We Two [153]
that the connection of our names might greatly injure your public work, and, besides, you could not live in the circle in which I live, and nothing could ever make it right for me to leave my own people. I can not write as I should like to I can not say what I would, or thank you as I would but please understand me, and believe me yours very sincerely, Erica Raeburn."
Strange enough the writing of that letter, the realization of the impossibility of accepting Leslie Cunningham's offer, opened out to Erica a new region, started her upon a new stage of her life progress. In spite of her trouble at the thought of the pain she must give, there was an indefinable sense that life and love meant much more than she had hitherto dreamed of; and, though for the next few days she was a little grave and silent, there rang in her ears the refrain:
"Oh, life, oh, beyond, Thou art strange, thou art sweet."
She was not sorry that her visit was drawing to a close, although the last week had gone much more smoothly. Her vigorous nature began to long to return to the working day world, and though she could very honestly thank Mr. Fane-Smith for his kindness, she turned her back on his house with unmixed satisfaction.
"And you cannot change your ind as to my suggestion?" he asked sending off one parting arrow.
"I can not," said Erica, firmly, "he is my father."
"You must of course make your own choice," he said with a sigh. "But you are sadly wrong, sadly wrong! In my opinion your father is--"
"Forgive me for interrupting you," said Erica, "but by your own showing you have no right to have any opinion whatever about my father. Until you have either learned to know him personally, heard him speak, or fairly and carefully studied his writings, you have no grounds to form an opinion upon."
"But the current opinion is--"
"The current opinion is no more an opnion than yours! It is the view of most bitter opponents. And, candidly, WOULD you accept the current opinion held of any prominent statesman by his adversaries? Why, the best men living are represented as fiends in human shape by their enemies! And if this is so in political matters, how much more in such a case as my father's!"
Mr. Fane-Smith, who was a well-meaning though narrow man, sighed again; it was always very painful to him to listen to views which did not coincide with his own.
"Well," he said at length, "there is, after all, the hope that you may convert him."
"I hope you do not want me to turn into one of those hateful little prigs, who go about lamenting over their unregenerate parents," said Erica, naughtily. Then, softening down, she added, "I think I know what you mean perhaps I was wrong to speak like that, only somehow, knowing what my father is, it does grate so to put it in that way. But don't think I would not give my life for him to come to the light here and now for I would! I would!"
She clasped her hands tightly together, and turned quickly away.
Mr. Fane-Smith was touched.
"Well, my dear," he said. "You may be right, after all, and I may be wrong. All my anxiety is only for your ultimate good."
The train was on the point of starting, he gave her a warm hand shake, and in spite of all that jarred in their respective natures, Erica ended by liking him the best of her new relations.
CHAPTER XXX. Slander Leaves a Slur
For slander lives upon succession, Forever housed, where it once gets possession. Comedy of Errors.
Not out of malice, but mere zeal, Because he was an infidel. Hudibras
"Blessed old London, how delightful it is to come back to it!" exclaimed Erica, as she and Tom drove home from Paddington on the afternoon of her return from Greyshot. "Tell the man not to go through the back streets, there's a good boy! Ah, he's doing it of his own accord! Why, the park trees are much browner than the Mountshire ones!"
"We have been prophesying all manner of evil about your coming back," said Tom looking her over critically from head to foot. "I believe mother thought you would never come
Strange enough the writing of that letter, the realization of the impossibility of accepting Leslie Cunningham's offer, opened out to Erica a new region, started her upon a new stage of her life progress. In spite of her trouble at the thought of the pain she must give, there was an indefinable sense that life and love meant much more than she had hitherto dreamed of; and, though for the next few days she was a little grave and silent, there rang in her ears the refrain:
"Oh, life, oh, beyond, Thou art strange, thou art sweet."
She was not sorry that her visit was drawing to a close, although the last week had gone much more smoothly. Her vigorous nature began to long to return to the working day world, and though she could very honestly thank Mr. Fane-Smith for his kindness, she turned her back on his house with unmixed satisfaction.
"And you cannot change your ind as to my suggestion?" he asked sending off one parting arrow.
"I can not," said Erica, firmly, "he is my father."
"You must of course make your own choice," he said with a sigh. "But you are sadly wrong, sadly wrong! In my opinion your father is--"
"Forgive me for interrupting you," said Erica, "but by your own showing you have no right to have any opinion whatever about my father. Until you have either learned to know him personally, heard him speak, or fairly and carefully studied his writings, you have no grounds to form an opinion upon."
"But the current opinion is--"
"The current opinion is no more an opnion than yours! It is the view of most bitter opponents. And, candidly, WOULD you accept the current opinion held of any prominent statesman by his adversaries? Why, the best men living are represented as fiends in human shape by their enemies! And if this is so in political matters, how much more in such a case as my father's!"
Mr. Fane-Smith, who was a well-meaning though narrow man, sighed again; it was always very painful to him to listen to views which did not coincide with his own.
"Well," he said at length, "there is, after all, the hope that you may convert him."
"I hope you do not want me to turn into one of those hateful little prigs, who go about lamenting over their unregenerate parents," said Erica, naughtily. Then, softening down, she added, "I think I know what you mean perhaps I was wrong to speak like that, only somehow, knowing what my father is, it does grate so to put it in that way. But don't think I would not give my life for him to come to the light here and now for I would! I would!"
She clasped her hands tightly together, and turned quickly away.
Mr. Fane-Smith was touched.
"Well, my dear," he said. "You may be right, after all, and I may be wrong. All my anxiety is only for your ultimate good."
The train was on the point of starting, he gave her a warm hand shake, and in spite of all that jarred in their respective natures, Erica ended by liking him the best of her new relations.
CHAPTER XXX. Slander Leaves a Slur
For slander lives upon succession, Forever housed, where it once gets possession. Comedy of Errors.
Not out of malice, but mere zeal, Because he was an infidel. Hudibras
"Blessed old London, how delightful it is to come back to it!" exclaimed Erica, as she and Tom drove home from Paddington on the afternoon of her return from Greyshot. "Tell the man not to go through the back streets, there's a good boy! Ah, he's doing it of his own accord! Why, the park trees are much browner than the Mountshire ones!"
"We have been prophesying all manner of evil about your coming back," said Tom looking her over critically from head to foot. "I believe mother thought you would never come