We Two [189]
sniffing at theological and anti-theological books with perfect impartiality, rubbing himself against Raeburn's foot in the most ingratiating way, and finally springing up on Erica's lap with the oddest mixture of defiance and devotion in his eyes which said as plainly as if he had spoken: "People may say what they like about you, but I'm your faithful dog from this day forward!"
Raeburn was obliged to go out almost directly as he had an appointment in the city, but Erica knew that he had seen enough of Donovan to realize what he was and was satisfied.
"I am so glad you have just met," she said when he had left the room. "And, as to Dolly, she's been a real god-send. I haven't seen my father smile before for a week."
"Strange, is it not, how almost always children instinctively take to those whom the world treats as outcasts. I have a great belief that God lets the pure and innocent make up in part by their love for the uncharitableness of the rest of us."
"That's a nice thought," said Erica. "I have never had much to do with children, except with this one." And as she spoke she lifted Dolly on her lap beside Tottie.
"I have good reason to believe in both this kind and that," said Donovan, touching the dusky head of the dog and the sunny hair of the child. As he spoke there was a look in his eyes which made Erica feel inclined almost to cry. She knew that he was thinking of the past though there was no regret in his expression, only a shade of additional gravity about his lips and an unusual light about his brow and eyes. It was the face of a man who had known both the evil and the good, and had now reached far into the Unseen.
By and by they talked of Switzerland and of Brian, Donovan telling her just what she wanted to know about him though he never let her feel that he knew all about the day at Fiesole. And from that they passed to the coming trial of which he spoke in exactly the most helpful way, not trying to assure her, as some well-meaning people had done, that there was really nothing to be grieved or anxious about; but fully sympathizing with the pain while he somehow led her on to the thought of the unseen good which would in the long run result from it.
"I do believe that now, with all my heart." she said.
"I knew you did," he replied, smiling a little. "You have learned it since you were at Greyshot last year. And once learned it is learned forever."
"Yes," she said musingly. "But, oh! How slowly one learns in such little bits. It's a great mistake to think that we grasp the whole when the light first comes to us, and yet it feels then like the whole."
"Because it was the whole you were then capable of," said Donovan. "But, you see, you grow."
"Want to grow, at any rate," said Erica. "Grow conscious that there is an Infinite to grow to."
Then, as in a few minutes he rose to go:
"Well, you have done me good, you and Dolly, and this blessed little dog. Thank you very much for coming."
She went out with them to the door and stood on the steps with Tottie in her arms, smiling a goodbye to little Dolly.
"That's the bravest woman I know," thought Donovan to himself, "and the sweetest save one. Poor Brian! Though, after all, it's a grand thing to love such as Erica even without hope."
And all the afternoon there rang in his ears the line
"A woman's soul, most soft, yet strong."
The next day troubles began in good earnest. They were all very silent at breakfast. Raeburn looked anxious and preoccupied, and Erica, not feeling sure that conversation would not worry him, did not try to talk. Once Aunt Jean looked up for a moment from her paper with a question.
"By the bye, what are you going to wear, Erica?"
"Sackcloth, I think," said Erica; "it would be appropriate."
Raeburn smiled a little at this.
"Something cool, I should advise," he said. "The place will be like a furnace today."
He pushed back his chair as he spoke and went away to his study. Tom had to hurry away, too, being due at his office by nine o'clock; and Erica began
Raeburn was obliged to go out almost directly as he had an appointment in the city, but Erica knew that he had seen enough of Donovan to realize what he was and was satisfied.
"I am so glad you have just met," she said when he had left the room. "And, as to Dolly, she's been a real god-send. I haven't seen my father smile before for a week."
"Strange, is it not, how almost always children instinctively take to those whom the world treats as outcasts. I have a great belief that God lets the pure and innocent make up in part by their love for the uncharitableness of the rest of us."
"That's a nice thought," said Erica. "I have never had much to do with children, except with this one." And as she spoke she lifted Dolly on her lap beside Tottie.
"I have good reason to believe in both this kind and that," said Donovan, touching the dusky head of the dog and the sunny hair of the child. As he spoke there was a look in his eyes which made Erica feel inclined almost to cry. She knew that he was thinking of the past though there was no regret in his expression, only a shade of additional gravity about his lips and an unusual light about his brow and eyes. It was the face of a man who had known both the evil and the good, and had now reached far into the Unseen.
By and by they talked of Switzerland and of Brian, Donovan telling her just what she wanted to know about him though he never let her feel that he knew all about the day at Fiesole. And from that they passed to the coming trial of which he spoke in exactly the most helpful way, not trying to assure her, as some well-meaning people had done, that there was really nothing to be grieved or anxious about; but fully sympathizing with the pain while he somehow led her on to the thought of the unseen good which would in the long run result from it.
"I do believe that now, with all my heart." she said.
"I knew you did," he replied, smiling a little. "You have learned it since you were at Greyshot last year. And once learned it is learned forever."
"Yes," she said musingly. "But, oh! How slowly one learns in such little bits. It's a great mistake to think that we grasp the whole when the light first comes to us, and yet it feels then like the whole."
"Because it was the whole you were then capable of," said Donovan. "But, you see, you grow."
"Want to grow, at any rate," said Erica. "Grow conscious that there is an Infinite to grow to."
Then, as in a few minutes he rose to go:
"Well, you have done me good, you and Dolly, and this blessed little dog. Thank you very much for coming."
She went out with them to the door and stood on the steps with Tottie in her arms, smiling a goodbye to little Dolly.
"That's the bravest woman I know," thought Donovan to himself, "and the sweetest save one. Poor Brian! Though, after all, it's a grand thing to love such as Erica even without hope."
And all the afternoon there rang in his ears the line
"A woman's soul, most soft, yet strong."
The next day troubles began in good earnest. They were all very silent at breakfast. Raeburn looked anxious and preoccupied, and Erica, not feeling sure that conversation would not worry him, did not try to talk. Once Aunt Jean looked up for a moment from her paper with a question.
"By the bye, what are you going to wear, Erica?"
"Sackcloth, I think," said Erica; "it would be appropriate."
Raeburn smiled a little at this.
"Something cool, I should advise," he said. "The place will be like a furnace today."
He pushed back his chair as he spoke and went away to his study. Tom had to hurry away, too, being due at his office by nine o'clock; and Erica began