s if he had been a Christian. He had been vexed that his
father should suffer on behalf of such a man, had been half inclined to
put down the scorn and contempt and anger of the narrow-minded to the
atheist's account. The feeling had perhaps been natural, but all was
changed now; he only revered his father all the more for having suffered
in an unpopular cause. With some eagerness, he went back into the shop
to see if he could gather any more particulars from the old
bookseller. Charles Osmond had, however, finished his purchases and his
conversation, and was ready to go.

"The second house in Guilford Terrace, you say?" he observed, turning
at the door. "Thank you. I shall be sure to find it. Good day."
Then turning to his son, he added, "I had no idea we were such near
neighbors! Did you hear what he told me? Mr. Raeburn lives in Guilford
Terrace."

"What, that miserable blind alley, do you mean at the other side of the
square?"

"Yes, and I am just going round there now, for our friend the
'book-worm' tells me he has heard it rumored that some unscrupulous
person who is going to answer Mr. Raeburn this evening, has hired a
band of roughs to make a disturbance at the meeting. Fancy how indignant
Donovan would be! I only wish he were here to take a word to Mr.
Raeburn."

"Will he not most likely have heard from some other source?" said Brian.

"Possibly, but I shall go round and see. Such abominations ought to be
put down, and if by our own side all the better."

Brian was only too glad that his father should go, and indeed he would
probably have wished to take the message himself had not his mind been
set upon getting the best edition of Longfellow to be found in all
London for his ideal. So at the turning into Guilford Square, the father
and son parted.

The bookseller's information had roused in Charles Osmond a keen sense
of indignation; he walked on rapidly as soon as he had left his son,
and in a very few minutes had reached the gloomy entrance to Guilford
Terrace. It was currently reported that Raeburn made fabulous sums
by his work, and lived in great luxury; but the real fact was that,
whatever his income, few men led so self-denying a life, or voluntarily
endured such privations. Charles Osmond could not help wishing that
he could bring some of the intolerant with him down that gloomy little
alley, to the door of that comfortless lodging house. He rang, and was
admitted into the narrow passage, then