[Transcriber's note: Susan Warner, _A red wallflower_, (1884), Nisbet1913 edition]

A RED WALLFLOWER

BY SUSAN WARNER AUTHOR OF 'THE WIDE, WIDE WORLD, ' 'QUEECHY, ' ETC. 

LONDON JAMES NISBET & CO. LIMITED 21 BERNERS STREET W

NOTE TO THE READER. 

The story following is again in its whole chain of skeleton facts atrue story. I beg to observe, in particular, that the denominationalfeeling described in both families, with the ways it showed itself, ispart of the truth of the story, and no invention of mine. 

S. W. 

MARTLAER'S ROCK, June 25, 1884. 

CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER

 I. AFTER DANDELIONS II. AT HOME III. THE BOX OF COINS IV. LEARNING V. CONTAMINATION VI. GOING TO COLLEGE VII. COMING HOME VIII. A NOSEGAY IX. WANT OF COMFORT X. THE BLESSING XI. DISSENT XII. THE VACATION XIII. LETTERS XIV. STRUGGLES XV. COMFORT XVI. REST AND UNREST XVII. MOVING XVIII. A NEIGHBOUR XIX. HAPPY PEOPLE XX. SCHOOL XXI. THE COLONEL'S TOAST XXII. A QUESTION XXIII. A DEBATE XXIV. DISAPPOINTMENT XXV. A HEAD OF LETTUCE XXVI. WAYS AND MEANS XXVII. ONIONS XXVIII. STRAWBERRIES XXIX. HAY AND OATS XXX. A HOUSE XXXI. MAJOR STREET XXXII. MOVING XXXIII. BETTY XXXIV. HOLIDAYS XXXV. ANTIQUITIES XXXVI. INTERPRETATIONS XXXVII. A STAND XXXVIII. LIFE PLANS XXXIX. SKIRMISHING XL. LONDON XLI. AN OLD HOUSE XLII. THE TOWER XLIII. MARTIN'S COURT XLIV. THE DUKE OF TREFOIL XLV. THE ABBEY XLVI. A VISIT XLVII. A TALK XLVIII. A SETTLEMENT

A RED WALLFLOWER. 

CHAPTER I. 

_AFTER DANDELIONS_. 

It is now a good many years ago that an English family came over fromthe old country and established itself in one of the small villagesthat are scattered along the shore of Connecticut. Why they came wasnot clearly understood, neither was it at all to be gathered from theirway of life or business. Business properly they had none; and their wayof life seemed one of placid contentment and unenterprising domesticpleasure. The head of the family was a retired army officer, now pastthe prime of his years; tall, thin, grey, and grave; but a gentlemanthrough and through. Everybody liked Colonel Gainsborough, althoughnobody could account for a man of his age leading what seemed such aprofitless life. He was doing really nothing; staying at home with hiswife and his books. Why had he come to Connecticut at all? If he livedfor pleasure, surely his own country would have been a better place toseek it. Nobody could solve this riddle. That Colonel Gainsborough hadanything to be ashamed of, or anything to be afraid of, enterednobody's head for a moment. Fear or shame were unknown to that grave, calm, refined face. The whisper got about, how, it is impossible tosay, that his leaving home had been occasioned by a disagreement withhis relations. It might be so. No one could ask him, and the colonelnever volunteered to still curiosity on the subject. 

The family was small. Only a wife and one little girl came with thecolonel to America; and they were attended by only two old retainers, aman and a woman. They hired no other servants after their arrival, which, however, struck nobody as an admission of scantness of means. According to the views and habits of the countryside, two people werequite enough to look after three; the man outside and the woman insidethe house. Christopher Bounder took care of the garden and the cow, andcut and made the hay from one or two little fields. And Mrs. Barker, his sister, was a very capable woman indeed, and quite equal to thecombined duties of housekeeper, cook, lady's maid, and housemaid, whichshe fulfilled to everybody's satisfaction, including her own. However, after two or three years in Seaforth these duties were somewhatlessened; the duties of Mrs. Barker's hands, that is, for her head hadmore to do. Mrs. Gainsborough, who had been delicate and failing forsome time, at last died, leaving an almost inconsolable husband anddaughter behind her. I might with truth say quite inconsolable; for atthe time I speak of, a year later than Mrs. Gainsborough's death, certainly comfort had come to neither father nor daughter. 

