第103章 At Oak Dene Manor (1)

Ah! To how many faith has been No evidence of things unseen, But a dim shadow that recasts the creed of the Phantasiasts.

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For others a diviner creed Is living in the life they lead.

The passing of their beautiful feet Blesses the pavement of the street, And all their looks and words repeat Old Fuller's saying wise and sweet, Not as a vulture, but a dove, The Holy Ghost came from above.

Tales of a Wayside Inn.Longfellow During the interview Erica had braced herself up to endure, but when it was over her strength all at once evaporated.She dragged herself upstairs somehow, and had just reached her room, when Mrs.

Fane-Smith met her.She was preoccupied with her own anxieties, or Erica's exhaustion could not have escaped her notice.

"I am really quite unhappy about Rose!" she exclaimed."We must send for Doctor L_____.Her cough seems so much worse, I fear it will turn to bronchitis.Are you learned in such things?""I helped to nurse Tom through a bad attack once," said Erica.

"Oh! Then come and see her," said Mrs.Fane-Smith.

Erica went without a word.She would not have liked Mrs.

Fane-Smith's fussing, but yet the sight of her care for Rose made her feel more achingly conscious of the blank in her own life that blank which nothing could ever fill.She wanted her own mother so terribly, and just now Mrs.Fane-Smith had touched the old wound roughly.

Rose seemed remarkably cheerful, and not nearly so much invalided as her mother thought.

"Mamma always thinks I am going to die if I'm at all out of sorts,"she remarked, when Mrs.Fane-Smith had left the room to write to the doctor."I believe you want doctoring much more than I do.

What is the matter? You are as white as a sheet!""I am tired and rather worried, and my back is troublesome," said Erica.

"Then you'll just lie down on my sofa," said Rose, peremptorily.

"If you don't, I shall get out of bed and make you."Erica did not require much compulsion for every inch of her seemed to have a separate ache, and she was still all quivering and tingling with the indignant anger stirred up by her interview with Mr.Fane-Smith.She let Rose chatter away and tried hard to school herself into calmness.By and by her efforts were rewarded; she not only grew calm, but fell asleep, and slept like any baby till the gong sounded for luncheon.

Luncheon proved a very silent meal; it was, if possible, more trying that breakfast had been.Mrs.Fane-Smith had heard all about the interview from her husband, and they were both perplexed and disturbed.Erica felt uncertain of her footing with them, and could only wait for them to make the first move.But the grim silence tickled her fancy.

"Really," she thought to herself, "we might be so many horses munching away at mangers, for all we have said to each other."But in spite of it she did not feel inclined to make conversation.

Later on she went for a drive with her aunt; the air revived her, and she began to feel more like herself again.They went out into the country, but on the way home Mrs.Fane-Smith stopped at one of the shops in High Street, leaving Erica in the carriage.She was leaning back restfully, watching a beautiful chestnut horse which was being held by a ragged boy at the door of the bank just opposite, when her attention was suddenly aroused by an ominous howling and barking.The chestnut horse began to kick, and the boy had as much as he could to hold him.Starting forward, Erica saw that a fox terrier had been set upon by another and larger dog, and that the two were having a desperate fight.The fox terrier was evidently fighting against fearful odds, for he was an old dog, and not nearly so strong as his antagonist; the howls and barks grew worse and worse; some of the passengers ran off in a fright, others watched from a safe distance, but not one interfered.

Now Erica was a great lover of animals, and a passionate lover of justice.Furious to see men and boys looking on without attempting to stop the mischief, she sprang out of the carriage, and, rushing up to the combatants, belabored the big dog with her parasol.It had a strong stick, but she hit so vehemently that it splintered all to bits, and still the dog would not leave its victim.Then, in her desperation, she hit on the right remedy; with great difficulty she managed to grasp him by the throat, and, using all her force, so nearly suffocated him that he was obliged to loosen his hold.At that moment, too, a strong man rushed forward and dealt him such a blow that he bounded off with a yell of pain, and ran howling down the street.Erica bent over the fox terrier then;the big dog had mangled it frightfully, it was covered with blood, and moaned piteously.

"Waif! My poor waif!" exclaimed a voice which she seemed to know.

"Has that brute killed you?"

She looked up and saw Donovan Farrant; he recognized her, but they were both too much absorbed in the poor dog's condition to think of any ordinary greeting.

"Where will you take him?" asked Erica.

Donovan stooped down to examine poor Waif's injuries.

"I fear there is little to be done," he said."But we might take him across to the chemist's opposite.Will you hold my whip for me?"She took it, and with infinite skill and tenderness Donovan lifted the fox terrier, while Erica hurried on in front to tell the chemist.They took Waif into a little back room, and did all they could for him; but the chemist shrugged his shoulders.

"Better kill the poor brute at once, Mr.Farrant," he said, blandly.

Donovan looked up with a strange gleam in his eyes.

"Not for the world!" he exclaimed, with a touch of indignation in his tone.

And after that he only spoke to Erica, who, seeing that the chemist had annoyed him undertook all the fetching and carrying, never once shrinking though the sight was a horrible one.At length the footman brought word that Mrs.Fane-Smith was waiting, and she was obliged to go, reluctantly enough.

"You'll let me know how he gets on?" she said.