第72章 Storm (4)

Busy as his life had been, burdened as he had been for years with twice as much work as he could get through, the child had never been crowded out of his life.Even as a little thing of four years old, Erica had been quite content to sit on the floor in his study by the hour together, quietly amusing herself by cutting old newspapers into fantastic shapes, or by drawing impossible cats and dogs and horses on the margins.She had never disturbed him; she used to talk to herself in whispers.

"Are you happy, little one?" he used to ask from time to time, with a sort of passionate desire that he should enjoy her unconscious childhood, foreseeing care and trouble for her in the future.

"Yes, very happy," had been the invariable response; and generally Erica would avail herself of the interruption to ask his opinion about some square-headed cat, with eyes askew and an astonishing number of legs, which she had just drawn.Then would come what she called a "bear's hug," after which silence reigned again in the study, while Raeburn would go on writing some argumentative pamphlet, hard and clear as crystal, his heart warmed by the little child's love, the remains of a smile lingering about his lips at the recollection of the square-headed cat.

And the years passed on, and every year deepened and strengthened their love.And by slow degrees he had watched the development of her mind; had gloried in her quick perception, had learned to come to her for a second opinion every now and then; had felt proud of her common sense, her thoughtful judgments; had delighted in her enthusiastic, loving help.All this was ended now.Strange that, just as he hoped most from her, she should fail him! It was a repetition of his own early history exactly reversed.His thoughts went back to his father's study in the old Scottish parsonage.He remembered a long, fierce argument; he remembered a storm of abusive anger, and a furious dismissal from the house.The old pain came back to him vividly.

"And she loves me fifty thousand times more than I ever loved my father," he reflected."And, though I was not abusive, I was hard on her.And, however mistaken, she was very brave, very honest.

Oh, I was cruel to her harsh, and hateful! My little child! My poor little child! It shall not it cannot divide us.I am hers, and she is mine nothing can ever alter that."He turned and went back into the room.Never had he looked grander than at that minute; this man who could hold thousands in breathless attention this man who was more passionately loved by his friends, more passionately hated by his enemies than almost any man in England! He was just the ideal father.

Erica had not stirred, she was leaning back in her chair, looking very still and white.He came close to her.

"Little son Eric!" he said, with a whole world of love in his tone.

She sprang up and wreathed her arms round his neck.

By and by, they began to talk in low tones, to map out and piece together as well as they could the future life, which was inevitably severed from the past by a deep gulf.They spoke of the work which they could still share, of the interests they should still have in common.It was very sad work for Erica infinitely sadder for Raeburn; but they were both of them brave and noble souls, and they loved each other, and so could get above the sadness.One thing they both agreed upon.They would never argue about their opinions.They would, as far as possible, avoid any allusion to the grave differences that lay between them.

Late in the afternoon, a little group of fishermen and idlers stood on the beach.They were looking out seaward with some "anxiety, for a sudden wind had arisen, and there was what they called 'an ugly sea.'""I tell you it was madness to let 'em go alone on such a day,"said the old sailor with the telescope.

"And I tell you that the old gentleman pulls as good an oar as any of us," retorted another man, in a blue jersey and a sou'wester.

"Old gentleman, indeed!" broke in the coast guardsman."Better say devil at once! Why, man alive! Your old gentleman is Luke Raeburn, the atheist.""God forbid!" exclaimed the first speaker, lowering his telescope for a moment."Why, he be mighty friendly to us fishermen.""Where be they now, gaffer? D'ye see them?" asked a keen-looking lad of seventeen.

"Ay, there they be! There they be! God have mercy on 'em!

They'll be swamped sure as fate!"

The coast guardsman, with provoked sang-froid and indifference, began to sing:

"For though his body's under hatches, His soul is gone alo-o-ft."And then breaking off into a sort of recitative.

"Which is exactly the opposite quarter to what Luke Raeburn's soul will go, I guess.""Blowed if I wouldn't pull an oar to save a mate, if I were so mighty sure he was going to the devil!" observed a weather-beaten seaman, with gold earrings and a good deal of tattooing on his brawny arms.

"Would you now!" said the coast guardsman, with a superior and sardonic smile."Well, in my 'umble opinion, drowning's too good for him."With which humane utterance, the coast guardsman walked off, singing of Tom who "Never from his word departed, Whose heart was kind and soft.""Well, I, for one, will lend a hand to help them.Now then, mates!

Which of you is going to help to cheat the devil of his due?" said the man with the earrings.

Three men proffered their services, but the old seaman with the telescope checked them.

"Bide a bit, mates, bide a bit; I'm not sure you've a call to go."He wiped the glasses of his telescope with a red handkerchief, and then looked out seaward once more.