Oh, God of mountains,
stars, and boundless spaces!
Oh, God of freedom and
of joyous hearts!
When Thy face looketh
forth from all men’s faces
There will be room enough
in crowded marts.
Brood Thou around me,
and the noise is o’er;
Thy universe my closet
with shut door.
Heart, heart, awake!
The love that loveth all
Maketh a deeper calm
than Horeb’s cave.
God in thee, can His
children’s folly gall?
Love may be hurt, but
shall not love be brave?
Thy holy silence sinks
in dews of balm;
Thou art my solitude,
my mountain calm. George MacDonald
When a particularly unpleasant event
has long been hanging over one’s head, sure
to come at some time, though the precise date is unknown,
people of a certain disposition find it quite possible
to live on pretty comfortably through the waiting
time. But when at length the date is fixed, when
you know that that which you dread will happen upon
such and such a day, then the waiting begins all at
once to seem intolerable. The vague date had
been awaited calmly, but the certain date is awaited
with a wearing anxiety which tells fearfully on physical
strength. When Erica knew that the action for
libel would begin in a fortnight’s time, the
comparative calmness of the nine months which had passed
since the outset of the matter gave place to an agony
of apprehension. Night after night she had fearful
dreams of being cross-examined by Mr. Cringer, Q.C.,
who always forced her to say exactly what she did not
mean. Night after night coldly curious eyes stared
down at her from all parts of a crowded court; while
her misery was completed by being perfectly conscious
of what she ought to have said directly it was too
By day she was too wise to allow herself
to dwell on the future; she worked doubly hard, laid
in a stock of particularly interesting books, and
threw herself as much as possible into the lives of
others. Happily, the Farrants were in town, and
she was able to see a great deal of them; while on
the very day before the trial came a substantial little
bit of happiness.
She was sitting in the study doing
some copying for her father when a brougham stopped
at the door. Erica, who never failed to recognize
a horse if she had once seen it before, who even had
favorites among the dozens of omnibus horses which
she met daily in Oxford Street, at once knew that
either Donovan or Gladys had come to see her.
She ran out into the hall to meet
them, but had no sooner opened the study door than
the tiniest of dogs trotted into the room and began
sniffing cautiously at her father’s clothes.
“Tottie has made a very unceremonious
entrance,” said a clear, mellow voice in the
passage. “May we come in, or are you too
“Oh, please come in. Father
is home, and I do so want you to meet,” said
Erica. “You have brought Dolly, too!
That is delightful. We are dreadfully in want
of something young and happy to cheer us up.”
The two men shook hands with the momentary
keen glance into each other’s eyes which those
give who have heard much of one another but have never
been personally acquainted.
“As to Dolly,” said Donovan,
“she requires no introduction to Mr. Raeburn.”
“No,” said Erica, laughing,
“she cried all over his coat two years ago.”
Dolly did not often wait for introductions
unless she disliked people. And no child could
have found it in its heart to dislike anything so big
and kind and fatherly as Luke Raeburn.
“We blought a little dog for
Elica,” she said, in her silvery treble.
And the next moment she was established
on Raeburn’s knee, encouraged to thrust a little,
dimpled hand into his pocket for certain Edinburgh
“Dolly does not beat about the
bush,” said Donovan, smiling. “Would
you at all care to have this small animal? I
knew you were fond of dogs, and Gladys and I saw this
little toy Esquimanx the other day and fell in love
with him. I find though that another dog rather
hurts Waif’s feelings, so you will be doing
a kindness to him as well if you will accept ‘Tottie.’”
“Oh, how delightful of you!
It was kind of you to think of it,” said Erica.
“I have always so longed to have a dog of my
own. And this is such a little beauty! Is
it not a very rare breed?”
“I believe it is, and I think
he’s a loving little beggar, too,” replied
Donovan. “He is making himself quite at
home here, is he not?”
