we two-第68章

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　the　indignant　outburst。

〃What　truth　would　it　show？〃　she　cried。　〃I　don't　believe　there　is　such　a　thing　as　truth　among　all　these　wretched　shams！　　I　will　never　change　my　name　to　escape　from　prejudice　and　bigotry；　or　to　win　a　share　in　my　grandfather's　property！　　What！　　Give　up　my　father's　name　to　gain　the　money　which　might　have　kept　him　from　pain　and　ruin　and　semi…starvation？　　Take　the　money　that　might　have　brought　comfort　to　my　mother　that　might　have　kept　me　with　her　to　the　end。　　I　couldn't　take　it。　　I　would　rather　die　than　touch　one　penny　of　it。　　It　is　too　late　now。　　If　you　thought　I　would　consent　if　that　is　the　reason　you　asked　me　here；　I　can　go　at　once。　　I　would　not　willingly　have　brought　shame　upon　you；　but　neither　will　I　dishonor　myself　nor　insult　my　father　by　changing　my　name。　　Why；　to　do　so　would　be　to　proclaim　that　I　judged　him　as　those　Pharisees　did　tonight。　　The　hypocrites！　　Which　of　them　can　show　one　grain　of　love　for　the　race；　to　set　against　my　father's　life　of　absolute　devotion？　　They　sit　over　their　champagne　and　slander　atheists；　and　then　have　the　face　to　call　themselves　Christians。〃

〃My　dear！〃　said　Mrs。　Fane…Smith；　nervously。　　〃Our　only　wish　is　to　do　what　is　best　for　you；　but　you　are　too　tired　and　excited　to　discuss　this　now。　　I　will　wish　you　good　night。〃

〃I　never　wish　to　discuss　it　again；　thank　you；〃　said　Erica；　submitting　to　a　particularly　warm　embrace。

Mrs。　Fane…Smith　was　right　in　one　way。　　Erica　was　intensely　excited。　　When　people　have　been　riding　rough…shod　over　one's　heart；　one　is　apt　to　be　excited；　and　Luke　Raeburn's　daughter　had　inherited　that　burning　sense　of　indignation　which　was　so　strongly　marked　a　characteristic　in　Raeburn　himself。　Violins　can　be　more　sweet　and　delicate　in　tone　than　any　other　instrument；　but　they　can　also　wail　with　greater　pathos；　and　produce　a　more　fearful　storm　of　passion。

Declining　any　assistance　from　Gemma；　Erica　locked　her　door；　caught　up　some　sheets　of　foolscap；　snatched　up　her　pen；　and　began　to　write　rapidly。　　She　knew　well　enough　that　she　ought　not　to　have　written。　　But　when　the　heart　is　hot　with　indignation；　when　the　brain　produces　scathing　sentences；　when　the　subject　seems　to　have　taken　possession　of　the　whole　being；　to　deny　its　utterance　is　quite　the　hardest　thing　in　the　world。

Erica　struggled　to　resist；　but　at　length　yielded；　and　out　rushed　sarcasms；　denunciations；　return　blows　innumerable！　　The　relief　was　great。　　However；　her　enjoyment　was　but　short　for　by　the　time　her　article　was　rolled　up　for　the　post；　stamped　and　directed；　her　physical　powers　gave　way；　such　blank　exhaustion　ensuing　that　all　she　could　do　was　to　drag　herself　across　the　room；　throw　herself；　half　dressed；　on　the　bed；　draw　the　rezai　over　her；　and　yield　to　the　heavy；　overpowering　slumber　of　great　weariness。

It　seemed　to　her　that　she　slept　about　five　minutes；　and　was　then　roused　by　a　knocking　at　her　door。　　She　started　up；　and　found　that　it　was　morning。　　Then　she　recollected　bolting　her　door；　and　sprung　out　of　bed　to　undo　it；　but　was　reminded　at　once　that　she　had　a　spine。　　She　had　quite　recovered　from　the　effects　of　her　illness；　but　over…fatigue　always　brought　back　the　old　pain；　and　warned　her　that　she　must　be　more　careful　in　the　future。　　The　house　maid　seemed　a　little　surprised　not　to　find　her　up　and　dressed　as　usual；　for　Erica　generally　got　through　an　hour's　writing　before　the　nine　o'clock　breakfast。

〃Are　you　ill；　miss？〃　she　asked；　glancing　at　the　face　which　seemed　almost　as　colorless　as　the　pillow。

〃Only　very　tired；　thank　you；〃　said　Erica；　glad　enough　today　of　the　cup　of　tea　and　the　thin　bread　and　butter　which　before　had　seemed　to　her　such　an　absurd　luxury。

〃Letters　for　the　early　post；　miss；　I　suppose？〃　said　the　house　maid；　taking　up　the　fiery　effusion。

〃Please；〃　replied　Erica；　not　turning　her　head；　and　far　too　weary　to　give　a　thought　to　her　last　night's　work。　　All　she　could　think　of　just　then　was　the　usual　waking　reflection　of　a　sufferer　〃How　in　the　world　shall　I　get　through　the　day？〃

