we two-第15章

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　it；　indeed；　in　two　or　three　translations；　and　compared　each　closely　with　the　others；　but　in　all　the　words　stood　out　in　uncompromising　greatness　of　assertion。　　This　man　claimed　to　BE　the　resurrection；　of　as　Wyclif　had　it；　〃the　agen　risying　and　lyf。〃

And　then　poor　Erica　read　on　to　the　end　of　the　story　and　was　quite　thrown　back　upon　herself　by　the　account　of　the　miracle　which　followed。　　It　was　a　beautiful　story；　she　said　to　herself；　poetically　written；　graphically　described；　but　as　to　believing　it　to　be　true；　she　could　as　soon　have　accepted　the　〃Midsummer　Night's　Dream〃　as　having　actually　taken　place。

Shivering　with　cold　she　put　the　books　back　on　their　shelf；　and　stole　upstairs　once　more　to　bear　her　comfortless　sorrow　as　best　she　could。


CHAPTER　VIII。　〃Why　Do　You　Believe　It？〃

Then　the　round　of　weary　duties；　cold　and　formal；　came　to　meet　her；　With　the　life　within　departed　that　had　given　them　each　a　soul；　And　her　sick　heart　even　slighted　gentle　words　that　came　to　greet　her；　For　grief　spread　its　shadowy　pinions　like　a　blight　upon　the　whole。　　A。　A。　Proctor

The　winter　sunshine　which　glanced　in　a　side…long；　half…and…half　way　into　Persecution　Alley；　and　struggled　in　at　the　closed　blinds　of　Erica's　little　attic；　streamed　unchecked　into　a　far　more　cheerful　room　in　Guilford　Square；　and　illumined　a　breakfast　table；　at　which　was　seated　one　occupant　only；　apparently　making　a　late　and　rather　hasty　meal。　　He　was　a　man　of　about　eight…and…twenty；　and　though　he　was　not　absolutely　good…looking；　his　face　was　one　which　people　turned　to　look　at　again；　not　so　much　because　it　was　in　any　way　striking　as　far　as　features　went；　but　because　of　an　unusual　luminousness　which　pervaded　it。　　The　eyes；　which　were　dark　gray；　were　peculiarly　expressive；　and　their　softness；　which　might　to　some　have　seemed　a　trifle　unmasculine；　was　counterbalanced　by　the　straight；　dark；　noticeable　eyebrows；　as　well　as　by　a　thoroughly　manly　bearing　and　a　general　impression　of　unfailing　energy　which　characterized　the　whole　man。　　His　hair；　short　beard；　and　mustache　were　of　a　deep　nut…brown。　　He　was　of　medium　height　and　very　muscular　looking。

On　the　whole　it　was　as　pleasant　a　face　as　you　would　often　meet　with；　and　it　was　not　to　be　wondered　at　that　his　old　grandmother　looked　up　pretty　frequently　from　her　arm　chair　by　the　fire；　and　watched　him　with　that　beautiful　loving　pride　which　in　the　aged　never　seems　exaggerated　and　very　rarely　misplaced。

〃You　were　out　very　late；　were　you　not；　Brian？〃　she　observed；　letting　her　knitting　needles　rest　for　a　minute；　and　scrutinizing　the　rather　weary…looking　man。

〃Till　half…past　five　this　morning；〃　he　replied；　in　a　somewhat　preoccupied　voice。

There　was　a　sad　look　in　his　eyes；　too；　which　his　grandmother　partly　understood。　　She　knitted　another　round　of　her　sock　and　then　said：

〃Have　you　seen　Tom　Craigie　yet？〃

〃Yes；　last　night　I　came　across　him；〃　replied　Brian。　　〃He　told　me　she　had　come　home。　　They　traveled　by　night　and　got　in　early　yesterday　morning。〃

〃Poor　little　thing！〃　sighed　old　Mrs。　Osmond。　　〃What　a　home…coming　it　must　have　been？〃

〃Grannie；〃　said　Brian；　pushing　back　his　chair　and　drawing　nearer　to　the　fire　　〃I　want　you　to　tell　me　what　I　ought　to　do。　　I　have　a　message　to　her　from　her　mother；　there　was　no　one　else　to　take　it；　you　know；　except　the　landlady；　and　I　suppose　she　did　not　like　that。　　I　want　to　know　when　I　might　see　her；　one　has　no　right　to　keep　it　back；　and　yet　how　am　I　to　know　whether　she　is　fit　to　bear　it？　　I　can't　write　it　down；　it　won't　somehow　go　on　to　paper；　yet　I　can　hardly　ask　to　see　her。〃

〃We　cannot　tell　that　the　message　might　not　comfort　her；〃　said　Mrs。　Osmond。　　Then；　after　a　few　minutes'　thought　she　added：　〃I　think；　Brian；　if　I　were　you；　I　would　write　her　a　little　note；　tell　her　why　you　want　to　see　her；　and　let　her　fix　her　own　time。　　You　will　leave　it　entirely　in　her　own　hands　in　that　way。〃

