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the coldness of her old playmate had made her very sad, but she
turned back rather reluctantly, for her eyes were brimming with
tears.
Don't go, said Tom, quite in his natural voice. Have you any
coffee for me, or did the old fogies finish it?
Erica went back to the table and poured him out a cup of coffee,
but her hand trembled, and, before she could prevent it, down
splashed a great tear into the saucer.
Come! said Tom, cheerfully. Don't go and spoil my coffee with
salt water! All very well for David, in a penitential psalm, to
drink tears, but in the nineteenth century, you know
Erica began to laugh at this, a fatal proceeding, for afterward
came a great sob, and the tears came down in good earnest.
Philosophical Tom always professed great contempt for tears, and he
knew that Erica must be very much moved indeed to cry in his
presence, or, indeed, to cry at all; for, as he expressed it: It
was not in her line. But somehow, when for the first time he saw
her cry, he did not feel contemptuous; instead, he began to call
himself a hardhearted brute, and a narrowminded fool, and to
feel miserable and out of conceit with himself.
I say, Erica, don't cry, he pleaded. Don't, I say, I can't bear
to see you. I've been a coldblooded wretch I'm awfully sorry!
It's very cowardly of me, sobbed Erica. Butbutwith a rush
of tears, you don't know how I love you all it's like being killed
by inches.
You're not cowardly, said Tom, warmly. You've been brave and
plucky; I only wish it were in a better cause. Look here, Erica,
only stop crying, and promise me that you'll not take this so
dreadfully to heart. I'll stand by you I will, indeed, even though
I hate your cause. But it sha'n't come between us any longer, the
hateful delusion has spoiled enough lives already. It sha'n't
spoil ours.
Oh, don't! cried Erica, wounded anew by this.
Well, said Tom, gulping down his longing to inveigh against
Christianity, it goes hard with me not to say a word against the
religion that has brought us all our misery, but for your sake I'll
try not when talking with you. Now let us begin again on the old
footing.
Not quite on the old footing either, said Erica, who had
conquered her tears. I love you a thousand times more, you dear
old Tom.
And Tom, who was made of sterling stuff, did from that day forward
stand by her through everything, and checked himself when harsh
words about religious matters rose to his lips, and tried his best
to smooth what could not fail to be a rough bit of walking.

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