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n；〃　but　〃I　AM　the　Resurrection。〃　　And　yet；　according　to　her　father；　his　humility　had　been　excessive；　carried　almost　to　a　fault。　　Was　he　the　most　inconsistent　man　that　ever　lived；　or　what　was　he？　　At　last　she　thought　she　would　get　up　and　see　whether　there　was　any　qualifying　context；　and　when　and　where　he　had　uttered　this　tremendous　saying。

Lighting　her　candle；　she　crept；　a　little　shivering；　white…robed　figure；　round　the　book…lined　room；　scanning　the　titles　on　every　shelf；　but　bibles　were　too　much　in　use　in　that　house　to　be　relegated　to　the　attics；　she　found　only　the　least　interesting　and　least　serviceable　of　her　father's　books。　　There　was　nothing　for　it　but　to　go　down　to　the　study；　so　wrapping　herself　up；　for　it　was　a　freezing　winter's　night；　she　went　noiselessly　downstairs；　and　soon　found　every　possible　facility　for　Biblical　research。

A　little　baffled　and　even　disappointed　to　find　the　words　in　that　which　she　regarded　as　the　least　authentic　of　the　gospels；　she　still　resolved　to　read　the　account；　she　read　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