sical Indian names,
the delightfully described animals, all served to make the poem
wonderfully fascinating to her. She thought a page or two of "Hiawatha"
would greatly sweeten her somewhat bitter world this afternoon, and
with her bag of scones in one hand and the book in the other she read
on happily, quite unconscious that three pair of eyes were watching her
from within the shop.

The wrinkled old man who was the presiding genius of the place had two
customers, a tall, gray-bearded clergyman with bright, kindly eyes, and
his son, the same Brian Osmond whom Erica had charged with her umbrella
in Gower Street.

"An outside customer for you," remarked Charles Osmond, the clergyman,
glancing at the shop keeper. Then to his son, "What a picture she
makes!"

Brian looked up hastily from some medical books which he had been
turning over.

"Why that's my little Gower Street friend," he exclaimed, the words
being somehow surprised out of him, though he would fain have recalled
them the next minute.

"I don't interrupt her," said the shop owner. "Her father has done a
great deal of business with me, and the little lady has a fancy for
poetry, and don't get much of it in her life, I'll be bound."

"Why, who is she?" asked Charles Osmond, who was on very friendly terms
with the old book collector.

"She's the daughter of Luke Raeburn," was the reply, "and whatever folks
may say, I know that Mr. Raeburn leads a hard enough life."

Brian turned away from the speakers, a sickening sense of dismay at his
heart. His ideal was the daughter of Luke Raeburn! And Luke Raeburn was
an atheist leader!

For a few minutes he lost consciousness of time and place, though always
seeing in a sort of dark mist Erica's lovely face bending over her book.
The shop keeper's casual remark had been a fearful blow to him; yet,
as he came to himself again, his heart went out more and more to the
beautiful girl who had been brought up in what seemed to him so barren
a creed. His dream of love, which had been bright enough only an hour
before, was suddenly shadowed by an unthought of pain, but presently
began to shine with a new and altogether different luster. He began to
hear again what was passing between his father and the shop keeper.

"There's a sight more good in him than folks think. However wrong his
views, he believes them right, and is ready to suffer for 'em, too.
Bless me, that's odd, to be sure! There is Mr. Raeburn, on the othe