rams,"
"News from the Seat of War," "Parliamentary Intelligence" a speech by
Sir Michael Cunningham, one of her heroes, on a question in which she
was interested. She could not read it, all the life seemed gone out of
it, today the paper was nothing to her but a broad sheet with so many
columns of printed matter. But as she was putting it down their own name
caught her eye. All at once her benumbed faculties regained their power,
her heart began to beat wildly, for there, in clearest print, in short,
choppy, unequivocal sentences, was the hideous fear which she had
contrived so long to banish.

"Mr. Raeburn is dying. The bulletins have daily been growing less and
less hopeful. Yesterday doctor R______, who had been called in, could
only confirm the unfavorable opinion of the other doctors. In all
probability the days of the great apostle of atheism are numbered. It
rests with the Hyde Park rioters, and those who by word and example have
incited them, to bear the responsibility of making a martyr of such a
man as Mr. Luke Raeburn. Emphatically disclaiming the slightest sympathy
with Mr. Raeburn's religious views, we yet--"

But Erica could read no more. Whatever modicum of charity the writer
ventured to put forth was lost upon her. The opening sentence danced
before her eyes in letters of fire. That morning she met Brian in the
passage and drew him into the sitting room. He saw at once how it was
with her.

"Look," she said, holding the newspaper toward him, "is that true? Or is
it only a sensation trap or written for party purposes?"

Her delicate lips were closed with their hardest expression, her eyes
only looked grave and questioning. She watched his face as he read, lost
her last hope, and with the look of such anguish as he had never before
seen, drew the paper from him, and caught his hand in hers in wild
entreaty.

"Oh, Brian, Brian! Is there no hope? Surely you can do something for
him. There MUST be hope, he is so strong, so full of life."

He struggled hard for voice and words to answer her, but the imploring
pressure of her hands on his had nearly unnerved him. Already the grief
that kills lurked in her eyes he knew that if her father died she would
not long survive him.

"Don't say what is untrue," she continued. "Don't let me drive you into
telling a lie but only tell me if there is indeed no hope no chance."

"It may be," said Brian. "You must not expect, for those far wiser than
I say it can not