He　mused　for　a　minute；　seemed　satisfied　with　the　suggestion；　and　moving　across　to　the　writing　table；　began　his　first　letter　to　his　love。　　Apparently　it　was　hard　to　write；　for　he　wasted　several　sheets　and　much　time　that　he　could　ill　afford。　　When　it　was　at　length　finished；　it　ran　as　follows：

〃Dear　Miss　Raeburn；I　hardly　like　to　ask　to　see　you　yet　for　fear　you　should　think　me　intrusive；　but　a　message　was　entrusted　to　me　on　Tuesday　night　which　I　dare　not　of　myself　keep　back　from　you。　　Will　you　see　me？　　If　you　are　able　to；　and　will　name　the　time　which　will　suit　you　best；　I　shall　be　very　grateful。　　Forgive　me　for　troubling　you；　and　believe　me；　Yours　faithfully；　Brian　Osmond。〃

He　sent　it　off　a　little　doubtfully；　by　no　means　satisfied　that　he　had　done　a　wise　thing。　　But　when　he　returned　from　his　rounds　later　in　the　day　the　reply　set　his　fears　at　rest。

It　was　written　lengthways　across　a　sheet　of　paper；　the　small　delicate　writing　was　full　of　character；　but　betrayed　great　physical　exhaustion。

〃It　is　good　of　you　to　think　of　us。　　Please　come　this　afternoon　if　you　are　able。　　Erica。〃

That　very　afternoon！　　Now　that　his　wish　was　granted；　now　that　he　was　indeed　to　see　her；　Brian　would　have　given　worlds　to　have　postponed　the　meeting。　　He　was　well　accustomed　to　visiting　sorrow…stricken　people；　but　from　meeting　such　sorrow　as　that　in　the　Raeburns'　house　he　shrunk　back　feeling　his　insufficiency。　　Besides；　what　words　were　delicate　enough　to　convey　all　that　had　passed　in　that　death　scene？　　How　could　he　dare　to　attempt　in　speech　all　that　the　dying　mother　would　fain　have　had　conveyed　to　her　child？　　And　then　his　own　love！　　Would　not　that　be　the　greatest　difficulty　of　all？　　Feeling　her　grief　as　he　did；　could　he　yet　modify　his　manner　to　suit　that　of　a　mere　outsideralmost　a　stranger？　　He　was　very　diffident；　though　longing　to　see　Erica；　he　would　yet　have　given　anything　to　be　able　to　transfer　his　work　to　his　father。　　This；　however；　was　of　course　impossible。

Strange　though　it　might　seem；　hethe　most　unsuitable　of　all　men　in　his　own　eyeswas　the　man　singled　out　to　bear　this　message；　to　go　to　the　death…visited　household。　　He　went　about　his　afternoon　work　in　a　sort　of　steady；　mechanical　manner；　the　outward　veil　of　his　inward　agitation。　　About　four　o'clock　he　was　free　to　go　to　Guilford　Terrace。

He　was　shown　into　the　little　sitting　room；　it　was　the　room　in　which　Mrs。　Raeburn　had　died；　and　the　mere　sight　of　the　outer　surroundings；　the　well…worn　furniture；　the　book…lined　walls　made　the　whole　scene　vividly　present　to　him。　　The　room　was　empty；　there　was　a　blazing　fire　but　no　other　light；　for　the　blinds　were　down；　and　even　the　winter　twilight　shut　out。　　Brian　sat　down　and　waited。　　Presently　the　door　opened；　he　looked　up　and　saw　Erica　approaching　him。　　She　was　taller　than　she　had　been　when　he　last　saw　her；　and　now　grief　had　given　her　a　peculiar　dignity　which　made　her　much　more　like　her　father。　　Every　shade　of　color　had　left　her　face；　her　eyes　wee　full　of　a　limitless　pain；　the　eyelids　were　slightly　reddened；　but　apparently　rather　from　sleeplessness　than　from　tears；　the　whole　face　was　so　altered　that　a　mere　casual　acquaintance　would　hardly　have　recognized　it；　except　by　the　unchanged　waves　of　short　auburn　hair　which　still　formed　the　setting　as　it　were　to　a　picture　lovely　even　now。　　Only　one　thing　was　unchanged；　and　that　was　the　frank；　unconventional　manner。　　Even　in　her　grief　she　could　not　be　quite　like　other　people。

〃It　is　very　good　of　you　to　let　me　see　you；〃　said　Brian；　〃you　are　sure　you　are　doing　right；　it　will　not　be　too　much　for　you　today。〃

