ictured
their probable future, a great grief filled his heart. They wee both so
lovable, so noble! That they should miss in a great measure the best of
life seemed such a grievous pity! The chances that either of them would
renounce atheism were, he could not but feel, infinitesimally small.
Much smaller for the father than for the child.

It was true, indeed, that she had never fairly grasped any real idea of
the character of Christ. He had once grasped it to a certain extent, and
had lost the perception of its beauty and truth. It was true also that
Erica's transparent sincerity, her quick perception of the beautiful
might help very greatly to overcome her deeply ingrained prejudices. But
even then what an agony--what a fearful struggle would lie before her;
"I think it would break his heart!" Charles Osmond felt his breath
come fast and hard at the mere thought of such a difference between the
father and daughter! Could human strength possibly be equal to such
a terrible trial? For these two were everything to each other. Erica
worshipped her father, and Raeburn's fatherhood was the truest, deepest,
tenderest part of his character. No, human strength could not do it,
but--

"I am; nyle ye drede!"

His eye fell on a little illuminated scroll above his mantelpiece,
Wycliff's rendering of Christ's reassuring words to the fearful
disciples. Yes, with the revelation of Himself, He would give the
strength, make it possible to dread nothing, not even the infliction
of grief to one's nearest and dearest. Much pain, much sacrifice there
would be in his service, but dread--never. The strength of the "I am,"
bade it forever cease. In that strength the weakest could conquer.

But he had wondered on into a dim future, had pictured a struggle
which in all probability would not take place. Even were that the case,
however, he needed these words of assurance all the more himself. They
wove themselves into his reverie as he paced to an fro; they led him
further and further away from perplexed surmises as to the future of
Raeburn and Erica, but closer to their souls, because they took him
straight to the "God and father of all, who is above all, and through
all, and in all."

The next morning as he was preparing a sermon for the following Sunday,
there came a knock at his study door. His brother came in. He was a fine
looking man of two or three-and-fifty.

"I can't stay," he said, "I've a long round, but I just looked in to
t