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Updated: May 25, 2025
In fact, in every way she was anxious about the child's future, for Erica's was a somewhat perplexing character, and seemed very ill fitted for her position. Eric Haeberlein had once compared her to a violin, and there was a good deal of truth in his idea. She was very sensitive, responding at once to the merest touch, and easily moved to admiration and devoted love, or to strong indignation.
"I thought of trying Cannon Street," replied the German. "Because," continued Erica, "I think you had better let me see you off. You will look like a young Englishman, and I shall do all the talking, so that you need not betray your accent. They would never dream of Herr Haeberlein laughing and talking with a young girl."
It was seven years since they had met, and they fell to talk of reminiscences, and in the happiness of their meeting put off the more serious matters which must be discussed before long. It was a good half hour before Haeberlein alluded to the occasion of his present visit. "Bring actually in London, I couldn't resist looking in upon you," he said, a cloud of care coming over his face.
And as to Eric Haeberlein, it would have needed a far stronger mind than that of the sweet-tempered, quixotic German to resist the generous help offered by such a lovely girl. There was no time to lose; the latest train for the Continent left at 9:25, and before Haeberlein had adjusted his new disguise the clock struck nine.
Erica went to search Tom's room for the ulster, and in the meantime Haeberlein showed his friend a paragraph in one of the evening papers which proved to Raeburn that the risk was indeed very great. They were discussing things much more gravely when Erica returned. "The stations will be watched," Haeberlein was saying. "What station do you go to?" asked Erica.
But the pleasures of the day were not yet over for as they drew up at the door of their hotel a well-known figure suddenly emerged from the porch and hurried toward the carriage. "Unexpected as a meteor," said a hearty voice in slightly foreign accents. "Well, my good friend, well my guardian angel, how are you both? We meet under more auspicious circumstances this time!" It was Eric Haeberlein.
A more trying combination of events could hardly have been imagined, and Erica, as she stood in the crowded cemetery next day at the funeral, thought infinitely less of the quixotic Haeberlein whom she had, nevertheless, loved very sincerely than of her sorely overtasked father. He was evidently in dread of breaking down, and it was with the greatest difficulty that he got through his oration.
Did he really come to London and escape?" "There is only one Eric Haeberlein in the world that I know of," said Erica. "But I think, Rose, I was wrong and foolish to mention him. I can't tell you anything about him, and, even if I could, there is my promise to Aunt Isabel. If I am not to talk to you about my father, I certainly ought not to talk about his friends."
She breathed more freely, but there was danger still, for Rose was watching her, and feminine curiosity is hard to baffle. "Did you know about it?" she asked. Erica did not reply for a moment, but read on, to gain time; then she threw down the paper with an exclamation of disgust. "How can you read such stuff?" "Yes, but is that the Eric Haeberlein you were named after?
She was in the hall giving her manuscript to the boy when she saw her father come downstairs; she followed him into the study, and one look at his face told her what had happened. He was leaning back in the chair in which but a few weeks before she had seen Haeberlein himself; it came over her with a shudder that he looked almost as ill now as his friend had looked.
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