Winner Stories

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last, one evening, when the load had grown intolerable, she shut
herself into her own room, and, forgetful of all her logical
arguments, spoke to the unknown God. Her hopelessness, her
desperation, drove her as a last resource to cry to the possibly
Existent.
She stood by the open window of her little room, with her arms on
the window sill, looking out into the summer night, just as years
before she had stood when making up her mind to exile and
sacrifice. Then the wintery heavens had been blacker and the stars
brighter, now both sky and stars were dimmer because more light.
Over the roofs of the Guilford Square houses she could see Charles' Wain and the Polestar, but only faintly.
God! she cried, I have no reason to think that Thou art except
that there is such fearful need of Thee. I can see no single proof
in the world that Thou art here. But if what Christ said was true,
then Thou must care that I should know Thee, for I must be Thy
child. Oh, God, if Thou art oh, Father, if Thou art help us to
know Thee! Show us what is true!
She waited and waited, hoping for some sort of answer, some
thought, some conviction. But she found, as many have found before
her, that the heavens were as brass.
Of course it was no use! she exclaimed, impatiently, yet with a
blankness of disappointment which in itself proved the reality of
her expectations.
Just then she heard Tom's voice at the foot of the stairs calling;;
it seemed like the seal to her impatient of course. There was no
Unseen, no Eternal of course not! But there was a busy everyday
life to be lived.
All right, she returned impatiently, to Tom's repeated calls;
don't make such a noise or else you'll disturb father.
He is wide awake, said Tom, and talking to the professor. Just
look here, I couldn't help fetching you down did you ever see such
a speech in your life? A regular brick he must be!
He held an evening paper in his hand. Erica remembered that the
debate was to be on a question affecting all freethinkers. During
the discussion of this, some one had introduced a reference to the
Hyde Park meeting and to Mr. Raeburn, and had been careful not to
lose the opportunity of making a spiteful and misleading remark
about the apostle of atheism. Tom hurried her through this,
however, to the speech that followed it.
Wait a minute, she said. Who is Mr. Farrant? I never heard of
him before.
Member for Greyshot, elected last spring, don't you remember? One
of the byelections. Licked the Tories all to fits. This is his

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