We Two [115]
he pleased, to take a quiet survey of the passage while she rubbed her boots on the mat; then, with a delicious sense of safety, she closed the door on the unfriendly gaze..
In the meantime, Raeburn had spent a miserably anxious evening, regretting his rash permission for Erica to go, regretting his own enforced inaction, regretting his well-known and undisguisable face and form, almost regretting that his friend had visited him. Like Erica, he was only personally brave; he could not be brave for other people. Actual risk he would have enjoyed, but this anxious waiting was to him the keenest torture.
When at length the age-long hour had passed, and he heard the front door close, he started up with an exclamation of relief, and hurried out into the passage. Erica greeted him with her brightest smile.
"All safe," she said, following him into the study. "He is well on his way to Folkestone, and we have eluded three spies."
Then, with a good deal of humor, she related the whole of the adventure, at the same time taking off her hat and gloves.
"And you met no one you knew?" asked Raeburn.
"Only the bishop who baptized and confirmed me this evening, and he of course did not recognize me."
As she spoke, she unbuttoned her ulster, disclosing beneath it her white serge dress.
Raeburn sighed. Words and sight both reawakened a grief which he would fain have put from him.
But Erica came and sat down on the hearth rug, and nestled up to him just as usual. "I am so tired, padre mio!" she exclaimed. But it has been well worth it."
Raeburn did not answer. She looked up in his face.
"What are you thinking?"
"I was thinking that few people had such an ending to their confirmation day," said Raeburn.
"I thank God for it," said Erica. "Oh, father! There is so much, so very much we still have in common! And I am so glad this happened tonight of all nights!"
He stroked her hair caressingly, but did not speak.
CHAPTER XXIV. The New Relations
For all men live and judge amiss Whose talents jump not just with his. Hudibras
Comfortable moles, whom what they do Teaches the limit of the just and true. (And for such doing they require not eyes). Matthew Arnold
One bright afternoon about a week after this, Erica found herself actually in the train, and on her way to Greyshot. At first she had disliked the idea, but her father had evidently wished her to accept the invitation, and a hope of uniting again the two families would have stimulated her to a much more formidable undertaking than a visit of a few weeks to perfect strangers. She knew nothing of the proposal made to her father; her own letter had been most kind, and after all, though she did not like the actual leaving home, she could not but look forward to a rest and change after the long summer months in town. Moreover, Aunt Jean had just returned, after a brief holiday, and the home atmosphere for the last two or three days had been very trying; she felt as if a change would make her better able to bear the small daily frets and annoyances, and not unnaturally looked forward to the delicious rest of unity. A Christian home ought to be delightful; she had never stayed in one, and had a high ideal.
It was about six o'clock by the time she reached her journey's end, and, waiting for her on the platform, she had no difficulty in recognizing her aunt, a taller and fairer edition of Mrs. Craigie, who received her with a kind, nervous diffident greeting, and seemed very anxious indeed about her luggage, which was speedily brought to light by the footman, and safely conveyed to the carriage. Erica, used to complete independence, felt as if she were being transformed into a sort of grown-up baby, as she was relieved of her bag and umbrella and guided down the steps, and assisted into the open landau, and carefully tucked in with a carriage rug.
"I hope you are not overtired with the journey?" inquired her aunt with an air of the kindest and most anxious solicitude.
Accustomed to a really hard life in London, Erica almost
In the meantime, Raeburn had spent a miserably anxious evening, regretting his rash permission for Erica to go, regretting his own enforced inaction, regretting his well-known and undisguisable face and form, almost regretting that his friend had visited him. Like Erica, he was only personally brave; he could not be brave for other people. Actual risk he would have enjoyed, but this anxious waiting was to him the keenest torture.
When at length the age-long hour had passed, and he heard the front door close, he started up with an exclamation of relief, and hurried out into the passage. Erica greeted him with her brightest smile.
"All safe," she said, following him into the study. "He is well on his way to Folkestone, and we have eluded three spies."
Then, with a good deal of humor, she related the whole of the adventure, at the same time taking off her hat and gloves.
"And you met no one you knew?" asked Raeburn.
"Only the bishop who baptized and confirmed me this evening, and he of course did not recognize me."
As she spoke, she unbuttoned her ulster, disclosing beneath it her white serge dress.
Raeburn sighed. Words and sight both reawakened a grief which he would fain have put from him.
But Erica came and sat down on the hearth rug, and nestled up to him just as usual. "I am so tired, padre mio!" she exclaimed. But it has been well worth it."
Raeburn did not answer. She looked up in his face.
"What are you thinking?"
"I was thinking that few people had such an ending to their confirmation day," said Raeburn.
"I thank God for it," said Erica. "Oh, father! There is so much, so very much we still have in common! And I am so glad this happened tonight of all nights!"
He stroked her hair caressingly, but did not speak.
CHAPTER XXIV. The New Relations
For all men live and judge amiss Whose talents jump not just with his. Hudibras
Comfortable moles, whom what they do Teaches the limit of the just and true. (And for such doing they require not eyes). Matthew Arnold
One bright afternoon about a week after this, Erica found herself actually in the train, and on her way to Greyshot. At first she had disliked the idea, but her father had evidently wished her to accept the invitation, and a hope of uniting again the two families would have stimulated her to a much more formidable undertaking than a visit of a few weeks to perfect strangers. She knew nothing of the proposal made to her father; her own letter had been most kind, and after all, though she did not like the actual leaving home, she could not but look forward to a rest and change after the long summer months in town. Moreover, Aunt Jean had just returned, after a brief holiday, and the home atmosphere for the last two or three days had been very trying; she felt as if a change would make her better able to bear the small daily frets and annoyances, and not unnaturally looked forward to the delicious rest of unity. A Christian home ought to be delightful; she had never stayed in one, and had a high ideal.
It was about six o'clock by the time she reached her journey's end, and, waiting for her on the platform, she had no difficulty in recognizing her aunt, a taller and fairer edition of Mrs. Craigie, who received her with a kind, nervous diffident greeting, and seemed very anxious indeed about her luggage, which was speedily brought to light by the footman, and safely conveyed to the carriage. Erica, used to complete independence, felt as if she were being transformed into a sort of grown-up baby, as she was relieved of her bag and umbrella and guided down the steps, and assisted into the open landau, and carefully tucked in with a carriage rug.
"I hope you are not overtired with the journey?" inquired her aunt with an air of the kindest and most anxious solicitude.
Accustomed to a really hard life in London, Erica almost