It was one morning in spring-time. Mrs. Barker stood at the door of herkitchen, and called to her brother to come in to breakfast. Christopherslowly obeyed the summons, leaving his spade stuck upright in the bedhe was digging, and casting loving looks as he came at the buddinggooseberry bushes. He was a typical Englishman; ruddy, fair-skinned, blue-eyed, of very solid build, and showing the national tendency toflesh. He was a handsome man, and not without a sufficiency ofself-consciousness, both as regarding that and other things. Mrs. Barker was a contrast; for she was very plain, some years older thanher brother, and of rather spare habit though large frame. Both facesshowed sense, and the manner of both indicated that they knew their ownminds. 

'Season's late, ' observed Mrs. Barker, as she stepped back from thedoor and lifted her coffee-pot on the table. 

'Uncommon late, ' answered her brother. 'Buds on them gooseberry bushesonly just showin' green. Now everything will be coming all together ina heap in two weeks more. That's the way o' this blessed climate! Andthen when everything's started, maybe a frost will come and slap downon us. '

'Peas in?'

'Peas in a fortnight ago. They'll be showin' their heads just now. '

'Christopher, can you get me some greens to day?'

'Greens for what?'

'Why, for dinner. Master likes a bit o' boiled beef now and again, which he used to, anyway; and I thought greens is kind o' seasonable atthis time o' year, and I'd try him with 'em. But la! he don't care nomore what he eats. '

'How is the old gentleman?'

'Doin' his best to kill hisself, I should say. '

'Looks like it, ' said Christopher, going on with a good breakfast thewhile in a business manner. 'When a man don't care no more what heeats, the next thing'll be that he'll stop it; and then there's onlyone thing more he will do. '

'What's that?'

'Die, to be sure!'

'He ain't dyin' yet, ' said Mrs. Barker thoughtfully, 'but he ain'tdoin' the best he can wi's life, for certain. Can ye get me somegreens, Christopher?'

'Nothing in _my_ department. I can take a knife and a basket and findyou some dandelions. '

'Will ye go fur to find 'em?'

'No furder'n I can help, you may make your affidavit, with all there isto do in the garden yet. What's about it?'

'If you're goin' a walk, I'd let Missie go along. She don't get nochance for no diversion whatsomever when young Mr. Dallas don't comealong. She just mopes, she do; and it's on my mind, and master he don'tsee it. I wish he would. '

'The little one does wear an uncommon solemn countenance, ' said thegardener, who was in his way quite an educated man, and used languageabove his station. 

'It do vex me, ' repeated the housekeeper. 

'But young Mr. Dallas comes along pretty often. If Miss Esther was alittle older, now, we should see no more of her solemnity. What 'udmaster say to that?'

'It's good things is as they be, and we've no need to ask. I don't wantno more complications, for my part. It's hard enough to manage as itis. '

'But things won't stay as they be, ' said the gardener, with a twinkleof his shrewd blue eye as he looked at his sister. 'Do you expect theywill, Sarah? Miss Esther's growin' up fast, and she'll be an uncommonhandsome girl too. Do you know that?'

'I shouldn't say she was what you'd go fur to call handsome, ' returnedthe housekeeper. 

'I doubt you haven't an eye for beauty. Perhaps one ought to have a bitof it oneself to be able to see it in others. '

'Well I haven't it, ' said Mrs. Barker; 'and I never set up to have it. And I allays thought rosy cheeks went with beauty; and Missie has nomore colour in her cheeks, poor child, than well--than I have myself. '

'She's got two eyes, though. '

'Who hasn't got two eyes?' said the other scornfully. 

'Just the folks that haven't an eye, ' said the gardener, with anothertwinkle of his own. 'But I tell you, there ain't two such eyes as MissEsther's between here and Boston. Look out; other folk will find it outsoon if you don't. There ain't but three years between twelve andfifteen; and then it don't take but two more to make seventeen. '

'Three and two's five, though, ' said Mrs. Barker; 'and five years is along time. And Miss Esther ain't twelve yet, neither. Then when'll yebe goin' after the greens, Christopher?'

'It'll be a bit yet. I'll let you know. '

The fair spring morning was an hour or two farther on its way, accordingly, when the gardener and the little girl set out on theirquest after greens. Yet it was still early, for the kitchen breakfastwas had betimes. The gardener carried a basket, and Esther too did thelike; in hers there was a small trowel, for 'she might find something, 'she said. Esther always said that, although hitherto her 'findings' hadamounted to nothing of any account; unless, indeed, I correct that, andsay, in any eyes but her own. For in Esther's eyes every insignificantgrowth of the woods or the fields had a value and a charminexpressible. Nothing was 'common' to her, and hardly anything thatgrew was relegated to the despised community of 'weeds. '

'What are you going for now, Christopher?' she asked as they trudged ontogether. 

'Well, miss, my old woman there has sent me for some greens. She has awild tooth for greens, she has, ' he added, half to himself. 

