satisfied with what it had accomplished. Neither the
dissatisfaction, however, nor even the despair ever made him feel the
need of any power above man. On the contrary, the unaccountable mystery
of pain and evil was his strongest argument against the existence of a
God. Upon that rock he had foundered as a mere boy, and no argument had
ever been able to reconvince him. Impatience of present ill had in this,
as in many other cases, proved the bane of his life.

He would write and speak about these cases of injustice, he would hold
them up to the obloquy they so richly deserved.

Scathing sentences already took shape in his brain, but deeper
investigation would be necessary before he could write anything. In
the meantime to cool himself, to bring himself into a judicial frame
of mind, he took a Hebrew book from his bag, and spent the rest of the
journey in hard study.

Harassed, and tired, and out of spirits as he was, he nevertheless felt
a certain pleasurable sensation as he left St. Pancras, driving homeward
through the hot crowded streets. Erica would be waiting for him at home,
and he had a comparatively leisure afternoon. There was the meeting on
the Opium Trade at eight, but he might take her for a turn in one of the
parks beforehand. She had always been a companion to him since her very
babyhood, but now he was able to enjoy her companionship even more
than in the olden times. Her keen intellect, her ready sympathy, her
eagerness to learn, made her the perfection of a disciple, while not
unnaturally he delighted in tracing the many similarities of character
between himself and his child. Then, too, in his hard, argumentative,
fighting life it was an unspeakable relief to be able to retire every
now and then into a home which no outer storms could shake or disturb.
Fond as he was of his sister, Mrs. Craigie, and Tom, they constituted
rather the innermost circle of his friends and followers; it was Erica
who made the HOME, though the others shared the house. It was to Erica's
pure child-like devotion that he invariably turned for comfort.

Dismissing the cab at the corner of Guilford Square, he walked down
the dreary little passage, looking up at the window to see if she were
watching for him as usual. But today there was no expectant face; he
recollected, however, that it was Thursday, always a busy day with them.

He opened the door with his latch key, and went in; still there was
no sound in the house; he hal