And in truth the small dog seemed
deeply interested in his new residence. He was
the tiniest of his kind, and was covered with long
black hair which stood straight up on end; his pointed
nose, bright brown eyes, and cunning little ears,
set in the frame work of bushy hair, gave him a most
sagacious appearance. And just now he was brimful
of curiosity, pattering all over the room, poking his
nose into a great pile of “Idol-Breakers,”
sniffing at theological and anti-theological books
with perfect impartiality, rubbing himself against
Raeburn’s foot in the most ingratiating way,
and finally springing up on Erica’s lap with
the oddest mixture of defiance and devotion in his
eyes which said as plainly as if he had spoken:
“People may say what they like about you, but
I’m your faithful dog from this day forward!”
Raeburn was obliged to go out almost
directly as he had an appointment in the city, but
Erica knew that he had seen enough of Donovan to realize
what he was and was satisfied.
“I am so glad you have just
met,” she said when he had left the room.
“And, as to Dolly, she’s been a real god-send.
I haven’t seen my father smile before for a
“Strange, is it not, how almost
always children instinctively take to those whom the
world treats as outcasts. I have a great belief
that God lets the pure and innocent make up in part
by their love for the uncharitableness of the rest
“That’s a nice thought,”
said Erica. “I have never had much to do
with children, except with this one.” And
as she spoke she lifted Dolly on her lap beside Tottie.
“I have good reason to believe
in both this kind and that,” said Donovan, touching
the dusky head of the dog and the sunny hair of the
child. As he spoke there was a look in his eyes
which made Erica feel inclined almost to cry.
She knew that he was thinking of the past though there
was no regret in his expression, only a shade of additional
gravity about his lips and an unusual light about his
brow and eyes. It was the face of a man who had
known both the evil and the good, and had now reached
far into the Unseen.
By and by they talked of Switzerland
and of Brian, Donovan telling her just what she wanted
to know about him though he never let her feel that
he knew all about the day at Fiesole. And from
that they passed to the coming trial of which he spoke
in exactly the most helpful way, not trying to assure
her, as some well-meaning people had done, that there
was really nothing to be grieved or anxious about;
but fully sympathizing with the pain while he somehow
led her on to the thought of the unseen good which
would in the long run result from it.
“I do believe that now, with all my heart.”
“I knew you did,” he replied,
smiling a little. “You have learned it
since you were at Greyshot last year. And once
learned it is learned forever.”
“Yes,” she said musingly.
“But, oh! How slowly one learns in such
little bits. It’s a great mistake to think
that we grasp the whole when the light first comes
to us, and yet it feels then like the whole.”
“Because it was the whole you
were then capable of,” said Donovan. “But,
you see, you grow.”
“Want to grow, at any rate,”
said Erica. “Grow conscious that there is
an Infinite to grow to.”
Then, as in a few minutes he rose to go:
“Well, you have done me good,
you and Dolly, and this blessed little dog. Thank
you very much for coming.”
She went out with them to the door
and stood on the steps with Tottie in her arms, smiling
a goodbye to little Dolly.
“That’s the bravest woman
I know,” thought Donovan to himself, “and
the sweetest save one. Poor Brian! Though,
after all, it’s a grand thing to love such as
Erica even without hope.”
And all the afternoon there rang in his ears the line
“A woman’s soul, most soft, yet strong.”
The next day troubles began in good
earnest. They were all very silent at breakfast.
Raeburn looked anxious and preoccupied, and Erica,
not feeling sure that conversation would not worry
him, did not try to talk. Once Aunt Jean looked
up for a moment from her paper with a question.
“By the bye, what are you going to wear, Erica?”
“Sackcloth, I think,” said Erica; “it
would be appropriate.”
Raeburn smiled a little at this.
“Something cool, I should advise,”
he said. “The place will be like a furnace
He pushed back his chair as he spoke
and went away to his study. Tom had to hurry
away, too, being due at his office by nine o’clock;
and Erica began to rack her brains to devise the nicest
of dinners for them that evening. She dressed
in good time, and was waiting for her father in the
green room when just before ten o’clock the front
door opened, quick steps came up the stairs, and,
to her amazement, Tom entered.
