nt
consciousness that he had been driven out of his own dining room. But
when he had gone, the quarrel was forgotten altogether; they forgot
differences of creed in a great mutual anxiety. Raeburn's manner had
been so unnatural, he had been so unlike himself, that in their trouble
about it they entirely passed over the original cause of his anger. Aunt
Jean was as much relieved as any one when before long he opened his door
and called for Erica.

"I have lost my address book," he said; "have you seen it about?"

She began to search for it, fully aware that he had given her something
to do for him just out of loving consideration, and with the hope that
it would take the sting from her aunt's hard words. When she brought
him the book, he took her face between both his hands, looked at her
steadily for a minute, and then kissed her.

"All right, little son Eric," he said, with a sigh. "We understand each
other."

But she went upstairs feeling miserable about him, and an hour or two
later, when all the house was silent, her feeling of coming trouble
grew so much that at length she yielded to one of those strange, blind
impulses which come to some people and crept noiselessly out on to the
dark landing. At first all seemed to her perfectly still and perfectly
dark; but, looking down the narrow well of the staircase, she could see
far below her a streak of light falling across the tiles in the passage.
She knew that it must come from beneath the door of the study, and it
meant that her father was still at work. He had owned to having a bad
headache, and had promised not to be late. It was perplexing. She stole
down the next flight of stairs and listened at Tom's door; then, finding
that he was still about, knocked softly. Tom, with his feet on the
mantel piece, was solacing himself with a pipe and a novel; he started
up, however, as she came in.

"What's the matter?" he asked, "is any one ill?"

"I don't know," said Erica, shivering a little. "I came to know whether
father had much to do tonight; did he tell you?"

"He was going to write to Jackson about a situation for the eldest
son of that fellow who died the other day, you know; the widow,
poor creature, is nearly worried out of her life; she was here this
afternoon. The chieftain promised to see about it at once; he wouldn't
let me write, and of course a letter from himself will be more likely to
help the boy."

"But it's after one o'clock," said Erica, shiver