We Two Part 40

"We thought we hoped that perhaps, if you adopted our name, it might prevent unpleasantness. Such things are done, you know, and then, too, we might make some arrangement about your grandfather's money, a part of which I feel is now yours by right. Even now the change would show people the truth, would save many disagreeables."

During this speech Erica's face had been a study; an angry glow of color rushed to her cheeks, her eyes flashed dangerously. She was a young girl, but there was a good deal of the lion about her at that minute, and her aunt trembled listening perforce to the indignant outburst.

"What truth would it show?" she cried. "I don't believe there is such a thing as truth among all these wretched shams! I will never change my name to escape from prejudice and bigotry, or to win a share in my grandfather's property! What! Give up my father's name to gain the money which might have kept him from pain and ruin and semi-starvation? Take the money that might have brought comfort to my mother that might have kept me with her to the end. I couldn't take it. I would rather die than touch one penny of it. It is too late now. If you thought I would consent if that is the reason you asked me here, I can go at once. I would not willingly have brought shame upon you, but neither will I dishonor myself nor insult my father by changing my name. Why, to do so would be to proclaim that I judged him as those Pharisees did tonight.

The hypocrites! Which of them can show one 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 pa.s.sion.

Declining any a.s.sistance from Gemma, Erica locked her door, caught up some sheets of foolscap, s.n.a.t.c.hed 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.

"Are you ill, miss?" she asked, glancing at the face which seemed almost as colorless as the pillow.

"Only very tired, thank you," said Erica, glad enough today of the cup of tea and the thin bread and b.u.t.ter which before had seemed to her such an absurd luxury.

"Letters for the early post, miss, I suppose?" said the house maid, taking up the fiery effusion.

"Please," replied Erica, not turning her head, and far too weary to give a thought to her last night's work. All she could think of just then was the usual waking reflection of a sufferer "How in the world shall I get through the day?"

The recollection, however, of her parting conversation with her aunt made her determined to be down to breakfast. Her absence might be misconstrued. And though feeling ill-prepared for remonstrance or argument, she was in her place when the gong sounded for prayers, looking white and weary indeed, but with a curve of resoluteness about her mouth. n.o.body found out how tired she was. Mr. Fane-Smith was as blind as a bat, and Mrs. Fane-Smith was too low-spirited and too much absorbed with her own cares to notice. The events of last night looked more and more disagreeable, and she was burdened with thoughts of what people would say; moreover, Rose's cold was much worse, and as her mother was miserable if even her little finger ached, she was greatly disturbed, and persuaded herself that her child was really in a most dangerous state.

Breakfast proved a very silent meal that morning, quite oppressively silent; Erica felt like a child in disgrace. Every now and then the grimness of it appealed to her sense of the ludicrous, and she felt inclined to scream or do something desperate just to see what would happen. At length the dreary repast came to an end, and she had just taken up a newspaper, with a sort of gasp of relief at the thought of escaping for a moment into a larger world, when she was recalled to the narrow circle of Greyshot by a word from Mr. Fane-Smith.

"I wish to have a talk with you, my dear; will you come to the library at ten o'clock?"

An interview by appointment! That sounded formidable! When the time came, Erica went rather apprehensively to the library, fearing that she was in for an argument, and wishing that Mr. Fane-Smith had chosen a day on which she felt a little more up to things.

He received her very kindly, and drew an easy chair up to the fire for her, no doubt doing as he would be done by, for he was a chilly Indian mortal. Erica had never been into the library before. It was a delightful room, furnished with old carved oak and carpeted with soft Indian rugs. Though dignified by the name of library, it was not nearly so crowded with books as the little study at home; all the volumes were beautifully bound in much-begilt calf or morocco, but they had not the used, loved look of her father's books. On the mantel piece there were some models of Indian idols exquisitely carved in soft, greenish-gray soapstone, and behind these, as if in protest, lurked the only unornamental thing in the room, a very ordinary missionary box, covered with orange-colored paper and impressively black negroes.