“Back again!” she exclaimed. “Have
you got a holiday?”
“I’ve got my congé’,”
he said in a hoarse voice, throwing himself down in
a chair by the window.
“Tom! What do you mean?” she cried,
dismayed by the trouble in his face.
“Got the sack,” he said shortly.
“What! Lost your situation? But how?
“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
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
“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
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
“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
As soon as the court had risen, Erica
went home with her aunt and Tom, thankful to feel
that at least one day was well over; but her father
was closeted for some hours with his solicitor and
did not rejoin them till late that evening. He
came in then, looking fearfully tired, and scarcely
spoke all through dinner; but afterward, just as Tom
was leaving the room, he called him back.
“I’ve been thinking things
over,” he said. “What was your salary
with Mr. Ashgrove?”
“One hundred pounds a year,”
replied Tom, wondering at what possible hour the chieftain
had found a spare moment to bestow upon his affairs.
“Well, then, will you be my secretary for the
For many years Tom had given all his
spare time to helping Raeburn with his correspondence,
and for some time he had been the practical, though
unrecognized, sub-editor of the “Idol-Breaker,”
but all his work had been done out of pure devotion
to the “cause.” Nothing could have
pleased him more than to give his whole time to the
work while his great love and admiration for Raeburn
eminently qualified him for the service of a somewhat
Raeburn, with all his readiness to
help those in any difficulty, with all his geniality
and thoroughness of character, was by no means the
easiest person to work with. For, in common with
other strong and self-reliant characters, he liked
in all things to have his own way, and being in truth
a first-rate organizer, he had scant patience with
other people’s schemes. Erica was very
glad that he had made the proposal to Tom for, though
regretting that he should give his life to the furtherance
of work, much of which she strongly disapproved, she
could not but be relieved at anything which would
save her father in some degree from the immense strain
of work and anxiety, which were now altogether beyond
the endurance of a single man, and bid fair to overtax
even Raeburn’s giant strength.
Both Charles Osmond and Brian appeared
as voluntary witnesses on behalf of the plaintiff,
and naturally the first few days of the trial were
endurable enough. But on the Friday the defense
began, and it became evident that the most bitter
spirit would pervade the rest of the proceedings.
Mr. Pogson had spared neither trouble nor expense;
he had brought witnesses from all the ends of the
earth to swear that, in some cases twenty years ago,
they had heard the plaintiff speak such and such words,
or seen him do such and such deeds. The array
of witnesses appeared endless; there seemed no reason
why the trial ever should come to an end. It
bid fair to be a cause celebre, while inevitably
Raeburn’s notoriety made the public take a great
interest in the proceedings. It became the topic
of the day. Erica rarely went in any public conveyance
without hearing it discussed.
One day she heard the following cheering sentiment:
“Oh, of course you know the
jury will never give a verdict for such a fellow as
“I suppose they can’t
help being rather prejudiced against him because of
his views; but, upon my word, it seems a confounded
shame.” “Oh, I don’t see that,”
replied the first speaker. “If he holds
such views, he must expect to suffer for them.”
Day after day passed and still the
case dragged on. Erica became so accustomed to
spending the day in court that at last it seemed to
her that she had never done anything else all her
life. Every day she hoped that she might be called,
longing to get the hateful piece of work over.
But days and weeks passed, and still Mr. Cringer and
his learned friends examined other witnesses, but
kept her in reserve. Mr. Bircham had been exceedingly
kind to her, and in the “Daily Review”
office, where Erica was treated as a sort of queen,
great indignation had been caused by Mr. Pogson;’s
malice. “Our little lady” (her sobriquet
there) received the hearty support and sympathy of
every man in the place from the editor himself to
the printer’s devil. Every morning the office
boy brought her in court the allotted work for the
day, which she wrote as well as she could during the
proceedings or at luncheon time, with the happy consciousness
that all her short comings would be set right by the
little Irish sub-editor who worshipped the ground she
trod on and was always ready with courteous and unofficious
There were many little pieces of kindness
which served to heighten that dreary summer for Mr.
