"The honorable member for Rilchester made what I can not but regard as a most misleading and unnecessary remark with reference to the recent occurrence in Hyde Park, and to Mr.Raeburn.I listened to it with pain, for, if there can be degrees in the absolute evil of injustice and lack of charity, it seems to me that the highest degree is reached in that uncharitableness which tries to blacken the character of an opponent.Since the subject has been introduced, the House will, I hope, bear with me if for the sake of justice I for a moment allude to a personal matter.Some years ago I myself was an atheist, and I can only say that, speaking now from the directly opposite standpoint, I can still look back and thank Mr.Raeburn most heartily for the good service he did me.He was the first man who ever showed me, by words and example combined, that life is only noble when lived for the race.The statement made by the honorable member for Rilchester seems to me as incorrect as it was uncalled for.Surely this assembly will best prove its high character not by loud religious protestations, not by supporting a narrow, Pharisaical measure, but by impartiality, by perfect justice, by the manifestation in deed and word of that broad-hearted charity, that universal brotherliness, which alone deserves the name of Christianity."The manifestation of the speaker's generosity and universal brotherliness came like a light to Erica's darkness.It did not end her struggle, but it did end her despair.A faint, indefinable hope rose in her heart.
Mr.Farrant's maiden speech made a considerable stir; it met with some praise and much blame.Erica learned from one of the papers that he was Mr.Donovan Farrant, and at once felt convinced that he was the "Donovan" whom both Charles Osmond and Brian had mentioned to her.She seemed to know a good deal about him.Probably they had never told her his surname because they knew that some day he would be a public character.With instinctive delicacy she refrained from making any reference to his speech, or any inquiry as to his identity with the "Donovan" of whose inner life she had heard.Very soon after that, too, she went down to the sea side with her father, and when they came back to town the Osmonds had gone abroad, so it was not until the autumn that they again met.
Her stay at Codrington wonderfully refreshed her; it was the first time in her life that she had taken a thorough holiday, with change of scene and restful idleness to complete it.The time was outwardly uneventful enough, but her father grew strong in body and she grew strong in mind.
One absurd little incident she often laughed over afterward.It happened that in the "On-looker" there was a quotation from some unnamed medieval writer; she and her father had a discussion as to whom it could be, Raeburn maintaining that it was Thomas a Kempis.
Wishing to verify it, Erica went to a bookseller's and asked for the "Imitation of Christ." A rather prim-looking dame presided behind the counter.
"We haven't that book, miss," she said, "it's quite out of fashion now.""I agree with you," said Erica, greatly amused."It must be quite out of fashion, for I scarcely know half a dozen people who practice it." However, a second shop appeared to think differently, for it had Thomas a Kempis in every conceivable size, shape, and binding.Erica bought a little sixpenny copy and went back to the beach, where she made her father laugh over her story.
They verified the quotation, and by and by Erica began to read the book.On the very first page she came to words which made her pause and relapse into a deep reverie.
"But he who would fully and feelingly understand the words of Christ, must study to make his whole life conformable to that of Christ."The thought linked itself in her mind with some words of John Stuart Mill's which she had heard quoted till she was almost weary of them.
"Nor even now would it be easy, even for an unbeliever, to find a better translation for the rule of virtue from the abstract into the concrete, than to endeavor so to live that Christ would approve our life."While she was still musing, a sound of piteous crying attracted her notice.Looking up she saw a tiny child wandering along the beach, trailing a wooden spade after her, and sobbing as if her heart would break.In a moment Erica was beside her coaxing and consoling, but at last, finding it impossible to draw forth an intelligible word from the sobs and tears, she took the little thing in her arms and carried her to her father.Raeburn was a great child lover, and had a habit of carrying goodies in his pocket, much to the satisfaction of all the children with whom he was brought in contact.He produced a bit of butterscotch, which restored the small maiden's serenity for a minute.
"She must have lost her way," he said, glancing from the lovely little tear-stained face to the thinly shod feet and ungloved hands of the little one.The butterscotch had won her heart.Presently she volunteered a remark.
"Dolly putted on her own hat.Dolly wanted to dig all alone.
Dolly ran away."
"Where is your home?" asked Erica.
"Me don't know! Me don't know!" cried Dolly, bursting into tears again, and hiding her face on Raeburn's coat."Father! Father, Dolly wants father.""We will come and look for him," said Erica, "but you must stop crying, and you know your father will be sure to come and look for you"At this the little one checked her tears, and looked up as if expecting to see him close by.
"He isn't there," she said, piteously.
"Come and let us look for him," said Erica.
Dolly jumped up, thrust her little hand into Erica's, and toiled up the steep beach.They had reached the road, and Erica paused for a moment, wondering which direction they had better take, when a voice behind her made her start.
"Why Dorothy little one we've been hunting for you everywhere!"Dolly let go Erica's hand, and with a glad cry rushed into the arms of a tall, dark, rather foreign-looking man, who caught her up and held her closely.
He turned to Erica and thanked her very warmly for her help.Erica thought his face the noblest she had ever seen.