'What sort of greens can you get?'

'There's various sorts to be had, Miss Esther; a great variety of theherbs of the field are good for eating, at the different times o' theyear; even here in this country; and I do suppose there ain't a pooreron the face o' the earth!'

'Than _this_ country? than Seaforth? O Christopher!'

'Well, m'm, it beats all _I_ ever knew for poorness. You should seeEngland once, Miss Esther! That's the place for gardens; and the fieldsis allays green; and the flowers do be beautiful; and when the sun_shines_, it shines; here it burns. '

'Not to-day, ' said Esther gleefully. 'How nice it is!'

She might say so, for if the spring is rough in New England, and thereis no denying it, there do nevertheless come days of bewitching, entrancing, delicious beauty, in the midst of the rest. Days when theair and sky and sunlight are in a kind of poise of delight, and earthbeneath them, is, as it were, still with pleasure. I suppose the springmay be more glorious in other lands, --more positively glorious; whetherrelatively, I do not know. With such contrasts before and behindthem, --contrasts of raw, chill air, and rough, cutting winds, withskies of grey and gloom, --one of these perfect days of a lost Paradisestands in a singular setting. It was such a day when Esther andChristopher went after dandelions. Still, balmy air, a tender skyslightly veiled with spring mistiness, light and warmth so gentle thatthey were a blessing to a weary brain, yet so abundant that every budand leaf and plant and flower was unfolding and out-springing andstretching upward and dispensing abroad all it had of sweetness. Theair was filled with sweetness; not the heavy odours of the blossoms ofsummer, or the South, but a more delicate and searching fragrance fromresinous buds and freshly-opened tree flowers and the young green ofthe shooting leaf. I don't know where spring gets it all, but she doesfling abroad her handfuls of perfume such as summer has no skill toconcoct, or perhaps she lacks the material. Esther drew in deep breathsfor the mere pleasure of breathing, and looked on all the world ofnature before her with an eye of quiet but intense content. 

Christopher had been quite right in his hint about Esther's eyes. Theywere of uncommon character. Thoughtful, grave, beautiful eyes; large, and fine in contour and colour; too grave for the girl's years. ButEsther had lived all her life so far almost exclusively with grownpeople, and very sober grown people too; for her mother's last yearshad been dulled with sickness, and her father's with care, even if hehad not been--which he was--of a taciturn and sombre deportment in thebest of times. And this last year past had been one heavy withmourning. So it was no wonder if the little girl's face showed unduethoughtfulness, and a shade of melancholy all premature. AndChristopher was honestly glad to see the melancholy at least vanishunder the influence of the open earth and sky. The thoughtfulness, hehoped, would go too some day. 

The walk in itself offered nothing remarkable. Fields where the grasswas very green and fast growing; other fields that were rocky andbroken, and good for little except the sheep, and sometimes rose intobare ridges and heights where spare savins were mingled with a varietyof deciduous trees; such was the ground the two went over this morning. This morning, however, glorified everything; the fields looked soft, the moss and lichens on the rocks were moist and fresh coloured, greyand green and brown; the buds and young leafage of the trees were ofevery lovely hue and shade that young vegetation can take; and here andthere Esther found a wild flower. When she found one, it was very aptto be taken up by the roots with her little trowel, and bestowed in herbasket for careful transport home; and on the so endangered beauties inher basket Esther looked down from time to time with fond and delightedeyes. 

'Are you going for cresses, Christopher?'

'No, Miss Esther, not at this time. Sarah has set her mind that shemust have boiled greens for dinner; and her will must be done. And hereis the article--not boiled yet, however. '

He stopped and stooped, and with a sharp knife cut a bunch ofstout-looking leaves growing in the grass; then made a step to anotherbunch, a yard off, and then to another. 

'What are they, Christopher?'

'Just dandelions, Miss Esther. _Leontodon taraxacum_. '

'Dandelions! But the flowers are not out yet. '

'No, Miss Esther. If they was out, Sarah might whistle for her greens. '

'Why? You could tell better where they are. '

'They wouldn't be worth the finding, though. '

Christopher went on busily cutting. He did not seem to need the yellowblossoms to guide him. 

'How can you be sure, Christopher, that you are always getting theright ones?'

'Know the look o' their faces, Miss Esther. '

'The _flowers_ are their faces, ' said the little girl. 

Christopher laughed a little. 'Then what are the leaves?' said he. 

'I don't know. The whole of them together show the _form_ of the plant. '

'Well, Miss Esther, wouldn't you know your father, the colonel, as faroff as you could see him, just by his figger?'