Pogson’s ill-advised zeal had stimulated all
lovers of justice into a protest against a most glaring
instance of bigotry and unfair treatment. Many
clergymen spoke out bravely and denounced the defendant’s
intolerance; many non-conformist ministers risked
giving dire offense to their congregations by saying
a good word for the plaintiff. Each protest did
its modicum of good, but still the weary case dragged
on, and every day the bitterness on either side seemed
Mr. Pogson had, by fair means or foul,
induced an enormous number of witnesses to come forward
and prove the truth of his statement, and day after
day there were the most wearisome references to old
diaries, to reports of meetings held in obscure places,
perhaps more than a dozen years ago, or to some hashed
and mangled report of a debate which, incredible though
such meanness seems, had been specially constructed
by some unscrupulous opponent in such a way as to
alter the entire meaning of Raeburn’s words a
process which may very easily be effected by a judicious
omission of contexts. Raeburn was cheered and
encouraged, however, in spite of all the thousand
cares and annoyances of that time by the rapidly increasing
number of his followers, and by many tokens of most
touching devotion from the people for whom, however
mistakenly, he had labored with unwearying patience
and zeal. Erica saw only too plainly that Mr.
Pogson was, in truth, fighting against Christianity,
and every day brought fresh proofs of the injury done
to Christ’s cause by this modern instance of
injustice and religious intolerance.
It was a terribly trying position,
and any one a degree less brave and sincere would
probably have lost all faith; but the one visible good
effected by that miserable struggle was the strange
influence it exerted in developing her character.
She was one of those who seem to grow exactly in proportion
to the trouble they have had to bear. And so it
came to pass that, while evil was wrought in many quarters,
in this one good resulted good not in the least understood
by Raeburn, or Aunt Jean, or Tom, who merely knew
that Erica was less hot and hasty than in former times,
and found it more of a relief than ever to come home
to her loving sympathy.
“After all,” they used
to say, “the miserable delusion hasn’t
been able to spoil her.”
One day, just after the court had
reassembled in the afternoon, Erica was putting the
finishing touches to a very sprightly criticism on
a certain political speech, when suddenly she heard
the name, for which she had waited so long, called
in the clerk’s most sonorous tones “Erica
She was conscious of a sudden white
flash as every face in the crowded court turned towards
her, but more conscious of a strong Presence which
seemed to wrap her in a calm so perfect that the disagreeable
surroundings became a matter of very slight import.
Here were hostile eyes, indeed; but she was strong
enough to face all the powers of evil at once.
A sort of murmur ran through the court as she entered
the witness box, but she did not heed it any more
than she would have heeded the murmur of the summer
wind without. She just stood there, strong in
her truth and purity, able, if need be, to set a whole
world at defiance.
“Pogson’s made a mistake
in calling her,” said a briefless barrister
to one of his companions in adversity; they both spent
their lives in hanging about the courts, thankful
when they could get a bit of “deviling.”
“Right you are!” replied
the other, putting up his eyeglass to look at Erica,
and letting it drop after a brief survey. “I’d
bet twenty to one that girl loses him his case.
And I’m hanged if he doesn’t deserve to.”
“Well, it is rather a brutal
thing to make a man’s own child give evidence
against him. Halloo! Just look at Raeburn!
That man’s either a consummate actor, or else
a living impersonation of righteous anger.”
“No acting there,” replied
the other, putting up his eyeglass again. “It’s
lucky dueling is a thing of the past or I expect Pogson
would have a bullet in his heart before the day was
over. I don’t wonder he’s furious,
poor fellow! Now, then here’s old Cringer
working himself up into his very worst temper!”
The whispered dialogue was interrupted
for a few minutes but was continued at intervals.