The　recollection；　however；　of　her　parting　conversation　with　her　aunt　made　her　determined　to　be　down　to　breakfast。　　Her　absence　might　be　misconstrued。　　And　though　feeling　ill…prepared　for　remonstrance　or　argument；　she　was　in　her　place　when　the　gong　sounded　for　prayers；　looking　white　and　weary　indeed；　but　with　a　curve　of　resoluteness　about　her　mouth。　　Nobody　found　out　how　tired　she　was。　　Mr。　Fane…Smith　was　as　blind　as　a　bat；　and　Mrs。　Fane…Smith　was　too　low…spirited　and　too　much　absorbed　with　her　own　cares　to　notice。　　The　events　of　last　night　looked　more　and　more　disagreeable；　and　she　was　burdened　with　thoughts　of　what　people　would　say；　moreover；　Rose's　cold　was　much　worse；　and　as　her　mother　was　miserable　if　even　her　little　finger　ached；　she　was　greatly　disturbed；　and　persuaded　herself　that　her　child　was　really　in　a　most　dangerous　state。

Breakfast　proved　a　very　silent　meal　that　morning；　quite　oppressively　silent；　Erica　felt　like　a　child　in　disgrace。　　Every　now　and　then　the　grimness　of　it　appealed　to　her　sense　of　the　ludicrous；　and　she　felt　inclined　to　scream　or　do　something　desperate　just　to　see　what　would　happen。　　At　length　the　dreary　repast　came　to　an　end；　and　she　had　just　taken　up　a　newspaper；　with　a　sort　of　gasp　of　relief　at　the　thought　of　escaping　for　a　moment　into　a　larger　world；　when　she　was　recalled　to　the　narrow　circle　of　Greyshot　by　a　word　from　Mr。　Fane…Smith。

〃I　wish　to　have　a　talk　with　you；　my　dear；　will　you　come　to　the　library　at　ten　o'clock？〃

An　interview　by　appointment！　　That　sounded　formidable！　　When　the　time　came；　　Erica　went　rather　apprehensively　to　the　library；　fearing　that　she　was　in　for　an　argument；　and　wishing　that　Mr。　Fane…Smith　had　chosen　a　day　on　which　she　felt　a　little　more　up　to　things。

He　received　her　very　kindly；　and　drew　an　easy　chair　up　to　the　fire　for　her；　no　doubt　doing　as　he　would　be　done　by；　for　he　was　a　chilly　Indian　mortal。　　Erica　had　never　been　into　the　library　before。　　It　was　a　delightful　room；　furnished　with　old　carved　oak　and　carpeted　with　soft　Indian　rugs。　　Though　dignified　by　the　name　of　library；　it　was　not　nearly　so　crowded　with　books　as　the　little　study　at　home；　all　the　volumes　were　beautifully　bound　in　much…begilt　calf　or　morocco；　but　they　had　not　the　used；　loved　look　of　her　father's　books。　　On　the　mantel　piece　there　were　some　models　of　Indian　idols　exquisitely　carved　in　soft；　greenish…gray　soapstone；　and　behind　these；　as　if　in　protest；　lurked　the　only　unornamental　thing　in　the　room；　a　very　ordinary　missionary　box；　covered　with　orange…colored　paper　and　impressively　black　negroes。

〃I　am　sure；　my　dear；〃　said　Mr。　Fane…Smith；　〃that　after　what　occurred　last　night　you　will　see　the　desirability　of　thinking　seriously　about　your　plans　for　the　future。　　I　have　been　intending　to　speak　to　you；　but　waited　until　we　had　learned　to　know　each　other　a　little。　　However；　I　regret　now　that　I　delayed。　　It　is　naturally　far　from　desirable　that　you　should　remain　an　inmate　of　your　father's　house；　and　my　wife　and　I　should　be　very　glad　if　you　would　make　your　home　with　us。　　Of　course　when　it　was　fully　understood　in　Greyshot　that　you　had　utterly　renounced　your　father　and　your　former　friends；　such　unpleasantness　as　you　encountered　last　night　would　not　again　occur；　indeed；　I　fancy　you　would　become　exceedingly　popular。　　It　would　perhaps　have　been　wiser　if　you　would　have　taken　our　name；　but　your　aunt　tells　me　you　object　to　that。〃

〃Yes；〃　said　Erica；　who　was　writhing　with　anger；　and　relieved　herself　by　the　slight　sarcasm；　〃I　do　object　to　be　Miss　Feign…Fane…Smith。〃

〃Well；　that　must　be　as　you　please；〃　he　resumed；　〃but　I　really　think　if　you　will　accept　our　offer　it　will　be　for　your　ultimate　good。〃

He　proceeded　to　enumerate　all　the　benefits　which　would　accrue　to　her；　then　paused。

Erica　was　silent　for　a　minute。　　When　she　spoke　it　was　in　the　low　voice　of　one　who　is　struggling　to　restrain　passion。

〃I　am　sure　you　mean　this　very　kindly；〃　she　said。　　〃I　have　tried　to　listen　to　your　offer　patiently；　though；　of　course；　the　moment　you　began；　I　knew　that　I　must　entirely　emphatically；　decline　it。　　I　will　NEVER　leave　my　father！〃

The　last　words　were　spoken　with　a　sort　of　half…restrained　outburst；　as　if　the　pent…up　passion　must　find　some　outlet。

Mr。　Fane…Smith　was　startled。