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situation which would provide her with a suitable and permanent
residence.
The offer was not intended to be insulting, but undoubtedly, to
such a father as Raeburn, it was a gross insult. His eyes flashed
fire, and involuntarily he crushed the letter in his hand; then, a
little ashamed of the passionate act, he forced himself
deliberately to smooth it out again, and, folding it accurately,
put it in his pocket. A note for Erica remained in the envelope;
he placed it on the mantel piece, then fell back in his chair again
and thought.
After all, might not the visit to Greyshot be a very good thing for
her? Of course she would never dream of living with her aunt,
would indeed be as angry at the proposal as he had been. But might
not a visit of two or three weeks open her eyes to her new
position, and prove to her that among Christians such people as the
Osmonds were only in the minority! He knew enough of society to be
able to estimate the position it would accord to Erica. He knew
that her sensitiveness would be wounded again and again, that, that
her honesty would be shocked, her belief in the socalled Christian
world shaken. Might not all this be salutary? And yet he did not
like the thought; he could not bear sending her out alone to fight
her own battles, could not endure the consciousness that she was
bearing his reproach. Oh, why had this miserable, desolating
change ever occurred? At this very moment she was making public
profession of a faith which could only place her in the most trying
of positions; at this very moment she was pledging herself to a
life of bondage and trouble; while he, standing aside, could see
all the dangers and difficulties of her future, and could do
absolutely nothing!
It reminded him of one of the most horrible moments of his life.
Walking up Regent Street one afternoon, years ago, Erica, walking
with Mrs. Craigie on the opposite side, had caught sight of him,
and regardless of the fourfold chain of carriages, had rushed
across to him with the fearless daring of a sixyearold child, to
whom the danger of horses' hoofs was a mere nothing when compared
with the desire to get a walk with her father. His heart beat
quicker even now as he thought of the paralyzing dread of long ago,
nor had Miss Erica ever been scolded for her loving rashness; in
his relief he had been unable to do anything but clasp the little
hand in his as though nothing should ever part them again.
But her loving disregard of all danger and difficulty was no longer
inspired by love of him, but by love of what Raeburn considered a

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