as yourself. A fearful mistake was made--Mr. Raeburn was shamefully
treated. But, Erica"--it was the first time he had called her by her
name--"you who pride yourself upon fairness, you who make justice your
watchword must be careful not to let the wrong doing of a few Christians
prejudice you against Christianity. You say that we are all predisposed
to accept Christ; but candidly you must allow, I think, that you are
trebly prejudiced against the very name of Christian. A Christian almost
inevitably means to you only one of your father's mistaken persecutors."

"Yes, you are so much of an exception that I always forget you are
one," said Erica, smiling a little. "Yet you are not like one of
us--quite--you somehow stand alone, you are unlike any one I ever
met; you and Thekla Sonnenthal and your son make to me a sort of new
variety."

Charles Osmond laughed, and changed the subject. "You are busy with your
examination work, I suppose?" And the question led to a long talk about
books and lectures.

In truth, Erica had plunged into work of all kinds, not merely from love
of it, but because she felt the absolute need of fresh interests, the
great danger of dwelling unduly on her sorrow. Then, too, she had just
grasped a new idea, an idea at once noble and inspiriting. Hitherto she
had thought of a happy future for herself, of a home free from troubles
and harassing cares. That was all over now, her golden dream had come
to an end, "Hope dead lives nevermore." The life she had pictured to
herself could never be, but her nature was too strong to be crushed by
the sorrow; physically the shock had weakened her far more than any one
knew, but, mentally, it had been a wonderful stimulant. She rose above
herself, above her trouble, and life began to mean something broader and
deeper than before.

Hitherto her great desire had been to be free from care, and to be
happy; now the one important thing seemed not so much to be happy, as
to know. To learn herself, and to help others to learn, became her chief
object, and, with all the devotion of an earnest, high-souled nature,
she set herself to act out these convictions. She read hard, attended
lectures, and twice a week taught in the night school attached to the
Institute.

Charles Osmond could not help smiling as she described her days to him.
She still retained something of the childishness of an Undine, and as
they talked she had taken up her old position on the hearth rug,