by　her　baby…like　freedom　from　care　could　make　him　smile　when　he　was　overwhelmed　with　anxiety。　　How　could　he　ever　have　endured　the　bitter　obloquy；　the　slanderous　attacks；　the　countless　indignities　which　had　met　him　on　all　sides；　if　there　had　not　been　one　little　child　who　adored　him；　who　followed　him　about　like　a　shadow；　who　loved　him　and　trusted　him　utterly？

Busy　as　his　life　had　been；　burdened　as　he　had　been　for　years　with　twice　as　much　work　as　he　could　get　through；　the　child　had　never　been　crowded　out　of　his　life。　　Even　as　a　little　thing　of　four　years　old；　Erica　had　been　quite　content　to　sit　on　the　floor　in　his　study　by　the　hour　together；　quietly　amusing　herself　by　cutting　old　newspapers　into　fantastic　shapes；　or　by　drawing　impossible　cats　and　dogs　and　horses　on　the　margins。　　She　had　never　disturbed　him；　she　used　to　talk　to　herself　in　whispers。

〃Are　you　happy；　little　one？〃　he　used　to　ask　from　time　to　time；　with　a　sort　of　passionate　desire　that　he　should　enjoy　her　unconscious　childhood；　foreseeing　care　and　trouble　for　her　in　the　future。

〃Yes；　very　happy；〃　had　been　the　invariable　response；　and　generally　Erica　would　avail　herself　of　the　interruption　to　ask　his　opinion　about　some　square…headed　cat；　with　eyes　askew　and　an　astonishing　number　of　legs；　which　she　had　just　drawn。　　Then　would　come　what　she　called　a　〃bear's　hug；〃　after　which　silence　reigned　again　in　the　study；　while　Raeburn　would　go　on　writing　some　argumentative　pamphlet；　hard　and　clear　as　crystal；　his　heart　warmed　by　the　little　child's　love；　the　remains　of　a　smile　lingering　about　his　lips　at　the　recollection　of　the　square…headed　cat。

And　the　years　passed　on；　and　every　year　deepened　and　strengthened　their　love。　　And　by　slow　degrees　he　had　watched　the　development　of　her　mind；　had　gloried　in　her　quick　perception；　had　learned　to　come　to　her　for　a　second　opinion　every　now　and　then；　had　felt　proud　of　her　common　sense；　her　thoughtful　judgments；　had　delighted　in　her　enthusiastic；　loving　help。　　All　this　was　ended　now。　　Strange　that；　just　as　he　hoped　most　from　her；　she　should　fail　him！　　It　was　a　repetition　of　his　own　early　history　exactly　reversed。　　His　thoughts　went　back　to　his　father's　study　in　the　old　Scottish　parsonage。　　He　remembered　a　long；　fierce　argument；　he　remembered　a　storm　of　abusive　anger；　and　a　furious　dismissal　from　the　house。　　The　old　pain　came　back　to　him　vividly。

〃And　she　loves　me　fifty　thousand　times　more　than　I　ever　loved　my　father；〃　he　reflected。　　〃And；　though　I　was　not　abusive；　I　was　hard　on　her。　　And；　however　mistaken；　she　was　very　brave；　very　honest。　　Oh；　I　was　cruel　to　her　harsh；　and　hateful！　　My　little　child！　　My　poor　little　child！　　It　shall　not　it　cannot　divide　us。　　I　am　hers；　and　she　is　mine　nothing　can　ever　alter　that。〃

He　turned　and　went　back　into　the　room。　　Never　had　he　looked　grander　than　at　that　minute；　this　man　who　could　hold　thousands　in　breathless　attention　this　man　who　was　more　passionately　loved　by　his　friends；　more　passionately　hated　by　his　enemies　than　almost　any　man　in　England！　　He　was　just　the　ideal　father。

Erica　had　not　stirred；　she　was　leaning　back　in　her　chair；　looking　very　still　and　white。　　He　came　close　to　her。

〃Little　son　Eric！〃　he　said；　with　a　whole　world　of　love　in　his　tone。

She　sprang　up　and　wreathed　her　arms　round　his　neck。

By　and　by；　they　began　to　talk　in　low　tones；　to　map　out　and　piece　together　as　well　as　they　could　the　future　life；　which　was　inevitably　severed　from　the　past　by　a　deep　gulf。　　They　spoke　of　the　work　which　they　could　still　share；　of　the　interests　they　should　still　have　in　common。　　It　was　very　sad　work　for　Erica　infinitely　sadder　for　Raeburn；　but　they　were　both　of　them