Now, for two or three days Erica had been enduring Tom's coldness and Mrs. Craigie's unceasing remonstrances; all the afternoon she had been having a long and painful discussion with her friend, Mrs. MacNaughton; this evening she had seen plainly enough what her position would be for the future among all her old acquaintances, and an aching sense of isolation filled her heart. She was just going to run upstairs and yield to her longing for darkness and quiet, when Tom called her back. She could not refuse to hear, for the coldness of her old playmate had made her very sad, but she turned back rather reluctantly, for her eyes were brimming with tears. “Don't go,” said Tom, quite in his natural voice. “Have you any coffee for me, or did the old fogies finish it?” Erica went back to the table and poured him out a cup of coffee, but her hand trembled, and, before she could prevent it, down splashed a great tear into the saucer. “Come!” said Tom, cheerfully. “Don't go and spoil my coffee with salt water! All very well for David, in a penitential psalm, to drink tears, but in the nineteenth century, you know--” Erica began to laugh at this, a fatal proceeding, for afterward came a great sob, and the tears came down in good earnest. Philosophical Tom always professed great contempt for tears, and he knew that Erica must be very much moved indeed to cry in his presence, or, indeed, to cry at all; for, as he expressed it: “It was not in her line.” But somehow, when for the first time he saw her cry, he did not feel contemptuous; instead, he began to call himself a “hard-hearted brute,” and a narrow-minded fool, and to feel miserable and out of conceit with himself. “I say, Erica, don't cry,” he pleaded. “Don't, I say, I can't bear to see you. I've been a cold-blooded wretch I'm awfully sorry!” “It's very cowardly of me,” sobbed Erica. “But--but--” with a rush of tears, “you don't know how I love you all it's like being killed by inches.” “You're not cowardly,” said Tom, warmly. “You've been brave and plucky; I only wish it were in a better cause. Look here, Erica, only stop crying, and promise me that you'll not take this so dreadfully to heart. I'll stand by you I will, indeed, even though I hate your cause. But it sha'n't come between us any longer, the hateful delusion has spoiled enough lives already. It sha'n't spoil ours.” “Oh, don't!” cried Erica, wounded anew by this. “Well,” said Tom, gulping down his longing to inveigh against Christianity, “it goes hard with me not to say a word against the religion that has brought us all our misery, but for your sake I'll try not when talking with you. Now let us begin again on the old footing.” “Not quite on the old footing either,” said Erica, who had conquered her tears. “I love you a thousand times more, you dear old Tom.”