'But I know papa so well. '

'Not better than I know the _Leontodon_. See, Miss Esther, look atthese runcinate leaves. '

'Runcinate?'

'Toothed-pinnatifid. That's what it gets its name from; lion's tooth. _Leontodon_ comes from two Greek words which mean a lion and a tooth. See--there ain't another leaf like that in the hull meadow. '

'There are a great many kinds of leaves!' said Esther musingly. 

'Like men's human figgers, ' said the gardener sagely. 'Ain't no two on'em just alike. '

Talking and cutting, they had crossed the meadow and came to a rockyheight which rose at one side of it; such as one is never very far fromin New England. Here there were no dandelions, but Esther eagerlysought for something more ornamental. And she found it. Withexclamations of deep delight she endeavoured to dig up a root ofbloodroot which lifted its most delicate and dainty blossom a fewinches above the dead leaves and moss with which the ground under thetrees was thickly covered. Christopher came to her help. 

'What are you goin' to do with this now, Miss Esther?'

'I want to plant it out in my garden. Won't it grow?'

Christopher answered evasively. 'These here purty little things isfreaky, ' said he. 'They has notions. Now the _Sanguinaria_ likes justwhat it has got here; a little bit of rich soil, under shade of woods, and with covering of wet dead leaves for its roots. It's as dainty as alady. '

'_Sanguinaria?_' said Esther. 'I call it bloodroot. '

'_Sanguinaria canadensis_. That's its name, Miss Esther. '

'Why isn't the other its name?'

'That's its nickname, you may say. Look here, Miss Esther, --here's the_Hepatica_ for you. '

Esther sprang forward to where Christopher was softly pushing deadleaves and sticks from a little low bunch of purple flowers. Shestretched out her hand with the trowel, then checked herself. 

'Won't that grow either, Christopher?'

'It'll grow _here_, Miss Esther. See, --ain't that nice?' he said, as hebared the whole little tuft. 

Esther's sigh came from the depths of her breast, as she looked at itlovingly. 

'This is _Hepatica acutiloba_. I dare say we'd find the other, if wehad time to go all over the other side of the hill. '

'What other?'

'The _americana_, Miss Esther. But I'm thinking, them greens must go inthe pot. '

'But what _is_ this lovely little thing? What's its name, I mean?'

'It's the _Hepatica_, Miss Esther; folks call it liverleaf. We ought tofind the _Aquilegia_ by this time; but I don't see it. '

'Have you got dandelions enough?'

'All I'll try for. Here's something for you, though, ' said he, reachingup to the branches of a young tree, the red blossoms of which were notquite out of reach; 'here's something pretty for you; here's _Acerrubrum_. '

'And what is _Acer rubrum?_'

'Just soft maple, Miss Esther. '

'Oh, that is beautiful! Do you know everything that grows, Christopher?'

'No, Miss Esther; there's no man living that does that. They say itwould take all one man's life to know just the orchids of SouthAmerica; without mentioning all that grows in the rest of the world. There's an uncommon great number of plants on the earth, to be sure!'

'And trees. '

'Ain't trees plants, mum?'

'Are they? Christopher, are those dandelions _weeds?_'

'No, Miss Esther; they're more respectable. '

'How do you know they're not weeds?'

Christopher laughed a little, partly at his questioner, partly at thequestion; nevertheless the answer was not so ready as usual. 

'They ain't weeds, however, Miss Esther; that's all I can tell you. '

'What are weeds, then?'

'I don't know, mum, ' said Christopher grimly. 'They're plants that hasno manners. '

'But some good plants have no manners, ' said Esther, amused. 'I knowI've heard you say, they ran over everything, and wouldn't stay intheir places. You said it of moss pink, and lily of the valley. Don'tyou remember?'

'Yes mum, I've cause to remember; by the same token I've been trimmingthe box. That thing grows whenever my back is turned!'

'But it isn't a weed?'

'No mum! No mum! The _Buxus_ is a very distinguished family indeed, andholds a high rank, it does. '

'Then I don't see what _is_ a weed, Christopher. '

CHAPTER II. 

_AT HOME_. 

Upon reaching home Esther sought to place her bloodroot in safety, giving it a soft and well-dug corner in her little plot of gardenground. She planted it with all care in the shadow of a rose-bush; andthen went in to put her other flowers in water. 

