we two- 第67部分

〃There　was　the　love　of　Humanity；〃　said　Erica　musingly。

〃Yes；　and　what　is　that　but　a　ray　of　the　light　of　life　promised　to　all　who；　to　any　extent；　follow　Christ？　　It　is　only　the　absolutely　selfish　who　are　in　the　black　shadow。　　The　honest　atheist　is　in　the　penumbra；　and　in　his　twilight　sees　a　little　bit　of　the　true　sun；　though　he　calls　it　Humanity　instead　of　Christ。〃

〃Oh；　if　the　shadows　would　but　go！〃　exclaimed　Erica。

〃Would！〃　he　said；　laughing　gently。　　〃Why；　child；　they　will；　they　must！〃

〃But　now；　I　mean！　　'Here　down；'　as　Mazzini　would　have　said。〃

〃You　were　ever　an　impatient　little　mortal。〃

〃How　can　one　help　being　impatient　for　this；〃　she　said　with　a　quick　sigh。

〃That　is　what　I　used　to　say　myself　seven　years　ago　over　you；〃　he　said　smiling。　〃But　I　learned　that　the　Father　knew　best；　and　that　if　we　would　work　with　Him　we　must　wait　with　Him　too。　　You　musn't　waste　your　strength　in　impatience；　child；　you　need　every　bit　of　it　for　the　life　before　you。〃

But　patience　did　not　come　by　nature　to　a　Raeburn；　and　Erica　did　not　gain　it　in　a　day　even　by　grace。


CHAPTER　XXXII。　Fiesole

And　yet；　because　I　love　thee；　I　obtain　From　that　same　love　this　vindicating　grace；　To　live　on　still　in　love；　and　yet　in　vain；　To　bless　thee；　yet　renounce　thee　to　thy　face。　　E。　B。　Browning。

Much　has　been　said　and　written　about　the　monotony　of　unalloyed　pleasure；　and　the　necessity　of　shadows　and　dark　places　in　life　as　well　as　in　pictured　landscape。　　And　certainly　there　can　be　but　few　in　this　world　of　stern　realities　who　would　dispute　the　fact　that　pleasure　is　doubled　by　its　contrast　with　preceding　pain。　　Perhaps　it　was　the　vividness　of　this　contrast　that　made　Raeburn　and　Erica　enjoy；　with　a　perfect　rapture　of　enjoyment；　a　beautiful　view　and　a　beautiful　spring　day　in　Italy。　　Behind　them　lay　a　very　sombre　past；　they　had　escaped　for　a　brief　moment　from　the　atmosphere　of　strife；　from　the　world　of　controversy；　from　the　scorching　breath　of　slander；　from　the　baleful　influences　of　persecution　and　injustice。　　Before　them　lay　the　fairest　of　all　the　cities　of　Italy。　　They　were　sitting　in　the　Boboli　gardens；　and　from　wooded　heights　looked　down　upon　that　loveliest　of　Italian　valleys。

The　silver　Arno　wound　its　way　between　the　green　encircling　hills；　then　between　the　old　houses　of　Florence；　its　waters　spanned　now　by　a　light　suspension　bridge　token　of　modern　times　now　by　old　brown　arches　strengthened　and　restored；　now　by　the　most　venerable　looking　of　all　the　bridges；　the　Ponte　Vecchio；　with　its　double　row　of　little　shops。　　Into　the　cloudless　blue　sky　rose　the　pinnacles　of　Santa　Croce；　the　domes　of　San　Spirito；　of　the　Baptistery；　of　the　Cathedral；　sharply　defined　in　the　clear　atmosphere　were　the　airy；　light　Campanile　of　Giotto；　the　more　slender　brown　tower　of　the　Palazzo　Vecchio；　the　spire　of　Santa　Maria　Novella。　　Northward　beyond　the　city　rose　the　heights　of　Fiesole；　and　to　the　east　the　green　hills　dotted　all　over　with　white　houses；　swept　away　into　the　unseen　distance。

Raeburn　had　been　selected　as　the　English　delegate　to　attend　a　certain　political　gathering　held　that　year　at　Florence。　　He　had　at　first　hesitated　to　accept　the　post　for　his　work　at　home　had　enormously　increased；　but　the　long　months　of　wearing　anxiety　had　so　told　upon　him　that　his　friends　had　at　length　persuaded　him　to　go；　fully　aware　that　the　only　chance　of　inducing　him　to　take　any　rest　was　to　get　him　out　of　the　region　of　work。