“By Jove, what a voice she’s
got! The jury will be flints if they are not
influenced by it. Ah, you great brute! I
wouldn’t have asked her that question for a
thousand pounds! How lovely she looks when she
blushes! He’ll confuse her, though, as sure
as fate. No, not a bit of it! That was dignified,
wasn’t it? How the words rang, ‘Of
course not!’ I say, Jack, this will be as good
as a lesson in elocution for us!”
“Raeburn looks up at that for
the first time. Well, poor devil! However
much baited, he can, at any rate, feel proud of his
Then came a long pause. For the
fire of questions was so sharp that the two would
not break the thread by speaking. Once or twice
some particularly irritating question was ruled by
the judge to be inadmissible, upon which Mr. Cringer
looked, in a hesitatingly courteous manner, toward
him, and obeyed orders with a smiling deference; then,
facing round upon Erica, with a little additional venom,
he visited his annoyance upon her by exerting all
his unrivaled skill in endeavoring to make her contradict
“You’ll make nothing of
this one, Cringer,” one of his friends had said
to him at the beginning of Erica’s evidence.
And he had smiled confidently by way of reply.
All the more was he now determined not to be worsted
by a young girl whom he ought to be able to put out
of countenance in ten minutes.
The result of this was that, in the
words of the newspaper reports, “the witness’s
evidence was not concluded when the court rose.”
This was perhaps the greatest part of the trial to
Erica. She had hoped, not only for her own, but
for her father’s sake, that her evidence might
all be taken in one day, and Mr. Cringer, while really
harming his own cause by prolonging her evidence,
inflicted no slight punishment on the most troublesome
witness he had ever had to deal with.
The next morning it all came over
again with increased disagreeableness.
“Erica always was the plucky
one,” said Tom to his mother as they watched
her enter the witness box. “She always did
the confessing when we got into scrapes. I only
hope that brute of a Cringer won’t put her out
He need not have feared, though in
truth Erica was tried to the utmost. To begin
with, it was one of the very hottest of the dog-days,
and the court was crowded to suffocation. This
was what the public considered the most interesting
day of the trial for it was the most personal one,
and the English have as great a taste for personalities
as the Americans though it is not so constantly gratified.
Apparently Mr. Cringer, being a shrewd man, had managed
in the night watches to calculate Erica’s one
vulnerable point. She was fatally clear-headed;
most aggravatingly and palpably truthful; most unfortunately
fascinating; and, though naturally quick-tempered,
most annoyingly self-controlled. But she was evidently
delicate. If he could sufficiently harass and
tire her, he might make her say pretty much what he
This, at least, was the conclusion
at which he had arrived. And if it was indeed
his duty to the defendant to exhaust both fair means
and foul in the endeavor to win him his case, then
he certainly fulfilled his duty. For six long
hours, with only a brief interval for luncheon, Erica
was baited, badgered, tormented with questions which
in themselves were insults, assured that she had said
what she had not said, tempted to say what she did
not mean, involved in fruitless discussions about places
and dates and, in fact, so thoroughly tortured, that
most girls would long before have succumbed.
She did not succumb, but she grew whiter and whiter
save when some vile insinuation brought a momentary
wave of crimson across her face.
Tom listened breathlessly to the examination
which went on in a constant crescendo of bitterness.
“The plaintiff was in the habit of doing this?”
“Your suspicion was naturally excited, then?”
“Not excited?” incredulously.
“Not in the least.”
“You are an inmate of the plaintiff’s
house, I believe?”
“But this has not always been the case?”
“All my life with the exception of two years.”
“Your reason for the two years’
absence had a connection with the plaintiff’s
mode of life, had it not?”
“Not in the sense you wish to
imply. It had a connection with our extreme poverty.”
“Though an inmate of you father’s house,
you are often away from home?”
“No, very rarely.”
“Oblige me by giving a straightforward
answer. What do you mean by rarely?”
“This is mere equivocation; will you give me
a straightforward reply?”
