hing has vexed you," he said. "What is the matter, Erica?"

"I had rather not tell you, father, it isn't anything much," said Erica,
casting down her eyes as if all at once the paving stones had become
absorbingly interesting.

"I fancy I know already," said Raeburn. "It is about your friend at the
High School, is it not. I thought so. This afternoon I had a letter from
her father."

"What does he say? May I see it?" asked Erica.

"I tore it up," said Raeburn, "I thought you would ask to see it, and
the thing was really so abominably insolent that I didn't want you to.
How did you hear about it?"

"Gertrude wrote me a note," said Erica.

"At her father's dictation, no doubt," said Raeburn; "I should know his
style directly, let me see it."

"I thought it was a pity to vex you, so I burned it," said Erica.

Then, unable to help being amused at their efforts to save each other,
they both laughed, though the subject was rather a sore one.

"It is the old story," said Raeburn. "Life only, as Pope Innocent III
benevolently remarked, 'is to be left to the children of misbelievers,
and that only as an act of mercy.' You must make up your mind to bear
the social stigma, child. Do you see the moral of this?"

"No," said Erica, with something between a smile and a sigh.

"The moral of it is that you must be content with your own people," said
Raeburn. "There is this one good point about persecution--it does draw
us all nearer together, really strengthens us in a hundred ways. So,
little one, you must forswear school friends, and be content with your
'very strong man Kwasind,' and we will

"'Live in peace together Speak with naked hearts together.'

By the bye, it is rather doubtful if Tom will be able to come to the
lecture tonight; do you think you can take notes for me instead?"

This was in reality the most delicate piece of tact and consideration,
for it was, of course, Erica's delight and pride to help her father.

CHAPTER II. From Effect to Cause

Only the acrid spirit of the times, Corroded this true
steel. Longfellow.

Not Thine the bigot's partial plea,
Not Thine the zealot's ban;
Thou well canst spare a love of Thee
Which ends in hate of man.
Whittier.

Luke Raeburn was the son of a Scotch clergyman of the Episcopal Church.
His history, though familiar to his own followers and to them more
powerfully convincing than many arguments against modern Christia