"I am sure, my dear," said Mr. Fane-Smith, "that after what occurred last night you will see the desirability of thinking seriously about your plans for the future. I have been intending to speak to you, but waited until we had learned to know each other a little. However, I regret now that I delayed. It is naturally far from desirable that you should remain an inmate of your father's house, and my wife and I should be very glad if you would make your home with us. Of course when it was fully understood in Greyshot that you had utterly renounced your father and your former friends, such unpleasantness as you encountered last night would not again occur; indeed, I fancy you would become exceedingly popular. It would perhaps have been wiser if you would have taken our name, but your aunt tells me you object to that."

"Yes," said Erica, who was writhing with anger, and relieved herself by the slight sarcasm, "I do object to be Miss Feign-Fane-Smith."

"Well, that must be as you please," he resumed; "but I really think if you will accept our offer it will be for your ultimate good."

He proceeded to enumerate all the benefits which would accrue to her; then paused.

Erica was silent for a minute. When she spoke it was in the low voice of one who is struggling to restrain pa.s.sion.

"I am sure you mean this very kindly," she said. "I have tried to listen to your offer patiently, though, of course, the moment you began, I knew that I must entirely emphatically, decline it. I will NEVER leave my father!"

The last words were spoken with a sort of half-restrained outburst, as if the pent-up pa.s.sion must find some outlet.

Mr. Fane-Smith was startled. He so seldom thought of Luke Raeburn as a fellow-being at all that perhaps it had never occurred to him that the love of parent to child, and child to parent, is quite independent of creed.

"But, my dear," he said, "you have been baptized."

"I have."

"You promised to renounce the devil and all his works."

"I did."

"Then how can you hesitate to renounce everything connected with your former life?"

"Do you mean to imply that my father is the devil or one of his works?"

Mr. Fane-Smith was silent. Erica continued:

"G.o.d's Fatherhood does not depend on our knowledge of it, or acceptance of it, it is a fact a truth! How then can any one dare to say that such a man as my farther is a work of the devil? I thought the sin of sins was to attribute to the devil what belongs to G.o.d!"

"You are in a very peculiar position," said Mr. Fane-Smith, uneasily.

"And I have no doubt it is difficult for you to see things as they really are. But I, who can look at the matter dispa.s.sionately, can see that your remaining in your old home would be most dangerous, and not only that, but most painful! To live in a house where you hear all that you most reverence evil spoken of; why, the pain would be unspeakable!"

"I know that," said Erica, in a low voice, "I have found that I admit that it is and always will be harder to bear than any one can conceive who has not tried. But to shirk pain is not to follow Christ. As to danger, if you will forgive my saying so, I should find a luxurious life in a place like Greyshot infinitely more trying."

"Then could you not take up nursing? Or go into some sisterhood? Nothing extreme, you know, but just a working sisterhood."

Erica smiled, and shook her head.

"Why should I try to make another vocation when G.o.d has already given me one?"

"But, my dear, consider the benefit to your own soul."

"A very secondary consideration!" exclaimed Erica, impetuously.

"I should have thought," continued Mr. Fane-Smith, "that under such strange circ.u.mstances you would have seen how necessary it was to forsake all. Think of St. Matthew, for instance; he rose up at once, forsook all, and followed Him."

"Yes," said Erica. "And what was the very first thing he was impelled to do by way of 'following?' Why, to make a great feast and have in all his old friends, all the despised publicans."

"My dear Erica," said Mr. Fane-Smith, feeling his theological arguments worsted, "we must discuss this matter on practical grounds. In plain words, your father is a very bad man, and you ought to have nothing more to do with him."

Erica's lips turned white with anger; but she answered, calmly:

"That is a very great accusation. How do you know it is true?"

"I know it well enough," said Mr. Fane-Smith. "Why, every one in England knows it."

"If you accept mere hearsay evidence, you may believe anything of any one. Have you ever read any of my father's books?"