There followed a disturbed night and a long day in a crowded law court, then one of the most terrible hours they had ever had to endure while waiting for the verdict which would either consign Raeburn to prison or leave him to peace and freedom. So horrible was the suspense that to draw each breath was to Erica a painful effort. Even Raeburn's composure was a little shaken as those eternal minutes dragged on. The foreman returned. The court seemed to throb with excitement. Raeburn lifted a calm, stern face to hear his fate. He knew what no one else in the court knew, that this was to him a matter of life and death. “Are you agreed, gentlemen?” “Yes.” People listened breathlessly. “Do you find the defendant guilty, or not?” “Not guilty.” The reaction was so sharp as to be almost overpowering. But poor Erica's joy was but short-lived. She looked at her father's face and knew that, although one anxiety was ended, another was already begun. CHAPTER XXXVIII. Halcyon Days There is a sweetness in autumnal days, Which many a lip doth praise; When the earth, tired a little, and grown mute Of song, and having borne its fruit, Rests for a little ere the winter come. It is not sad to turn the face toward home, Even though it show the journey nearly done; It is not sad to mark the westering sun, Even though we know the night doth come, Silence there is, indeed, for song, Twilight for noon, But for the steadfast soul and strong Life's autumn is as June. From the “Ode of Life” “Anything in the papers this evening?” asked a young clergyman, who was in one of the carriages of the Metropolitan Railway late in the afternoon of an August day. “Nothing of much interest,” replied his wife, handing him the newspaper she had been glancing through. “I see that wretched Raeburn is ill. I wish he'd die.” “Oh! Broken down at last, has he?” said the other. “Where is it? Oh, yes, I see. Ordered to take immediate and entire rest. Will be paralyzed in a week if he doesn't. Pleasant alternative that! Result of excessive overwork. Fancy calling this blasphemous teaching work! I could hang that man with my own hands!” Erica had had a long and harassing day. She was returning from the city where she had gone to obtain leave of absence from Mr. Bircham; for her father was to go into the quietest country place that could be found, and she of course was to accompany him. At the “Daily Review” office she had met with the greatest kindness, and she might have gone home cheered and comforted had it not been her lot to overhear this conversation. Tom was with her. She saw him hastily transcribing the uncharitable remarks, and knew that the incident would figure in next week's “Idol-Breaker.” It was only a traceable instance of the harm done by all such words. “Will you change carriages?” asked Tom.