The sitting-room, whither she went, was a large, low, pleasant place;very simply furnished, yet having a cheerful, cosy look, as places dowhere people live who know how to live. The room, and the house, nodoubt, owed its character to the rule and influence of Mrs. Gainsborough, who was there no longer, and to a family life that hadpassed away. The traces abode still. The chintz hangings and the carpetwere of soft colours and in good harmony; chairs and lounges werecomfortable; a great many books lined the walls, so many indeed thatthe room might have been styled the library. A portfolio withengravings was in one place; Mrs. Gainsborough's work-table in another;some excellent bronzes on the bookcases; one or two family portraits, by good hands; and an embroidery frame. A fine English mastiff wassleeping on the rug before the fire; for the weather was still coldenough within doors to make a fire pleasant, and Colonel Gainsboroughwas a chilly man. 

He lay on the couch when Esther came in with her flowers; a book in hishand, but not held before his eyes. He was a handsome man, of a severe, grave type; though less well-looking at this time because of thespiritless, weary, depressed air which had become his habit; there wasa want of spring and life and hope in the features and in the manneralso of the occupant of the sofa. He looked at Esther languidly, as shecame in and busied herself with arranging her maple blossoms, herHepatica and one or two delicate stems of the bloodroot in a littlevase. Her father looked at the flowers and at her, in silence. 

'Papa, aren't those _beautiful?_' she asked with emphasis, bringing thevase, when she had finished, to his side. 

'What have you got there, Esther?'

'Just some anemones, and liverleaf, and bloodroot, and maple blossoms, papa; but Christopher calls them all sorts of big names. '

'They are very fragile blossoms, ' the colonel remarked. 

'Are they? They won't do in the garden, Christopher says, but they grownicely out there in the wood. Papa, what is the difference between aweed and a flower?'

'I should think you were old enough to know. '

'I know them by sight--sometimes. But what is the _difference?_'

'Your eyes tell you, do they not?'

'No, papa. They tell me, sometimes, which is which; but I mean, whyisn't a flower a weed? I asked Christopher, but he couldn't tell me. '

'I do not understand the question. It seems to me you are talkingnonsense. '

The colonel raised his book again, and Esther took the hint, and wentback to the table with her flowers. She sat down and looked at them. Fair they were, and fresh, and pure; and they bore spring's messages, to all that could hear the message. If Esther could, it was in ahalf-unconscious way, that somehow awakened by degrees almost as muchpain as pleasure. Or else, it was simply that the glow and stir of herwalk was fading away, and allowing the old wonted train of thought tocome in again. The bright expression passed from her face; the featuressettled into a melancholy dulness, most unfit for a child and painfulto see; there was a droop of the corners of the mouth, and a lax fallof the eyelids, and a settled gloom in the face, that covered it andchanged it like a mask. The very features seemed to grow heavy, in theutter heaviness of the spirit. 

She sat so for a while, musing, no longer busy with such pleasantthings as flowers and weeds; then roused herself. The weariness ofinaction was becoming intolerable. She went to a corner of the room, where a large mahogany box was half-concealed beneath a table coveredwith a cloth; with a good deal of effort she lugged the box forth. Itwas locked, and she went to the sofa. 

'Papa, may I look at the casts?'

'Yes. '

'You have got the key, papa. '

The key was fished out of the colonel's waistcoat pocket, and Esthersat down on the floor and unlocked the box. It was filled with casts inplaster of Paris, of old medals and bas-reliefs; and it had long been agreat amusement of Esther's to take them all out and look at them, andthen carefully pack them all away again between their layers of softpaper and cotton batting. In the nature of the case, this was anamusement that would pall if too often repeated; so it rarely happenedthat Esther got them out more than three or four times a year. Thistime she had hardly begun to take them out and place them carefully onthe table, when Mrs. Barker came in to lay the cloth for dinner. Esthermust put the casts back, and defer her amusement till another time inthe day. 

Meals were served now for the colonel and his daughter in this sameroom, which served for sitting-room and library. The dining-room wasdisused. Things had come by degrees to this irregularity, Mrs. Barkerfinding that it made her less work, and the colonel in his sorrowfulabstraction hardly knowing and not at all caring where he took hisdinner. The dinner was carefully served, however, and delicatelyprepared; for there Barker's pride came in to her help; and besides, little as Colonel Gainsborough attended now to the food he ate, it isquite possible that he would have rebelled against any disorder in thatdepartment of the household economy. 

The meal times were sorrowful occasions to both the solitary personageswho now sat down to the table. Neither of them had become accustomedyet to the empty place at the board. The colonel ate little and talkednone at all; and only Esther's honest childish appetite saved thesetimes from being seasons of intolerable gloom. Even so, she was alwaysglad when dinner was done. 

