“I was called this morning into Mr. Ashgrove's private room; he informed me that he had just learned with great annoyance that I was the nephew of that (you can supply his string of abusive adjectives) Luke Raeburn. Was it true? I told him I had that honor. Was I, then, an atheist? Certainly. A Raeburnite? Naturally. After which came a long oration, at the end of which I found myself the wrong side of the office door with orders never to darken it again, and next month's salary in my hand. That's the matter in brief, CUGINA.” His face settled into a sort of blank despair so unlike its usual expression that Erica's wrath flamed up at the sight. “It's a shame!” she cried “a wicked shame! Oh, Tom dear, I am so sorry for you. I wish this had come upon me instead.” “I wouldn't care so much,” said poor Tom huskily, “if he hadn't chosen just this time for it; but it will worry the chieftain now.” Erica was on the verge of tears. “Oh, what shall we do what can we do?” she cried almost in despair. “I had not thought of that. Father will feel it dreadfully.” But to conceal the matter was now hopeless for, as she spoke, Raeburn came into the room. “What shall I feel dreadfully?” he said, smiling a little. “If any man ought to be case-hardened, I ought to be.” But as he drew nearer and saw the faces of the two, his own face grew stern and anxious. “You at home, Tom! What's the matter?” Tom briefly told his tale, trying to make as light of it as possible, even trying to force a little humor into his account, but with poor success. There was absolute silence in the green room when he paused. Raeburn said not a word, but he grew very pale, evidently in this matter being by no means case-hardened. A similar instance, further removed from his immediate circle, might have called forth a strong, angry denunciation; but he felt too deeply anything affecting his own family or friends to be able in the first keenness of his grief and anger to speak. “My boy,” he said at last, in a low, musical voice whose perfect modulations taxed Tom's powers of endurance to the utmost, “I am very sorry for this. I can't say more now; we will talk it over tonight. Will you come to Westminster with us?” And presently as they drove along the crowded streets, he said with a bitter smile: “There's one Biblical woe which by no possibility can ever befall us.” “What's that?” said Tom. “'Woe unto you when all men speak well of you,'” said Raeburn. A few minutes later, and the memorable trial of Raeburn v. Pogson had at length begun. Raeburn's friends had done their best to dissuade him from conducting his own case, but he always replied to them with one of his Scotch proverbs “A man's a lion in his ain cause.” His opening speech was such an exceedingly powerful one that all felt on the first day that he had been right though inevitably it added not a little to the disagreeableness of the case.