h energetic and unscrupulous," said Raeburn. "But
I doubt if even he would set his roughs upon you, little one, unless
he has become as blood thirsty as a certain old Scotch psalm we used to
sing."

"What was that?" questioned Erica.

"I forget the beginning, but the last verse always had a sort of
horrible fascination for us--

"'How happy should that trooper be Who, riding on a naggie, Should take
thy little children up, And dash them 'gin the craggie!'"

Charles Osmond and Erica laughed heartily.

"They will only dash you against metaphorical rocks in the nineteenth
century," continued Raeburn. "I remember wondering why the old clerk in
my father's church always sung that verse lustily; but you see we have
exactly the same spirit now, only in a more civilized form, barbarity
changed to polite cruelty, as for instance the way you were treated this
afternoon."

"Oh, don't talk about that," said Erica, quickly, "I am going to enjoy
my Longfellow and forget the rest."

In truth, Charles Osmond was struck with this both in the father and
daughter; each had a way of putting back their bitter thoughts, of
dwelling whenever it was possible on the brighter side of life. He knew
that Raeburn was involved in most harassing litigation, was burdened
with debt, was confronted everywhere with bitter and often violent
opposition, yet he seemed to live above it all, for there was a
wonderful repose about him, an extraordinary serenity in his aspect,
which would have seemed better fitted to a hermit than to one who has
spent his life in fighting against desperate odds. One thing was quite
clear, the man was absolutely convinced that he was suffering for
the truth, and was ready to endure anything in what he considered the
service of his fellow men. He did not seem particularly anxious as to
the evening's proceedings. On the whole, they were rather a merry party
as they walked along Gower Street to the station.

But when they got out again at their destination, and walked through the
busy streets to the hall where the lecture was to be given, a sort of
seriousness fell upon all three. They were each going to work in their
different ways for what they considered the good of humanity, and
instinctively a silence grew and deepened.

Erica was the first to break it as they came in sight of the hall.

"What a crowd there is!" she exclaimed. "Are these Mr. Randolph's
roughs?"

"We can put up with them outside," said Raeburn; bu