A man who strives earnestly and perseveringly to convince others, at least convinces us that he is convinced himself.Guesses at Truth.
The rainy afternoon had given place to a fine and starlit night.
Erica, apparently in high spirits, walked between her father and Charles Osmond.
"Mother won't be anxious about us," she said."She has not heard a word about Mr.Randolph's plans.I was so afraid some one would speak about it at tea time, and then she would have been in a fright all the evening, and would not have liked my going.""Mr.Randolph is both energetic and unscrupulous," said Raeburn.
"But I doubt if even he would set his roughs upon you, little one, unless he has become as blood thirsty as a certain old Scotch psalm we used to sing.""What was that?" questioned Erica.
"I forget the beginning, but the last verse always had a sort of horrible fascination for us--"'How happy should that trooper be Who, riding on a naggie, Should take thy little children up, And dash them 'gin the craggie!'"Charles Osmond and Erica laughed heartily.
"They will only dash you against metaphorical rocks in the nineteenth century," continued Raeburn."I remember wondering why the old clerk in my father's church always sung that verse lustily;but you see we have exactly the same spirit now, only in a more civilized form, barbarity changed to polite cruelty, as for instance the way you were treated this afternoon.""Oh, don't talk about that," said Erica, quickly, "I am going to enjoy my Longfellow and forget the rest."In truth, Charles Osmond was struck with this both in the father and daughter; each had a way of putting back their bitter thoughts, of dwelling whenever it was possible on the brighter side of life.
He knew that Raeburn was involved in most harassing litigation, was burdened with debt, was confronted everywhere with bitter and often violent opposition, yet he seemed to live above it all, for there was a wonderful repose about him, an extraordinary serenity in his aspect, which would have seemed better fitted to a hermit than to one who has spent his life in fighting against desperate odds.One thing was quite clear, the man was absolutely convinced that he was suffering for the truth, and was ready to endure anything in what he considered the service of his fellow men.He did not seem particularly anxious as to the evening's proceedings.On the whole, they were rather a merry party as they walked along Gower Street to the station.
But when they got out again at their destination, and walked through the busy streets to the hall where the lecture was to be given, a sort of seriousness fell upon all three.They were each going to work in their different ways for what they considered the good of humanity, and instinctively a silence grew and deepened.
Erica was the first to break it as they came in sight of the hall.
"What a crowd there is!" she exclaimed."Are these Mr.Randolph's roughs?""We can put up with them outside," said Raeburn; but Charles Osmond noticed that as he spoke he drew the child nearer to him, with a momentary look of trouble in his face, as though he shrunk from taking her through the rabble.Erica, on the other hand, looked interested and perfectly fearless.With great difficulty they forced their way on, hooted and yelled at by the mob, who, however, made no attempt at violence.At length, reaching the shelter of the entrance lobby, Raeburn left them for a moment, pausing to give directions to the door keepers.Just then, to his great surprise, Charles Osmond caught sight of his son standing only a few paces from them.His exclamation of astonishment made Erica look up.
Brian came forward eagerly to meet them.
"You here!" exclaimed his father, with a latent suspicion confirmed into a certainty."This is my son, Miss Raeburn."Brian had not dreamed of meeting her, he had waited about curious to see how Raeburn would get on with the mob; it was with a strange pang of rapture and dismay that he had seen his fair little ideal.
That she should be in the midst of that hooting mob made his heart throb with indignation, yet there was something so sweet in her grave, steadfast face that he was, nevertheless, glad to have witnessed the scene.Her color was rather heightened, her eyes bright but very quiet, yet as Charles Osmond spoke, and she looked at Brian, her face all at once lighted up, and with an irresistible smile she exclaimed, in the most childlike of voices:
"Why, it's my umbrella man!" The informality of the exclamation seemed to make them at once something more than ordinary acquaintances.They told Charles Osmond of their encounter in the afternoon, and in a very few minutes Brian, hardly knowing whether he was not in some strange dream, found himself sitting with his father and Erica in a crowded lecture hall, realizing with an intensity of joy and an intensity of pain how near he was to the queen of his heart and yet how far from her.
The meeting was quite orderly.Though Raeburn was addressing many who disagreed with him, he had evidently got the whole and undivided attention of his audience; and indeed his gifts both as rhetorician and orator were so great that they must have been either willfully deaf or obtuse who, when under the spell of his extraordinary earnestness and eloquence, could resist listening.
Not a word was lost on Brian; every sentence which emphasized the great difference of belief between himself and his love seemed to engrave itself on his heart; no minutest detail of that evening escaped him.