By the time that it was over to-day, and the table cleared, Esther'smood had changed; and she no longer found the box of casts attractive. She had seen what was in it so often before, and she knew just what sheshould find. At the same time she was in desperate want of something toamuse her, or at least to pass away the time, which went so slowly ifunaided. She bethought her of trying another box, or series of boxes, over which she had seen her father and mother spend hours together; butthe contents hitherto had not seemed to her interesting. The key was onthe same chain with the key of the casts; Esther sat down on the floorby one of the windows, having shoved one of the boxes into thatneighbourhood, turned the key, and opened the cover. Her father waslying on the couch again and gave her no attention, and Esther made nocall upon him for help. 

An hour or two had passed. Esther had not changed her place, and thebox, which contained a quantity of coins, was still open; but thechild's hands lay idly in her lap, and her eyes were gazing intovacancy. Looking back, perhaps, at the images of former days; smilingimages of light and love, in scenes where her mother's figure filledall the foreground. Colonel Gainsborough did not see how the child satthere, nor what an expression of dull, hopeless sorrow lay upon herfeatures. All the life and variety of which her face was abundantlycapable had disappeared; the corners of the mouth drawn down, the browrigid, the eyes rayless, she sat an image of childish desolation. Shelooked even stupid, if that were possible to Esther's features andcharacter. 

What the father did not see was revealed to another person, who came innoiselessly at the open door. This new-comer was a young man, hardlyyet arrived at the dignity of young manhood; he might have beeneighteen, but he was really older than his years. His figure was welldeveloped, with broad shoulders and slim hips, showing great muscularpower and the symmetry of beauty as well. The face matched the figure;it was strong and fine, full of intelligence and life, and bearing notrace of boyish wilfulness. If wilfulness was there, which I think, itwas rather the considered and consistent wilfulness of a man. As hecame in at the open door, Esther's position and look struck him; hepaused half a minute. Then he came forward, came to the colonel's sofa, and standing there bowed respectfully. 

The colonel's book went down. 'Ah, William, ' said he, in a tone ofindifferent recognition. 

'How do you do, sir, to-day?'

'Not very well! my strength seems to be giving way, I think, bydegrees. '

'We shall have warm weather for you soon again, sir; that will do yougood. '

'I don't know, ' said the colonel. 'I doubt it; I doubt it. Unless itcould give me the power of eating, which it cannot. 

'You have no appetite?'

'That does not express it. '

There was an almost imperceptible flash in the eyes that were lookingdown at him, the features, however, retaining their composed gravity. 

'Perhaps shad will tempt you. We shall have them very soon now. Can'tyou eat shad?'

'Shad, ' repeated the colonel. 'That's your New England piscatorydainty? I have never found out why it is so reckoned. '

'You cannot have eaten them, sir; that's all. That is, not cookedproperly. Take one broiled over a fire of corn cobs. '

'A fire of corn cobs!'

'Yes, sir; over the coals of such a fire, of course, I mean. '

'Ah! What's the supposed advantage?'

'Flavour, sir; gusto; a spicy delicacy, which from being the spirit ofthe fire comes to be the spirit of the fish. It is difficult to putanything so ethereal into words. ' This was spoken with the utmostseriousness. 

'Ah!' said the colonel. 'Possibly. Barker manages those things. '

'You do not feel well enough to read to-day, sir?'

'Yes, ' said the colonel, 'yes. One must do something. As long as onelives, one must try to do something. Bring your book here, William, ifyou please. I can listen, lying here. '

The hour that followed was an hour of steady work. The colonel likedhis young neighbour, who belonged to a family also of Englishextraction, though not quite so recently moved over as the colonel'sown. Still, to all intents and purposes, the Dallases were English; hadEnglish connections and English sympathies; and had not so long mingledtheir blood with American that the colour of it was materially altered. It was natural that the two families should have drawn near together insocial and friendly relations; which relations, however, would havebeen closer if in church matters there had not been a diverging power, which kept them from any extravagance of neighbourliness. This youngfellow, however, whom the colonel called 'William, ' showed acarelessness as to church matters which gave him some of the advantagesof a neutral ground; and latterly, since his wife's death, ColonelGainsborough had taken earnestly to the fine, spirited young man;welcomed his presence when he came; and at last, partly out ofsympathy, partly out of sheer loneliness and emptiness of life, he hadoffered to read the classics with him, in preparation for college. Andthis for several months now they had been doing; so that William was adaily visitor in the colonel's house. 

CHAPTER III. 

_THE BOX OF COINS_. 

The reading went on for a good hour. Then the colonel rose from hissofa and went out, and young Dallas turned to Esther. During this hourEsther had been sitting still in her corner by her boxes; not doinganything; and her face, which had brightened at William's first comingin, had fallen back very nearly to its former heavy expression. Now itlighted up again, as the visitor left his seat and came over to her. Hehad not been so taken up with his reading but he had noticed her fromtime to time; observed the drooping brow and the dull eye, and the sadlines of the lips, and the still, spiritless attitude. He was touchedwith pity for the child, whom he had once been accustomed to see verydifferent from this. He came and threw himself down on the floor by herside. 

