We Two | Page 8

his little namesake.
As Mrs. Raeburn had surmised, Erica's father had at once seen that something had gone wrong that day. The all-observing eyes, which had noticed the hungry look in the beggar child's face, noticed at once that his own child had been troubled.
"Something has vexed you," he said. "What is the matter, Erica?"
"I had rather not tell you, father, it isn't anything much," said Erica, casting down her eyes as if all at once the paving stones had become absorbingly interesting.
"I fancy I know already," said Raeburn. "It is about your friend at the High School, is it not. I thought so. This afternoon I had a letter from her father."
"What does he say? May I see it?" asked Erica.
"I tore it up," said Raeburn, "I thought you would ask to see it, and the thing was really so abominably insolent that I didn't want you to. How did you hear about it?"
"Gertrude wrote me a note," said Erica.
"At her father's dictation, no doubt," said Raeburn; "I should know his style directly, let me see it."
"I thought it was a pity to vex you, so I burned it," said Erica.
Then, unable to help being amused at their efforts to save each other, they both laughed, though the subject was rather a sore one.
"It is the old story," said Raeburn. "Life only, as Pope Innocent III benevolently remarked, 'is to be left to the children of misbelievers, and that only as an act of mercy.' You must make up your mind to bear the social stigma, child. Do you see the moral of this?"
"No," said Erica, with something between a smile and a sigh.
"The moral of it is that you must be content with your own people," said Raeburn. "There is this one good point about persecution-- it does draw us all nearer together, really strengthens us in a hundred ways. So, little one, you must forswear school friends, and be content with your 'very strong man Kwasind,' and we will
"'Live in peace together Speak with naked hearts together.'
By the bye, it is rather doubtful if Tom will be able to come to the lecture tonight; do you think you can take notes for me instead?"
This was in reality the most delicate piece of tact and consideration, for it was, of course, Erica's delight and pride to help her father.
CHAPTER II
. From Effect to Cause
Only the acrid spirit of the times, Corroded this true steel. Longfellow.
Not Thine the bigot's partial plea, Not Thine the zealot's ban; Thou well canst spare a love of Thee Which ends in hate of man. Whittier.
Luke Raeburn was the son of a Scotch clergyman of the Episcopal Church. His history, though familiar to his own followers and to them more powerfully convincing than many arguments against modern Christianity, was not generally known. The orthodox were apt to content themselves with shuddering at the mention of his name; very few troubled themselves to think or inquire how this man had been driven into atheism. Had they done so they might, perhaps, have treated him more considerately, at any rate they must have learned that the much-disliked prophet of atheism was the most disinterested of men, one who had the courage of his opinions, a man of fearless honesty.
Raeburn had lost his mother very early; his father, a well-to-do man, had held for many years a small living in the west of Scotland. He was rather a clever man, but one-sided and bigoted; cold-hearted, too, and caring very little for his children. Of Luke, however, he was, in his peculiar fashion, very proud, for at an early age the boy showed signs of genius. The father was no great worker; though shrewd and clever, he had no ambition, and was quietly content to live out his life in the retired little parsonage where, with no parish to trouble him, and a small and unexacting congregation on Sundays, he could do pretty much as he pleased. But for his son he was ambitious. Ever since his sixteenth year--when, at a public meeting the boy had, to the astonishment of every one, suddenly sprung to his feet and contradicted a false statement made by a great landowner as to the condition of the cottages on his estate--the father had foreseen future triumphs for his son. For the speech, though unpremeditated, was marvelously clever, and there was a power in it not to be accounted for by a certain ring of indignation; it was the speech of a future orator.
Then, too, Luke had by this time shown signs of religious zeal, a zeal which his father, though far from attempting to copy, could not but admire. His Sunday services over, he relapsed into the comfortable, easy-going life of a country gentleman for the rest of the week; but his son