n had rejoined
them, and they drove off to the station.

"What was that man saying?" asked Erica.

"Apparently his son has become a secularist, and he means to revenge
himself on me," said Raeburn. "If it wouldn't have lost me this train,
I would have given him in charge for using threatening language. But no
doubt the poor fellow was half-witted."

Donovan had walked on to the station and so had missed this incident,
and though for the time it saddened Erica, yet she speedily forgot it in
talking to the children. The arrival at Ashborough, too, was exciting,
and she was so delighted to see her father once more in the enjoyment
of full health and strength that she could not long be disquieted about
anything else. It was a great happiness to her to hear him speak upon
any subject on which they were agreed, and his reception that evening
at the Ashborough Town Hall was certainly a most magnificent one. The
ringing cheers made the tears start to her eyes. The people had been
roused by his late illness and, though many of them disliked his
theological views, they felt that in political matters he was a man whom
they could very ill spare. His speech was a remarkably powerful one, and
calculated to do great good. Erica's spirits rose to their very highest
pitch and, as they went back together to their hotel, she kept both
Raeburn and Donovan in fits of laughter. It was long months since her
father had seen her so brilliant and witty.

"You are 'fey,' little one," he said. "I prophesy a headache for you
tomorrow."

And the prophecy came true for Erica awoke the next morning with a sense
of miserable oppression. The day, too, was gray and dreary-looking, it
seemed like a different world altogether. Raeburn was none the worse
for his exertions; he took a quiet day, however, went for a walk with
Donovan in the afternoon, and set off in good time for his evening
lecture. It was Sunday evening, Erica was going to church with Donovan,
and had her walking things on when her father looked into the room to
say goodbye.

"What, going out?" he said. "You don't look fit for it, Eric."

"Oh!" she said, "it is no use to give way to this sort of headache; it's
only one's wretched nerves."

"Well, take carte of yourself," he said, kissing her. "I believe you
are worn out with all these weeks of attendance on a cantankerous old
father."

She laughed and brightened up, going out with him to the head of the
stairs, and returning to w