'Well, Queen Esther!' said he. 'What have you got there?'

'Coins. '

'Coins! What are you doing with them?'

'Nothing. '

'So it seems. What do you want to do?'

'I wanted to amuse myself. '

'And don't succeed? Naturally. What made you think you would?Numismatology isn't what one would call a _lively_ study. What were yougoing to do with these old things, eh?'

'Nothing, ' said Esther hopelessly. 'I used to hear papa talk aboutthem; and I liked to hear him. '

'Why don't you get him to talk to you about them again?'

'Oh, he was not talking to _me_. '

'To whom, then?'

Esther hesitated; the young man saw a veil of moisture suddenly dim thegrave eyes, and the lips that answered him were a little unsteady. 

'It was mamma, ' she breathed rather than spoke. 

'And you liked to hear?' he went on purposely. 

'Oh, yes. But now I can't understand anything by myself. '

'You can understand by yourself as much as most people I know. Let ussee what you have got here. May I look?'

He lifted a small piece of metal out of its nest, in a shallow traywhich was made by transverse slips of wood to be full of such nests, orlittle square compartments. The trays were beautifully arranged, onefitting close upon another till they filled the box to its utmostcapacity. 

'What have we here? This piece has seen service. Here is a tree, QueenEsther, --a flourishing, spreading tree, --and below it the letters, R. E. P. F. , if I read aright, and then the word "Reich. " What is that, now? "R. E. P. F. Reich. " And here is a motto above, I am sorry to say, so far worn that my reading it is a matter of question. "Er, "--that isplain, --then a worn word, then, "das Land. " Do you understand German?'

'No; I don't know anything. '

'Too sweeping, Queen Esther. But I wish I could read that word! Let ustry the other side. Ha! here we have it. "Lud. Xvi. "--two letters Ican't make out--then "Fr. And Nav. Rex. " Louis the Sixteenth, king ofFrance and Navarre. '

'I know him, I believe, ' said Esther. 'He was beheaded, wasn't he, inthe great French revolution?'

'Just that. He was not a wise man, you know. '

'If he had been a wise man, could he have kept his life?'

'Well, I don't know, Queen Esther, whether any wisdom would have beenwise enough for that. You see, the people of France were mad; and whena people get mad, they don't listen to reason, naturally. Here'sanother, now; what's this? "Zeelandia, 1792, " not so very old. On theother side--here's a shield, peculiar too; with the motto plainenough, --"Luctor et emergo. " A good motto that. '

'What does it mean?'

'It means, something like--"Struggle and come out, " or "comethrough, "--literally, "emerge. " Our English word comes from it. ColonelGainsborough does not teach you Latin, then?'

'No, ' said Esther, sighing. 'He doesn't teach me much lately, ofanything. '

Dallas cast a quick look at the girl, and saw again the expression ofquiet hopelessness that had moved him. He went on turning over thecoins. 

'Do you want to learn Latin?'

'Yes. '

'Why?'

'Why do _you_ want to learn it, Pitt?'

'Well, you see, it is different. I must, you know. But queens are notexpected to know the dead languages--not Queen Esther, at any rate. '

'Do you learn them because it is expected of you?'

The young man laughed a little. 

'Well, there _are_ other reasons. Now here's a device. Two lionsrampant--shield surmounted by a crown; motto, "Sp. Nos in Deo. " _Let ushope in God_. '

'Whose motto was that?'

'Just what I can't make out. I don't know the shield--which I ought toknow; and the reverse of the coin has only some unintelligible letters:D. Gelriae, 1752. Let us try another, Queen Esther. Ha! here's a coinof William and Mary--both their blessed heads and names; and on thereverse a figure three, and the inscription claiming that over GreatBritain, _France_ and Ireland, they were "Rex and Regina. " Why, thisbox of coins is a capital place to study history. '

'I don't know history, ' Esther said. 

'But you are going to know it. '

'Am I? How can I?'

'Read. '

'I don't know what to read. I have just read a little history ofEngland--that's all. Mother gave me that. But when I read, there are somany things I don't know and want to ask about. '

'Ask the colonel. '

'Oh, he doesn't care to be troubled, ' the little girl said sadly. 

