h the devil's weapons. Mr. Fane-Smith would have been dismayed if
any one could have shown him that all his life he had been struggling
to suppress unbelief by what was infinitely worse than sincere unbelief
denunciation often untrue, always unjust, invariably uncharitable. He
would have been almost broken-hearted could he ever have known that
his hard intolerance, his narrowness, his domineering injustice had not
deterred one soul from adopting the views he abhorred, but had, on
the contrary, done a great deal to drive into atheism those who were
wavering. And this evening, even while lamenting that he had not been
able to train up his niece exactly in the opinions he himself held, he
was all the time trying her faith more severely than a whole regiment of
atheists could have tried it.

The time passed heavily enough. When two people in the room are unhappy
and uncomfortable, a sense of unrest generally falls upon the other
occupants. Rose yawned, talked fitfully about the gayeties of the coming
week, worked half a leaf on an antimacassar, and sang three or four
silly little coquettish songs which somehow jarred on every one.

Mrs. Fane-Smith, feeling anxious and harassed, afraid alike of vexing
her husband and offending her niece, talked kindly and laboriously.
Erica turned the heel of her sock and responded as well as she could,
her sensitiveness recoiling almost as much from the labored and
therefore oppressive kindness, as from the irritating and narrow censure
which Mr. Fane-Smith dealt out to the world.

Family prayers followed. It was the first time she had ever been
present at such a household gathering, and the idea seemed to her a very
beautiful one. But the function proved so formal and lifeless that it
chilled her more than anything. Yet her relations were so very kind to
her personally that she blamed herself for feeling disappointed, and
struggled hard to pierce through the outer shell, which she knew only
concealed their real goodness. She knew, too, that she had herself to
blame in part; her oversensitiveness, her quick temper, her want of
deep insight had all had their share in making that evening such a blank
failure.

Mrs. Fane-Smith went with her into her bedroom to see that she had all
she wanted. Though the September evening was mild, a fire blazed in the
grate, much to Erica's astonishment. Not on the most freezing of winter
nights had she ever enjoyed such a luxury. Her aunt explained that th