The presence of the child was good for me, keeping alive my aching, lonely heart:  she would play contentedly for hours while I was working, a word now and again being enough for happiness; when I had to go out without her, she would run to the door with me, and the “good-bye” would come from down-curved lips; she was ever watching at the window for my return, and the sunny face was always the first to welcome me home.  Many and many a time have I been coming home, weary, hungry, and heart-sick, and the glimpse of the little face watching has reminded me that I must not carry in a grave face to sadden my darling, and the effort to throw off the depression for her sake threw it off altogether, and brought back the sunshine.  She was the sweetness and joy of my life, my curly-headed darling, with her red-gold hair and glorious eyes, and passionate, wilful, loving nature.  The torn, bruised tendrils of my heart gradually twined round this little life; she gave something to love and to tend, and thus gratified one of the strongest impulses of my nature.

CHAPTER VI.

CHARLES BRADLAUGH.

During all these months the intellectual life had not stood still; I was slowly, cautiously feeling my way onward.  And in the intellectual and social side of my life I found a delight unknown in the old days of bondage.  First, there was the joy of freedom, the joy of speaking out frankly and honestly each thought.  Truly, I had a right to say:  “With a great price obtained I this freedom,” and having paid the price, I revelled in the liberty I had bought.  Mr. Scott’s valuable library was at my service; his keen brain challenged my opinions, probed my assertions, and suggested phases of thought hitherto untouched.  I studied harder than ever, and the study now was unchecked by any fear of possible consequences.  I had nothing left of the old faith save belief in “a God,” and that began slowly to melt away.  The Theistic axiom:  “If there be a God at all He must be at least as good as His highest creature,” began with an “if,” and to that “if” I turned my attention.  “Of all impossible things,” writes Miss Frances Power Cobbe, “the most impossible must surely be that a man should dream something of the good and the noble, and that it should prove at last that his Creator was less good and less noble than he had dreamed.”  But, I questioned, are we sure that there is a Creator?  Granted that, if there is, He must be above His highest creature, but—­is there such a being?  “The ground,” says the Rev. Charles Voysey, “on which our belief in God rests is man.  Man, parent of Bibles and Churches, inspirer of all good thoughts and good deeds.  Man, the masterpiece of God’s thought on earth.  Man, the text-book of all spiritual knowledge.  Neither miraculous nor infallible, man is nevertheless the only trustworthy record of the Divine mind in things pertaining to God.  Man’s reason, conscience, and affections are the only true revelation of his Maker.”  But what if God were only man’s own image reflected in the mirror of man’s mind?  What if man were the creator, not the revelation of his God?