there
for quiet, its peaceful streets and its stony beach were never invaded
by excursionists. No cockneys came down for the Sunday to eat shrimps;
the shrimps were sent away by train to the more favored watering places,
and the Codrington shop keepers shook their heads and gave up expecting
to make a fortune in such a conservative little place. Erica said it
reminded her of the dormouse in "Alice In Wonderland," tyrannized
over by the hatter on one side and the March hare on the other, and
eventually put head foremost into the teapot. Certainly Helmstone on the
east and Westport on the west had managed to eclipse it altogether, and
its peaceful sleepiness made the dormouse comparison by no means inapt.

It all looked wonderfully unchanged as she walked from the station that
summer afternoon with her father. The square, gray tower of St. Oswald's
Church, the little, winding, irregular streets, the very shop windows
seemed quite unaltered, while at every turn familiar faces came into
sight. The shrewd old sailor with the telescope, the prim old lady at
the bookseller's, who had pronounced the "Imitation of Christ" to be
quite out of fashion, the sturdy milkman, with white smock-frock, and
bright pails fastened to a wooden yoke, and the coast-guardsman, who was
always whistling "Tom Bowling."

The sea was as calm as a mill pond; Raeburn suggested an hour or two on
the water and Erica, who was fond of boating, gladly assented. She had
made up her ind not to speak to her father that evening; he had a very
hard day's work before him on the Sunday; they must have these few hours
in peace. She did not in the least dread any subject coming up which
might put her into difficulty, for, on the rare days when her father
allowed himself any recreation, he entirely banished all controversial
topics from his mind. He asked no single question relating to the work
or to business of any kind, but gave himself up to the enjoyment of a
much-needed rest and relaxation. He seemed in excellent spirits, and
Erica herself would have been rapturously happy if she had not been
haunted by the thought of the pain that awaited him. She knew that this
was the last evening she and her father should ever spend together in
the old perfect confidence; division the most painful of all divisions
lay before them.

The next day she was left to herself. She would not go to the old
gray-towered church, though as an atheist she had gone to one or two
churche