"I am overdone, child," he said at length as though to account for breaking down, albeit, by the confession, which but a short time before he would never have made, that his strength was failing.
All through the dreary days that followed, Erica was haunted by those words.The work had to go on just as usual, and it seemed to tell on her father fearfully.The very cay after Haeberlein's death it was necessary for him to speak at a mass meeting in the north of England, and he came back from it almost voiceless and so ill that they were at their wits' end to know what to do with him.
The morrow did not mend matters for the jury disagreed in the blasphemy trial, and the whole thing had to be gone through again.
A more trying combination of events could hardly have been imagined, and Erica, as she stood in the crowded cemetery next day at the funeral, thought infinitely less of the quixotic Haeberlein whom she had, nevertheless, loved very sincerely than of her sorely overtasked father.He was evidently in dread of breaking down, and it was with the greatest difficulty that he got through his oration.To all present the sight was a most painful one and, although the musical voice was hoarse and strained, seeming, indeed, to tear out each sentence by sheer force of will, the orator had never carried his audience more completely with him.
Their tears were, however, more for the living than for the dead;for the man who was struggling with all his might to restrain his emotion, painfully spurring on his exhausted powers to fulfill the duty in hand.More than once Erica thought he would have fainted, and she was fully prepared for the small crowd of friends who gathered round her afterward, begging her to persuade him to rest.
The worst of it was that she could see no prospect of rest for him, though she knew how sorely he longed for it.He spoke of it as they drove home.
"I've an almost intolerable longing for quiet," he said to her.
"Do you remember Mill's passage about the two main constituents of a satisfied life excitement and tranquillity? How willingly would I change places today with that Tyrolese fellow whom we saw last year!""Oh! If we could but go to the Tyrol again!" exclaimed Erica; but Raeburn shook his head.
"Out of the question just now, my child; but next week when this blasphemy trial is over, I must try to get a few days' holiday that is to say, if I don't find myself in prison."She sighed the sigh of one who is burdened almost beyond endurance.
For recent events had proved to her, only too plainly, that her confidence that no jury would be found to convict a man under the old blasphemy laws was quite mistaken.
That evening, however, her thoughts were a little diverted from her father.For the first time for many months she had a letter from Rose.It was to announce her engagement to Captain Golightly.
Rose seemed very happy, but there was an undertone of regret about the letter which was uncomfortably suggestive of her flirtation with Tom.Also there were sentences which, to Erica, were enigmatical, about "having been so foolish last summer," and wishing that she "could live that Brighton time over again." All she could do was to choose the time and place for telling Tom with discrimination.No opportunity presented itself till late in the evening when she went down as usual to say good night to him, taking Rose's letter with her.Tom was in his "den," a small room consecrated to the goddess of disorder books, papers, electric batteries, crucibles, chemicals, new temperance beverages, and fishing rods were gathered together in wild confusion.Tom himself was stirring something in a pipkin over the gas stove when Erica came in.
"An unfallible cure for the drunkard's craving after alcohol," he said, looking up at her with a smile."'A thing of my own invention,' to quote the knight in 'Through the Looking Glass.'
Try some?"
"No, thank you," said Erica, recoiling a little from the very odoriferous contents of the pipkin."I have had a letter from Rose this evening."Tom started visibly.
"What, has Mr.Fane-Smith relented?" he asked.
"Rose had something special to tell me," said Erica, unfolding the letter.
But Tom just took it from her hands without ceremony, and began to read it.A dark flush came over his face Erica saw that much, but afterward would not look at him, feeling that it was hardly fair.
Presently he gave her the letter once more.
"Thank you," he said in a voice so cold and bitter that she could hardly believe it to be his."As you probably see, I have been a fool.I shall know better how to trust a woman in the future.""Oh, Tom," she cried."Don't let it--"
He interrupted her.
"I don't wish to talk," he said."Least of all to one who has adopted the religion which Miss Fane-Smith has been brought up in a religion which of necessity debases and degrades its votaries."Her eyes filled with tears, but she new that Christianity would in this case be better vindicated by silence than by words however eloquent.She just kissed him and wished him good night.But as she reached the door, his heart smote him.
"I don't say it has debased you," he said; "but that that is its natural tendency.You are better than your creed.""He meant that by way of consolation," thought Erica to herself as she went slowly upstairs fighting with her tears.
But of course the consolation had been merely a sharper stab; for to tell a Christian that he is better than his creed is the one intolerable thing.