The　〃Miracles〃　trial　was　at　length　over；　but　Mr。　Pogson　had　not　obtained　the　desire　of　his　heart；　namely；　the　imprisonment　and　fining　of　Luke　Raeburn。　　The　only　results　of　the　trial　were　the　extensive　advertisement　of　the　pamphlet　in　question；　a　great　increase　of　bitterness　on　each　side；　and　a　great　waste　of　money。　　Erica's　sole　consolation　lay　in　the　fact　that　a　few　of　the　more　liberal　thinkers　were　beginning　to　see　the　evil　and　to　agitate　for　a　repeal　of　the　Blasphemy　Laws。　　As　for　the　action　for　libel；　there　was　no　chance　of　its　coming　on　before　June；　and　in　the　meantime　Mr。　Pogson's　letter　was　obtaining　a　wider　circulation；　and　perhaps；　on　the　whole；　Luke　Raeburn　was　just　at　that　time　the　best…abused　man　in　all　England。

There　had　been　a　long　silence　between　the　father　and　daughter　who　understood　each　other　far　too　well　to　need　many　words　at　such　a　time；　but　at　length　a　sudden　ejaculation　from　Raeburn　made　Erica　turn　her　eye　from　Fiesole　to　the　shady　walk　in　the　garden　down　which　he　was　looking。

〃Does　any　Italian　walk　at　such　a　pace？〃　he　exclaimed。　　〃That　must　surely　be　Brian　Osmond　or　his　double　in　the　shape　of　an　English　tourist。〃

〃Oh；　impossible！〃　said　Erica；　coloring　a　little　and　looking　intently　at　the　pedestrian　who　was　still　at　some　little　distance。

〃But　it　is；〃　said　Raeburn　〃height；　way　of　walking；　everything！　　My　dear　Eric；　don't　tell　me　I　can't　recognize　the　man　who　saved　my　life。　　I　should　know　him　a　mile　off！〃

〃What　can　have　brought　him　here？〃　said　Erica；　a　certain　joyous　tumult　in　her　heart　checked　by　the　dread　of　evil　tidings　a　dread　which　was　but　natural　to　one　who　had　lived　her　life。

〃Come　and　meet　him；〃　said　Raeburn。　　〃Ha；　Brian；　I　recognized　you　ever　so　far　off；　and　couldn't　persuade　this　child　of　your　identity。〃

Brian；　a　little　flushed　with　quick　walking；　looked　into　Erica's　face　searchingly；　and　was　satisfied　with　what　he　read　there　satisfied　with　the　soft　glow　of　color　that　came　to　her　cheeks；　and　with　the　bright　look　of　happiness　that　came　into　her　eyes　which；　as　a　rule；　were　grave；　and　when　in　repose　even　sad　in　expression。

〃I　owe　this　to　a　most　considerate　patient　who　thought　fit　to　be　taken　ill　at　Genoa　and　to　telegraph　for　me；〃　he　said　in　explanation；　〃and　being　in　Italy；　I　thought　I　might　as　well　take　my　yearly　outing　now。〃

〃Capital　idea！〃　said　Raeburn。　　〃You　are　the　very　man　we　wanted。　　What　with　the　meetings　and　interviews；　I　don't　get　much　peace　even　here；　and　Erica　is　much　in　need　of　an　escort　sometimes。　　How　did　you　find　us？〃

〃They　told　me　at　the　hotel　that　I　should　probably　find　you　here；　though；　if　I　had　known　what　a　wilderness　of　a　place　it　is　I　should　have　been　rather　hopeless。〃

Erica　left　most　of　the　talking　to　her　father；　just　then　she　felt　no　wish　to　put　a　single　thought　into　words。　　She　wanted　only　to　enjoy　the　blissful　dream…like　happiness　which　was　so　new；　and　rare；　and　wonderful　that　it　brought　with　it　the　feeling　that　any　very　definite　thought　or　word　must　bring　it　to　an　end。　　Perfect　harmony　with　your　surroundings。　　Yes；　that　was　indeed　a　very　true　definition　of　happiness；　and　of　late　the　surroundings　had　been　so　grim　and　stormy。　　She　seemed　to　tread　upon　air　as　they　roamed　about　the　lovely　walks。　　The　long；　green　vistas　were　to　her　a　veritable　paradise。　　Her　father　looked　so　happy；　too；　and　had　so　entirely　shaken　off　his　cares；　and　Brian；　who　was　usually　rather　silent；　seemed　today　a　perfect　fountain　of　talk。

