e grain of love for the race,
to set against my father's life of absolute devotion? They sit over
their champagne and slander atheists, and then have the face to call
themselves Christians."

"My dear!" said Mrs. Fane-Smith, nervously. "Our only wish is to do what
is best for you; but you are too tired and excited to discuss this now.
I will wish you good night."

"I never wish to discuss it again, thank you," said Erica, submitting to
a particularly warm embrace.

Mrs. Fane-Smith was right in one way. Erica was intensely excited. When
people have been riding rough-shod over one's heart, one is apt to be
excited, and Luke Raeburn's daughter had inherited that burning sense
of indignation which was so strongly marked a characteristic in Raeburn
himself. Violins can be more sweet and delicate in tone than any other
instrument, but they can also wail with greater pathos, and produce a
more fearful storm of passion.

Declining any assistance from Gemma, Erica locked her door, caught
up some sheets of foolscap, snatched up her pen, and began to write
rapidly. She knew well enough that she ought not to have written. But
when the heart is hot with indignation, when the brain produces scathing
sentences, when the subject seems to have taken possession of the whole
being, to deny its utterance is quite the hardest thing in the world.

Erica struggled to resist, but at length yielded, and out rushed
sarcasms, denunciations, return blows innumerable! The relief was great.
However, her enjoyment was but short for by the time her article was
rolled up for the post, stamped and directed, her physical powers gave
way; such blank exhaustion ensuing that all she could do was to drag
herself across the room, throw herself, half dressed, on the bed, draw
the rezai over her, and yield to the heavy, overpowering slumber of
great weariness.

It seemed to her that she slept about five minutes, and was then
roused by a knocking at her door. She started up, and found that it was
morning. Then she recollected bolting her door, and sprung out of bed
to undo it, but was reminded at once that she had a spine. She had
quite recovered from the effects of her illness, but over-fatigue always
brought back the old pain, and warned her that she must be more careful
in the future. The house maid seemed a little surprised not to find
her up and dressed as usual, for Erica generally got through an hour's
writing before the nine o'clock breakfast.