〃There　is　no　great　difference　in　says；　I　think；〃　said　Erica；　sitting　down　on　a　low　chair　beside　the　fire。　　〃I　do　not　very　much　believe　in　degrees　in　this　kind　of　grief。　　I　do　not　see　why　it　should　be　ever　more　or　ever　less。　　Perhaps　I　am　wrong；　it　is　all　new　to　me。〃

She　spoke　in　a　slow；　steady；　low…toned　voice。　　There　was　an　absolute　hopelessness　about　her　whole　aspect　which　was　terrible　to　see。　　A　moment's　pause　followed；　then；　looking　up　at　Brian；　she　fancied　that　she　read　in　his　face；　something　of　hesitation；　of　a　consciousness　that　he　could　ill　express　what　he　wished　to　say；　and　her　innate　courtesy　made　her　even　now　hasten　to　relieve　him。

〃Don't　be　afraid　of　speaking；〃　she　said；　a　softer　light　coming　into　her　eyes。　　〃I　don't　know　why　people　shrink　from　meeting　trouble。　　Even　Tom　is　half　afraid　of　me。　　I　am　not　changed；　I　am　still　Erica；　can't　you　understand　how　much　I　want　every　one　now？

〃People　differ　so　much；〃　said　Brian；　a　little　huskily；　〃and　then　when　one　feels　strongly　words　do　not　come　easily。〃

〃Do　you　think　I　would　not　rather　have　your　sympathy　than　an　oration　from　any　one　else！　　You　who　were　here　to　the　end！　　You　who　did　everything　forfor　her。　　My　father　has　told　me　very　little；　he　was　not　able　to；　but　he　told　me　of　you；　how　helpful　you　were；　how　good；　not　like　an　outsider　at　all！〃

Evidently　she　clung　to　the　comforting　recollection　that　at　least　one　trustable；　sympathetic　person　had　been　with　her　mother　at　the　last。　　Brian　could　only　say　how　little　he　had　done；　how　much　more　he　would　fain　have　done　had　it　been　possible。

〃I　think　you　do　comfort　me　by　talking；〃　said　Erica。　　〃And　now　I　want　you；　if　you　don't　mind；　to　tell　me　all　from　the　very　first。　　I　can't　torture　my　father　by　asking　him；　and　I　couldn't　hear　it　from　the　landlady。　　But　you　were　here；　you　can　tell　me　all。　　Don't　be　afraid　of　hurting　me；　can't　you　understand；　if　the　past　were　the　only　thing　left　to　you；　you　would　want　to　know　every　tiniest　detail！〃

He　looked　searchingly　into　her　eyes；　he　thought　she　was　right。　　There　were　no　degrees　to　pain　like　hers！　　Besides；　it　was　quite　possible　that　the　lesser　details　of　her　mother's　death　might　bring　tears　which　would　relieve　her。　　Very　quietly；　very　reverently；　he　told　her　all　that　had　passedshe　already　knew　that　her　mother　had　died　from　aneurism　of　the　hearthe　told　her　how　in　the　evening　he　had　been　summoned　to　her；　and　from　the　first　had　known　that　it　was　hopeless；　had　been　obliged　to　tell　her　that　the　time　for　speech　even　was　but　short。　　He　had　ordered　a　telegram　to　be　sent　to　her　father　at　Birmingham；　but　Mrs。　Craigie　and　Tom　were　out　for　the　evening；　and　no　one　knew　where　they　were　to　be　found。　　He　and　the　landlady　had　been　alone。

〃She　spoke　constantly　of　you；〃　he　continued。　　〃The　very　last　words　she　said　were　these；　'Tell　Erica　that　only　love　can　keep　from　bitterness；　that　love　is　stronger　than　the　world's　unkindness。'　　Then；　after　a　minute's　pause；　she　added；　'Be　good　to　my　little　girl；　promise　to　be　good　to　her。'　　After　that；　speech　became　impossible；　but　I　do　not　think　she　suffered。　　Once　she　motioned　to　me　to　give　her　the　frame　off　the　mantlepiece　with　your　photograph；　she　looked　at　it　and　kept　it　near　hershe　died　with　it　in　her　hand。〃

Erica　hid　her　face；　that　one　trifling　little　incident　was　too　much　for　her；　the　tears　rained　down　between　her　fingers。　　That　it　should　have　come　to　that！　　No　one　whom　she　loved　there　at　the　lastbut　she　had　looked　at　the　photograph；　had　held　it　to　the　very　end；　the　voiceless；　useless　picture　had　been　there；　the　real　Erica　had　been　laughing　and　talking　at　Paris！　　Brian　talked　on　slowly；　soothingly。　　Presently　he　paused；　then　Erica　suddenly　looked　up；　and　dashing　away　her　tears；　said；　in　a　voice　which　was　terrible　in　its　mingled　pain　and　indignation。　　

〃I　might　have　been　here！　　I　might　have　been　with　her！　　It　is　the　faul