's journal, returned it to
the clerk and left the library.

It was like coming into a new world; even dingy Bloomsbury seemed
beautiful. Her face was so bright, so like the face of a happy child,
that more than one passer-by was startled by it, lifted for a moment
from sordid cares into a purer atmosphere. She felt a longing to speak
to some one who would understand her new happiness. She had reached
Guilford Square, and looked doubtfully across to the Osmonds' house.
They would understand. But no she must tell her father first. And then,
with a fearful pang, she realized what her new conviction meant. It
meant bringing the sword into her father's house; it meant grieving him
with a life-long grief; it meant leaving the persecuted minority and
going over to the triumphant majority; it meant unmitigated pain to all
those she loved best.

Erica had had her full share of pain, but never had she known anything
so agonizing as that moment's sharp revulsion. Mechanically she walked
on until she reached home; nobody was in. She looked into the little
sitting room but, only Friskarina sat purring on the rug. The table
was strewn with the Saturday papers; the midday post had just come.
She turned over the letters and found one for herself in her father's
handwriting. It was the one thing needed to complete the realization
of her pain. She snatched it up with a stifled sob, ran upstairs to her
room, and threw herself down on the bed in silent agony.

A new joy had come to her which her father could not share; a joy which
he would call a delusion, which he spent a great part of his life
in combating. To tell him that she was convinced of the truth of
Christianity why, it would almost break his heart.

And yet she must inflict this terrible pain. Her nature was far too
noble to have dreamed for a single instant of temporizing, of keeping
her thoughts to herself. A Raeburn was not likely to fail either in
courage or in honesty; but with her courage and honesty, Erica had the
violin-like sensitiveness of nature which Eric Haeberlein had noticed
even in her childhood. She saw in the future all the pain she must bring
to her father, intensified by her own sensitiveness. She knew so well
what her feelings would have been but a short time ago, if any one she
greatly loved had "fallen back" into Christianity. How could she tell
him? How COULD she!

Yet it was a thing which must be done. Should she write to him? No, the
letter might