Winner Stories

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tall, dark figure pacing to and fro; every now and then the
sunlight glinted on snowwhite hair, and then a fresh stab of pain
awoke in her heart.
The brownsailed fishing boat dwindled into a tiny dark spot on the
horizon, the sea tossed and foamed and sparked in the sunshine.
Erica turned away; she could not bear to look at it, for just now
it seemed to her merely the type of the terrible separation which
had arisen between herself and her father. She felt as if she were
being borne away in the little fishing boat, while he was left on
the land, and the distance between them slowly widened and widened.
All through that grievous conversation she had held in her hand a
little bit of mignonette. She had held it unconsciously; it was
withered and drooping, its sweetness seemed to her now sickly and
hateful. She identified it with her pain, and years after the
smell of mignonette was intolerable to her. She would have thrown
it away, but remembered that her father had given it her. And
then, with the recollection of her birthday gift, came the
realization of all the long years of unbroken and perfect love, so
rudely interrupted today. Was it always to be like this? Must
they drift further and further apart?
Her heart was almost breaking; she had endured to the very
uttermost, when at length comfort came. The sword had only come to
bring the higher peace. No terrible sea of division could part
those whom love could bind together. The peace of God stole once
more into her heart.
How loud soe'er the world may roar,
We know love will be
conqueror.
Meanwhile Raeburn paced to and fro in grievous pain The fact that
his pain could scarcely perhaps have been comprehended by the
generality of people did not make it less real or less hard to
bear. A really honest atheist, who is convinced that Christianity
is false and misleading, suffers as much at the sight of what he
considers a mischievous belief as a Christian would suffer while
watching a service in some heathen temple. Rather his pain would
be greater, for his belief in the gradual progress of his creed is
shadowy and dim compared with the Christian's conviction that the
Saviour of all men exists.
Once, some years before, a very able man, one of his most devoted
followers, had fallen back into Christianity. That had been a
bitter disappointment; but that his own child whom he loved more
than anything in the world, should have forsaken him and gone over
to the enemy, was a grief wellnigh intolerable. It was a grief he
had never for one moment contemplated.
Could anything be more improbable than that Erica, carefully

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