We Two [93]
badgering, I don't, you know. Come, what shall we do. Where would you like to go?"
"Father," said Erica, "I want first to have a talk with you. I--I have something to tell you."
There was no longer any mistaking that the seriousness meant some kind of trouble. Raeburn put his arm round her.
"Why, my little girl," he said, tenderly. "You are trembling all over. What is the matter?"
"The matter is that what I have to say will pain you, and it half kills me to do that. But there is no choice tell you I must. You would not wish me not to be true, not to be honest."
Utter perplexity filled Raeburn's mind. What phantom trouble was threatening him? Had she been commissioned to tell him of some untoward event? Some business calamity? Had she fallen in love with some one he could not permit her to marry? He looked questioningly at her, but her expression only perplexed him still more; she was trembling no longer, and her eyes were clear and bright, there was a strong look about her whole face.
"Father," she said, quietly, "I have learned to believe in Jesus Christ."
He wrenched away his arm; he started back from her as if she had stabbed him. For a minute he looked perfectly dazed.
At last, after a silence which seemed to each of them age-long, he spoke in the agitated voice of one who has just received a great blow.
"Do you know what you are saying, Erica? Do you know what such a confession as you have made will involve? Do you mean that you accept the whole of Christ's teaching?
"Yes," she replied, firmly, "I do."
"You intend to turn Christian?"
"Yes, to try to."
"How long have you and Mr. Osmond been concocting this?"
"I don't know what you mean," said Erica, terribly wounded by his tone.
"Did he send you down here to tell me?"
"Mr. Osmond knows nothing about it," said Erica. "How could I tell any one before you, father?"
Raeburn was touched by this. He took several turns up and down the room before speaking again, but the more he grasped the idea the deeper grew his grief and the hotter his anger. He was a man of iron will, however, and he kept both under. When at length he did speak, his voice was quiet and cold and repressed.
"Sit down," he said, motioning her to a chair. "This is not a subject that we can dismiss in five minutes' talk. I must hear your reasons. We will put aside all personal considerations. I will consider you just as an ordinary opponent."
His coldness chilled her to the heart. Was it always to be like this? How could she possibly endure it? How was she to answer his questions how was she to vindicate her faith when the mere tone of his voice seemed to paralyze her heart? He was indeed treating her with the cold formality of an opponent, but never for a single instant could she forget that he was her father the being she loved best in the whole world.
But Erica was brave and true; she knew that this was a crisis in their lives, and, thrusting down her own personal pain, she forced herself to give her whole heart and mind to the searching and perplexing questions with which her father intended to test the reality of her convictions. Had she been unaccustomed to his mode of attack he would have hopelessly silenced her, as far as argument goes in half an hour; but not only was Erica's faith perfectly real, but she had, as it were, herself traversed the whole of his objections and difficulties. Though far from imagining that she understood everything, she had yet so firmly grasped the innermost truth that all details as yet outside her vision were to her no longer hindrances and bugbears, but so many new possibilities other hopes of fresh manifestations of God.
She held her ground well, and every minute Raeburn realized more keenly that whatever hopes he had entertained of reconvincing her were futile. What made it all the more painful to him was that the thoroughness of the training he had given her now only told against him, and the argument which he carried on in a cold, metallic voice was really piercing his very
"Father," said Erica, "I want first to have a talk with you. I--I have something to tell you."
There was no longer any mistaking that the seriousness meant some kind of trouble. Raeburn put his arm round her.
"Why, my little girl," he said, tenderly. "You are trembling all over. What is the matter?"
"The matter is that what I have to say will pain you, and it half kills me to do that. But there is no choice tell you I must. You would not wish me not to be true, not to be honest."
Utter perplexity filled Raeburn's mind. What phantom trouble was threatening him? Had she been commissioned to tell him of some untoward event? Some business calamity? Had she fallen in love with some one he could not permit her to marry? He looked questioningly at her, but her expression only perplexed him still more; she was trembling no longer, and her eyes were clear and bright, there was a strong look about her whole face.
"Father," she said, quietly, "I have learned to believe in Jesus Christ."
He wrenched away his arm; he started back from her as if she had stabbed him. For a minute he looked perfectly dazed.
At last, after a silence which seemed to each of them age-long, he spoke in the agitated voice of one who has just received a great blow.
"Do you know what you are saying, Erica? Do you know what such a confession as you have made will involve? Do you mean that you accept the whole of Christ's teaching?
"Yes," she replied, firmly, "I do."
"You intend to turn Christian?"
"Yes, to try to."
"How long have you and Mr. Osmond been concocting this?"
"I don't know what you mean," said Erica, terribly wounded by his tone.
"Did he send you down here to tell me?"
"Mr. Osmond knows nothing about it," said Erica. "How could I tell any one before you, father?"
Raeburn was touched by this. He took several turns up and down the room before speaking again, but the more he grasped the idea the deeper grew his grief and the hotter his anger. He was a man of iron will, however, and he kept both under. When at length he did speak, his voice was quiet and cold and repressed.
"Sit down," he said, motioning her to a chair. "This is not a subject that we can dismiss in five minutes' talk. I must hear your reasons. We will put aside all personal considerations. I will consider you just as an ordinary opponent."
His coldness chilled her to the heart. Was it always to be like this? How could she possibly endure it? How was she to answer his questions how was she to vindicate her faith when the mere tone of his voice seemed to paralyze her heart? He was indeed treating her with the cold formality of an opponent, but never for a single instant could she forget that he was her father the being she loved best in the whole world.
But Erica was brave and true; she knew that this was a crisis in their lives, and, thrusting down her own personal pain, she forced herself to give her whole heart and mind to the searching and perplexing questions with which her father intended to test the reality of her convictions. Had she been unaccustomed to his mode of attack he would have hopelessly silenced her, as far as argument goes in half an hour; but not only was Erica's faith perfectly real, but she had, as it were, herself traversed the whole of his objections and difficulties. Though far from imagining that she understood everything, she had yet so firmly grasped the innermost truth that all details as yet outside her vision were to her no longer hindrances and bugbears, but so many new possibilities other hopes of fresh manifestations of God.
She held her ground well, and every minute Raeburn realized more keenly that whatever hopes he had entertained of reconvincing her were futile. What made it all the more painful to him was that the thoroughness of the training he had given her now only told against him, and the argument which he carried on in a cold, metallic voice was really piercing his very