red."

Raeburn laughed.

"I am glad we think alike there. People are very fond of describing me
as a big bull dog, but if they would think a little, they would see that
the love of overcoming obstacles is deeply rooted in the heart of every
true man. What is the meaning of our English love of field sports? What
the explanation of the mania for Alpine climbing? It is no despicable
craving for distinction, it is the innate love of fighting, struggling,
and conquering."

"Well, there are many obstacles which we can struggle to remove, side by
side," said Charles Osmond. "We should be like one man, I fancy on the
question of the opium trade, for instance."

In a few vigorous words Raeburn denounced this monstrous national sin.

"Are you going to the meeting tonight?" he added, after a pause.

"Yes, I had thought of it. Let us go together. Shall you speak?"

"Not tonight," said Raeburn, a smile flickering about his usually stern
lips. "The Right Reverend Father, etc., etc., who is to occupy the
chair, might object to announcing that 'Mr. Raeburn would now address
the meeting.' No, this is not the time or place for me. So prejudiced
are people that the mere connection of my name with the question would
probably do more harm than good. I should like, I confess, to get up
without introduction, to speak not from the platform but from among
the audience incognito. But that is impossible for a man who has the
misfortune to be five inches above the average height, and whose white
hair has become a proverb, since some one made the unfortunate remark,
repeated in a hundred newspapers, that the 'hoary head was only a crown
of glory when found in the way of righteousness.'"

Charles Osmond could not help laughing.

"The worst of these newspaper days is that one never can make an end of
anything. That remark has been made to me since at several meetings.
At the last, I told the speaker that I was so tired of comments on my
personal appearance that I should soon have to resort either to the
dyer or the wigmaker. But here am I wasting your time and my own, and
forgetting the poor little maid at home. Goodbye. I'll call in passing,
then, at a quarter to eight. Tom Craigie will probably be with me, he is
very rabid on the subject."

"Craigie and I are quite old friends," said Charles Osmond.

And then, as on the preceding night he had stood at the door while Erica
crossed the square, so now involuntarily his eyes followed Raebur