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another self, the dearest part of himself gone over to the enemy's
side.
At last he saw that argument was useless, and then, in his grief
and despair, he did for a time lose his selfcontrol. Erica had
often felt sorry for the poor creatures who had to bear the brunt
of her father's scathing sarcasm. But platform irony was a trifle
to the torrent which bore down upon her today. When a strong man
does lose his restraint upon himself, the result is terrific.
Raeburn had never sufficiently cared for an adversary as to be
moved beyond an anger which could be restricted and held within due
bounds; he of course cared more for the success of his cause and
his own dignity. But now his love drove him to despair; his
intolerable grief at the thought of having an opponent in his own
child burst all restraining bonds. Wounded to the quick, he who
had never in his life spoken a harsh word to his child now poured
forth such a storm of anger, and sarcasm, and bitter reproach, as
might have made even an uninterested bystander tremble.
Had Erica made any appeal, had she even begun to cry, his chivalry
would have been touched; he would have recognized her weakness, and
regained his self control. But she was not weak, she was strong
she was his other self gone over to the opposite side; that was
what almost maddened him. The torrent bore down upon her, and she
spoke not a word, but just sat still and endured. Only, as the
words grew more bitter and more wounding, her lips grew white, her
hands were locked more tightly together. At last it ended.
You have cheated yourself into this belief, said Raeburn, you
have given me the most bitter grief and disappointment of my whole
life. Have you anything else you wish to say to me?
Nothing, replied Erica, not daring to venture more; for, if she
had tried to speak, she knew she must have burst into tears.
But there was as much pain expressed in her voice as she spoke that
one word as there had been in all her father's outburst. It
appealed to him at once. He said no more, but stepped out of the
French window, and began to pace to an fro under the veranda.
Erica did not stir; she was like one crushed. Sad and harassed as
her life had been, it yet seemed to her that she had never known
such indescribably bitter pain. The outside world looked bright
and sunshiny; she could see the waves breaking on the shore, while
beyond, sailing out into the wide expanse was a brownsailed
fishing boat. Every now and then her vision was interrupted by a

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