“I can’t make it more
so,” said Erica, keeping her temper perfectly
and replying to the nagging interrogatories.
“Do you mean once a year, twice a year?”
etc., etc., with a steady patience which
foiled Mr. Cringer effectually. He opened a fresh
“Do you remember the 1st of September last year?”
“Do you remember what happened then?”
“Partridge shooting began.”
There was much laughter at this reply;
she made it partly because even now the comic side
of everything struck her, partly because she wanted
to gain time. What in the world was Mr. Cringer
“Did not something occur that
night in Guilford Terrace which you were anxious to
For a moment Erica was dumfounded.
It flashed upon her that he knew of the Haeberlein
adventure and meant to serve his purpose by distorting
it into something very different. Luckily she
was almost as rapid a thinker as her father; she saw
that there was before her a choice of two evils.
She must either allow Mr. Cringer to put an atrocious
construction on her unqualified “yes”
or she must boldly avow Haeberlein’s visit.
“With regard to my father there
was nothing to conceal,” she replied.
“Will you swear that there was nothing
“With regard to my father there was nothing
to conceal,” she replied.
“Don’t bandy words with
me. Will you repeat my formula ’Nothing
“No, I will not repeat that.”
“You admit that there was something to
“If you call Eric Haeberlein ‘something’
There was a great sensation in the
court at these words. But Mr. Cringer was nonplused.
The mysterious “something,” out of which
he had intended to make such capital, was turned into
a boldly avowed reality a reality which would avail
him nothing. Moreover, most people would now see
through his very unworthy maneuvers. Furiously
he hurled question upon question at Erica. He
surpassed himself in sheer bullying. By this time,
too, she was very weary. The long hours of standing,
the insufferable atmosphere, the incessant stabs at
her father’s character made the examination
almost intolerable. And the difficulty of answering
the fire of questions was great. She struggled
on, however, until the time came when Raeburn stood
up to ask whether a certain question was allowable.
She looked at him then for the first time, saw how
terribly he was feeling her interminable examination,
and for a moment lost heart. The rows of people
grew hazy and indistinct. Mr. Cringer’s
face got all mixed up with his wig, she had to hold
tightly to the railing. How much longer could
“Yet you doubtless thought this probable?”
continued her tormentor.
“Oh, no! On the contrary,
quite the reverse,” said Erica with a momentary
touch of humor.
“Are you acquainted with the
popular saying: ’None are so blind as those
who will not see?’”
The tone was so insulting that indignation
restored Erica to her full strength; she was stung
into giving a sharp retort.
“Yes,” she said very quietly.
“It has often occurred to me during this action
as strangely applicable to the defendant.”
Mr. Cringer looked as if he could
have eaten her. There was a burst of applause
which was speedily suppressed.
“Yet you do not, of course,
mean to deny the whole allegation?”
“Are you aware that people will
think you either a deluded innocent or an infamous
“I am not here to consider what
people may think of me, but to speak the truth.”
And as she spoke she involuntarily
glanced toward those twelve fellow-countrymen of hers
upon whose verdict so much depended. Probably
even the oldest, even the coldest of the jurymen felt
his heart beat a little faster as those beautiful,
sad honest eyes scanned the jury box. As for
the counsel for the defense, he prudently accepted
his defeat and, as Raeburn would not ask a single
question of his daughter in cross-examination, another
witness was called.
Long after, it was a favorite story
among the young barristers of how Mr. Cringer was
checkmated by Raeburn’s daughter.
The case dragged on its weary length
till August. At last, when two months of the
public time had been consumed, when something like
20,000 pounds had been spent, when most bitter resentment
had been stirred up among the secularists, Mr. Pogson’s
defense came to an end. Raeburn’s reply
was short, but effective; and the jury returned a verdict
in his favor, fixing the damages, however, at the
very lowest sum, not because they doubted that Raeburn
had been most grossly libeled, but because the plaintiff
had the misfortune to be an atheist.