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But this man had somehow got hold of the great assembly； had conquered them by sheer force of will； in a battle of one will against thousands the one had conquered； and would hold its own till it had administered the hard home…thrust which would make the thousands wince and retaliate。
Now； under the power of that 〃sledge…hammer Saxon；〃 that marvelously graphic picture of misery and bereavement； hard…headed； and hitherto hard hearted men were crying like children。 Then came the rugged unvarnished statement shouted forth in the speaker's sternest voice。
〃All this is being done in your name； men of England！ Not only in your name； but at your cost！ You are responsible for this bloodshed； this misery！ How long is it to go on？ How long are you free men going to allow yourselves to be bloody executioners？ How long are you to be slavish followers of that grasping ambition which veils its foulness under the fair name of patriotism？〃
Loud murmurs began to arise at this； and the orator knew that the ground swell betokened the coming storm。 He proceeded with tenfold energy； his words came down like hailstones； with a fiery indignation he delivered his mighty philippic； in a torrent of forceful words he launched out the most tremendous denunciation he had ever uttered。
The string had been gradually worked up to its highest possible tension； at length when the strain was the greatest it suddenly snapped。 Raeburn's will had held all those thousands in check； he had kept his bitterest enemies hanging on his words； he had lashed them into fury； and still kept his grip over them； he had worked them up； gaining more and more power over them； till at length； as he shouted forth the last words of a grand peroration； the bitterness and truth of his accusations proved keener than his restraining influence。
He had foreseen that the spell would break； and he knew the instant it was broken。 A moment before； and he had been able to sway that huge crowd as he pleased； now he was at their mercy。 No will power； no force of language； no strength of earnestness or truth would avail him now。 All that he had to trust to was his immense physical strength； and what was that when measured against thousands？
He saw the dangerous surging movement in the sea of heads； and knew only too well what it betokened。 With a frightful yell of mingled hatred and execration； the seething human mass bore down upon him！ His own followers and friends did what they could for him； but that was very little。 His case was desperate。 Desperation； however； inspires some people with an almost superhuman energy。 Life was sweet； and that day he fought for his life。 The very shouting and hooting of the mob； the roar of the angry multitude； which might well have filled even a brave man with panic； stimulated him； strengthened him to resist to the uttermost。
He fought like a lion； forcing his way through the furious crowd； attacked in the most brutal way on every side； yet ever struggling on if only by inches。 Never once did his steadfastness waver； never for a single instant did his spirit sink。 His unfailing presence of mind enabled him to get through what would have been impossible to most men； his great height and strength stood him in good stead； while the meanness and the injustice of the attack； the immense odds against which he was fighting nerved him for the struggle。
It was more like a hideous nightmare than a piece of actual life； those fierce tiger faces swarming around； that roar of vindictive anger； that frightful crushing； that hail storm of savage blows！ But； whether life or nightmare； it must be gone through with。 In the thick of the fight a line of Goethe came to his mind； one of his favorite mottoes； 〃Make good thy standing place and move the world。〃
And even then he half smiled to himself at the forlornness of the hope that he should ever need a standing place again。
With renewed vigor he fought his way on； and with a sort of glow of triumph and new…born hope had almost seen his way to a place of comparative safety； when a fearful blow hopelessly maimed him。 With a vain struggle to save himself he fell to the earth a vision of fierce faces； green leaves； and blue sky flashed before his eyes； an inward vision of Erica； a moment's agony； and then the surging crowd closed over him； and he knew no more。
CHAPTER XVII。 At Death's Door
Sorrow and wrong are pangs of a new birth； All we who suffer bleed for one another； No life may live alone； but all in all； We lie within the tomb of our dead selves； Waiting till One command us to arise。 Hon。 Boden Noel。
Knowing that Erica would have a very anxious afternoon； Charles Osmond gave up his brief midday rest； snatched a hasty lunch at a third…rate restaurant； finished his parish visits sooner than usual； and reached the little house in Guilford Terrace in time to share the worst part of her waiting。 He found her hard at work as usual； her table strewn with papers and books of reference。 Raeburn had purposely left her some work to do for him which he knew would fully occupy her； but the mere fact that she knew he had done it on purpose to engross her mind with other matters entirely prevented her from giving it her full attention。 She had never felt more thankful to see Charles Osmond than at that moment。
〃When your whole heart and mind are in Hyde Park； how are you to drag them back to what some vindictive old early Father said about the eternity of punishment？〃 she exclaimed； with a smile； which very thinly disguised her consuming anxiety。
They sat down near the open window； Erica taking possession of that side which commanded the view of the entrance of the cul…de…sac。 Charles Osmond did not speak for a minute or two； but sat watching her； trying to realize to himself what such anxiety as hers must be。 She was evidently determined to keep outwardly calm； not to let her fears gain undue power over her； but she could not conceal the nervous trembling which beset her at every sound of wheels in the quiet square； nor did she know that in her brave eyes there lurked the most visible manifestation possible of haggard； anxious waiting。 She sat with her watch in her hand； the little watch that Eric Haeberlein had given her when she was almost a child； and which； even in the days of their greatest poverty； her father had never allowed her to part with。 What strange hours it had often measured for her。 Age…long hours of grief； weary days of illness and pain； times of eager expectation； times of sickening anxiety； times of mental conflict； of baffling questions and perplexities。 How the hands seemed to creep on this afternoon； at times almost to stand still。
〃Now； I suppose if you were in my case you would pray；〃 said Erica； raising her eyes to Charles Osmond。 〃It must be a relief； but yet； when you come to analyze it； it is most illogical a fearful waste of time。 If there is a God who works by fixed laws； and who sees the whole maze of every one's life before hand； then the particular time and manner of my father's death must be already appointed； and no prayer of mine that he may come safely through this afternoon's danger can be of the least avail。 Besides； if a God could be turned round from His original purpose by human wills and much speaking； I hardly think He would be worth believing in。〃
〃You are taking the lowest view of prayer mere petition； but even that； I think； is set on its right footing as soon as we grasp the true conception of the ideal father。 Do you mean to say that； because your father's rules were unwavering and his day's work marked out beforehand； he did not like you to come to him when you were a little child； with all your wishes and longings and requests； even though they were sometimes childish and often impossible to gratify？ Would he have been better pleased if you had shut up everything in your own heart； and never of your own accord told him anything about your babyish plans and wants？〃
〃Still； prayer seems to me a waste of time；〃 said Erica。
〃What！ If it brings you a talk with your Father？ If it is a relief to you and a pleasure because a sign of trust and love to Him？ But in one way I entirely agree with you； unless it is spontaneous it is not only useless but harmful。 Imagine a child forced to talk to its father。 And this seems to me the truest defense of prayer； to the 'natural man' it always will seem foolishness； to the 'spiritual man' to one who has recognized the All…Father it is the absolute necessity of life。 And I think by degrees one passes from eager petition for personal and physical good things into the truer and more Christlike spirit of prayer。 'These are my fears； these are my wishes； but not my will but Thine be done。' Shakespeare had got hold of a grand truth； it seems to me； when he said：
〃'So find we profit by losing of our prayers。'〃
〃And yet your ideal man distinctly said： 'Ask and ye shall receive'〃 said Erica。 〃There are no limitations。 For aught we know； some pig…headed fanatic may be at this moment praying that God in His mercy would rid the earth of that most dangerous man； Luke Raeburn； while I might be of course I am not； but it is conceivable that I might be praying for his safet