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strength. The devotion of her whole time and strength and thought
to another had done wonders for her, her character had strangely
deepened and mellowed. But no sooner was she free to begin her
ordinary life than new perplexities beset her on every side.
During her own long illness she had of course been debarred from
attending any lectures or meetings whatever. In the years
following, before she had quite regained her strength, she had
generally gone to hear her father, but had never become again a
regular attendant at the lecture hall. Now that she was quite
well, however, there was nothing to prevent her attending as many
lectures as she pleased, and naturally, her position as Luke
Raeburn's daughter made her presence desirable. So it came to pass
one Sunday evening in July that she happened to be present at a
lecture given by a Mr. Masterman.
He was a man whom they knew intimately. Erica liked him
sufficiently well in private life, and he had been remarkably kind
and helpful at the time of her father's illness. It was some
years, however, since she had heard him lecture, and this evening,
by the virulence of his attack on the character of Christ, he
revealed to her how much her ground had shifted since she had last
heard him. It was not that he was an opponent of existing
Christianity her father was that, she herself was that, and felt
bound to be as long as she considered it a lie but Mr. Masterman's
attack seemed to her grossly unfair, almost willfully inaccurate,
and, in addition, his sarcasm and pleasantries seemed to her
odiously vulgar. He was answered by a most miserable
representative of Christianity, who made a foolish, weak,
blustering speech, and tried to pay the atheist back in his own
coin. Erica felt wretched. She longed to get up and speak
herself, longing flatly to contradict the champion of her own
cause; then grew frightened at the strength of her feelings. Could
this be mere love of fair play and justice? Was her feeling merely
that of a barrister who would argue as well on one side as the
other? And yet her displeasure in itself proved little or nothing.
Would not Charles Osmond be displeased and indignant if he heard
her father unjustly spoken of? Yes, but then Luke Raeburn was a
living man, and Christ was she even sure that he had ever lived?
Well, yes, sure of that, but of how much more?
When the assembly broke up, her mind was in a miserable chaos of
doubt.
It was one of those delicious summer evenings when even in East
London the skies are mellow and the air sweet and cool.
Oh, Tom, let us walk home! she exclaimed, longing for change of

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