"They are taking things in the most leisurely way tonight!" she exclaimed."I'm tired of waiting.I shall say goodbye to you, and go home, I think.
As she spoke, she opened the carriage door stepped in, and demonstratively kissed her silent companion, much to the amusement of the passengers, who had been a good deal diverted by her racy conversation and the grumpy replies of the traveler.There was a smile on every face when one of the detectives looked in.He glanced to the other side of the carriage and saw a dark-haired young man in an ulster, and a pretty girl taking leave of her lover.Erica's face entirely hid Herr Haeberlien's from view and the man passed on with a shrug and a smile.She had contrived to readjust his wig, and with many last words, managed to spin out the remaining time, till at last the welcome signal of departure was given.
Haeberlein's mouth relaxed into a benignant smile, as he nodded a farewell; then he discreetly composed himself into a sleeping posture, while Erica stood on the platform and waved her handkerchief.
As she moved away the two detectives passed by her.
"Not there! At any rate," she heard one of them say."Maybe they got him by the nine o'clock at Waterloo.""More likely trapped him in Guilford Terrace," replied the other.
Erica, shaking with suppressed laughter, saw the men leave the station; and then, springing into a cab, drove to a street in the neighborhood of Guildford Square.
Now that her work was over, she began to feel what a terrible strain it had been.At first she lay back in the corner of the cab in a state of dreamy peace, watching the gas-lighted streets, the hurrying passengers, with a comfortable sense of security and rest.
But when she was set down near Guilford Square, her courage, which in real danger had never failed her, suddenly ebbed away, and left her merely a young girl, with aching back and weary limbs, with a shrinking dislike of walking alone so late in the evening.Worse of all, her old childish panic had taken hold of her once more; her knees trembled beneath her, as she remembered that she must pass the spy, who would assuredly still be keeping watch in Guilford Terrace.The dread of being secretly watched had always been a torment to her.Spies, sometimes real, sometimes imaginary, had been the terror of her childhood had taken the place of the ghost and bogy panics which assail children brought up in other creeds.
The fact was, she had been living at very high pressure, and she was too much exhausted to conquer her unreasonable fright, which increased every moment, until she was on the point of going to the Osmonds, willing to frame any excuse for so late a visit if only she could get one of them to walk home with her.Honesty and shame hindered her, however, With a great effort of will she forced herself to pass the door, horrified to find how nearly selfish cowardice had induced her to draw her friends into suspicion.
Echoes of the hymns sung at her baptism, and at the subsequent confirmation rang in her ears.She walked on more bravely.
By the time she reached Guilford Terrace, she had herself quite in hand.And it was well; for, as she walked down the dreary little alley, a dark form emerged from the shadow, and suddenly confronted her.
Any one might reasonably be a little startled by having a sudden pause made before them by an unknown person on a dark night.Erica thought she could exactly sympathize with a shying horse; she felt very much inclined to swerve aside.Fortunately she betrayed no fear, only a little surprise, as she lifted her head and looked the man full in the face, then moved on with quiet dignity.She felt him follow her to the very door, and purposely she took out her latch key with great deliberation, and allowed him, if he pleased, to take a quiet survey of the passage while she rubbed her boots on the mat; then, with a delicious sense of safety, she closed the door on the unfriendly gaze..
In the meantime, Raeburn had spent a miserably anxious evening, regretting his rash permission for Erica to go, regretting his own enforced inaction, regretting his well-known and undisguisable face and form, almost regretting that his friend had visited him.Like Erica, he was only personally brave; he could not be brave for other people.Actual risk he would have enjoyed, but this anxious waiting was to him the keenest torture.
When at length the age-long hour had passed, and he heard the front door close, he started up with an exclamation of relief, and hurried out into the passage.Erica greeted him with her brightest smile.
"All safe," she said, following him into the study."He is well on his way to Folkestone, and we have eluded three spies."Then, with a good deal of humor, she related the whole of the adventure, at the same time taking off her hat and gloves.
"And you met no one you knew?" asked Raeburn.
"Only the bishop who baptized and confirmed me this evening, and he of course did not recognize me."As she spoke, she unbuttoned her ulster, disclosing beneath it her white serge dress.
Raeburn sighed.Words and sight both reawakened a grief which he would fain have put from him.
But Erica came and sat down on the hearth rug, and nestled up to him just as usual."I am so tired, padre mio!" she exclaimed.But it has been well worth it."Raeburn did not answer.She looked up in his face.
"What are you thinking?"
"I was thinking that few people had such an ending to their confirmation day," said Raeburn.
"I thank God for it," said Erica."Oh, father! There is so much, so very much we still have in common! And I am so glad this happened tonight of all nights!"He stroked her hair caressingly, but did not speak.