Since　that　December　day　in　Westminster　Hall　a　great　change　had　come　over　Erica。　　Not　a　soul　besides　Brian　and　herself　knew　anything　about　the　scene　with　Sir　Algernon　Wyte。　　Not　a　word　had　passed　between　them　since　upon　the　subject；　but　perhaps　because　of　the　silence；　that　day　was　all　the　more　in　the　thoughts　of　each。　　The　revelation　of　Brian's　love　revealed　also　to　Erica　much　in　his　character　which　had　hitherto　perplexed　her　simply　because　she　had　not　seen　it　in　the　true　light。　　There　had　always　been　about　him　a　wistfulness　bordering　on　sadness　which　had　sometimes　almost　angered　her。　　For　so　little　do　even　intimate　friends　know　each　other；　that　lives；　which　seem　all　peaceful　and　full　of　everything　calculated　to　bring　happiness；　are　often　the　ones　which　are　preyed　upon　by　some　grievous　trouble　or　anxiety　unknown　to　any　outsider。　　If　he　had　indeed　loved　her　all　those　seven　years　he　must　have　suffered　fearfully。　　What　the　suffering　had　been　Erica　could；　from　her　present　position；　understand　well　enough。　　The　thought　of　it　touched　her　inexpressibly；　seemed　to　her；　as　indeed　it　was；　the　shadow　of　that　Divine　Love　which　had　loved　her　eternally　had　waited　for　her　through　long　years　had　served　her　and　shielded　her；　though　she　never　recognized　its　existence　till　at　length；　in　one　flash　of　light；　the　revelation　had　come　to　her；　and　she　had　learned　the　glory　of　Love；　the　murky　gloom　of　those　past　misunderstandings。

Those　were　wonderful　days　that　they　spent　together　at　Florence；　the　sort　of　days　that　come　but　once　in　a　life　time；　for　the　joy　of　dawn　is　quite　distinct　from　the　bright　noon　day　or　the　calm　evening；　distinct；　too；　from　that　second　and　grander　dawn　which　awaits　us　in　the　Unseen　when　the　night　of　life　is　over。　　Together　they　wandered　through　the　long　corridors　of　the　Uffizzi；　together　they　returned　again　and　again　to　the　Tribune；　or　traversed　that　interminable　passage　across　the　river　which　leads　to　the　Pitti　Gallery；　or　roamed　about　among　the　old　squares　and　palaces　which　are　haunted　by　so　many　memories。　　And　every　day　Brian　meant　to　speak；　but　could　not　because　the　peace；　and　restfulness；　and　glamour　of　the　present　was　so　perfect；　and　perhaps　because；　unconsciously；　he　felt　that　these　were　〃halcyon　days。〃

On　Sunday　he　made　up　his　mind　that　he　certainly　would　speak　before　the　day　was　over。　　He　went　with　Erica　to　see　the　old　monastery　of　San　Marco　before　morning　service　at　the　English　church。　　But；　though　they　were　alone　together；　he　could　not　bring　himself　to　speak　there。　　They　wandered　from　cell　to　cell；　looking　at　those　wonderful　frescoes　of　the　Crucifixion　in　each　of　which　Fra　Angelico　seemed　to　gain　some　fresh　thought；　some　new　view　of　his　inexhaustible　subject。　　And　Brian；　watching　Erica；　thought　how　that　old　master　would　have　delighted　in　the　pure　face　and　perfect　coloring；　in　the　short　auburn　hair　which　was　in　itself　a　halo；　but　could　not　somehow　just　then　draw　her　thoughts　away　from　the　frescoes。　　Together　they　stood　in　the　little　cells　occupied　once　by　Savonarola；　looked　at　the　strange；　stern　face　which　Bastianini　chiseled　so　effectively；　stood　by　the　old　wooden　desk　where　Savonarola　had　written　and　read；　saying　very　little　to　one　another；　but　each　conscious　that　the　silence　was　one　of　perfect　understanding　and　sympathy。　　Then　came　the　service　in　a　hideous　church；　which　yet　seemed　beautiful　to　them；　with　indifferent　singing；　which　was　somehow　sweeter　to　them　than　th