'Ask me. '

'_You!_ But you are not here to ask. '

'True; well, we must see. Ah, here's a pretty thing! See, Esther, here's an elegant crown, really beautiful, with the fleurs de lys ofFrance, and the name of the luckless Louis XVI. "Roi de France and deNavarre" but no date. On the other side, "Isles de France and deBourbon. " These coins seem to belong to European history. '

'There's another box with Greek and Roman coins, and, the names ofRoman emperors; but I know _them_ even less still than I do these, 'said Esther. 

'Your want of knowledge seems to weigh upon your mind, Queen Esther. '

'I can't help it, ' said the little girl resignedly. 

'Are you sure of that? I am not. Well, I wish I knew who this is. '

He had taken up a very small coin, much less than a three-cent piece, and with the help of a magnifying glass was studying it eagerly. 

'Why?' said Esther. 

'It is such a beautiful head! Wonderfully beautiful, and old. Crowned, and with a small peaked beard; but the name is so worn off. On theother side "Justitia. " Queen Esther, this box is a first-rate place tostudy history. '

'Is it?'

'It is. What do you say? Suppose you let me come here and study historywith you over these old coins; and then you come over to my house andlearn Latin with me. Hey?'

He glanced up, and Esther looked at him with a wondering, grave, inquiring face. He nodded in answer and smiled, a little quizzically. 

'What do you mean, Pitt?'

'There was a wise man once, who said, the use of language is to concealone's thoughts. I hope you are not labouring under the impression thatsuch is _my_ practice and belief?'

'But would you teach me?' said the girl gravely. 

'If your majesty approves. '

'I think it would be very troublesome to you?'

'I, on the contrary, think it would not. '

'But it would after a little while?' said Esther. 

'When I want to stop, I'll let you know. '

'Will you? Would you?'

'Both would and will. '

The girl's face grew intense with life, yet without losing its gravity. 

'When, Pitt? When would you teach me, I mean?'

'I should say, every day; wouldn't you?'

'And you'll come here to study the coins?'

'And teach you what I learn. '

'Oh! And you'll give me Latin lessons? Lessons to study?'

'Certainly. '

'And we will study history over the coins?'

'Don't you think it will be a good way? Here's a coin of Maria Theresa, now: 1745, Hungary and B�hmen, that is Bohemia. This old piece ofcopper went through the Seven Years' war. '

'What war was that?'

'Oh, we'll read about it, Queen Esther. "Ad usum, " "Belgae, Austria. "These coins are delightful. See here--don't you want to go for a walk?'

'Oh yes! I've had one walk to-day already, and it just makes me wantanother. Did you see my flowers?'

She jumped up and brought them to him. 

'Here's the liverleaf, and anemone, and bloodroot; and we couldn't findthe columbine, but it must be out. Christopher calls them all sorts ofhard names, that I can't remember. '

'_Anemone_ is anemone, at any rate. These two, Esther, this and the_Hepatica_, belong to one great family, the family of theCrowfoots--Ranunculaceae. '

'Oh, but that is harder and harder!'

'No it isn't; it is easier and easier. See, these belong to one family;so you learn to know them as relations, and then you can remember them. '

'How do you know they are of the same family?'

'Well, they have the family features. They all have an acrid sap orjuice, exogenous plants, with many stamens. These are the stamens, doyou know? They have calyx and corolla both, and the corolla hasseparate petals, see; and the Ranunculaceae have the petals and sepalsdeciduous, and the leaves generally cut, as you see these are. They arewhat you may call a bitter family; it runs in the blood, that is tosay, in the juice of them; and a good many of the members of the familyare downright wicked, that is, poisonous. '

'Pitt, you talk very queerly?'

'Not a bit more queer than the things are I am talking of. Now this_Sanguinaria_ belongs to the Papaveraceae--the poppy family. '

'Does it! But it does not look like them, like poppies. '

'This coloured juice that you see when you break the stem, is one ofthe family marks of this family. I won't trouble you with the others. But you must learn to know them, Queen Esther. King Solomon knew everyplant from the royal cedar to the hyssop on the wall; and I am sure aqueen ought to know as much. Now the blood of the Papaveraceae has ataint also; it is apt to have a narcotic quality. '

'What is narcotic?'

'Putting to sleep. '

'That's a good quality. '

'Hm!' said Dallas; 'that's as you take it. It isn't healthy to go sofast asleep that you never can wake up again. '

'Can people do that?' asked Esther in astonishment. 

'Yes. Did you never hear of people killing themselves with laudanum, oropium?'

'I wonder why the poppy family was made so?'

'Why not?'

'So mischievous. '

'That's when people take too much of them. They are very good formedicine sometimes, Queen Esther. '

The girl's appearance by this time had totally changed. All the dull, weary, depressed air and expression were gone; she was alert and erect, the beautiful eyes filled with life and eagerness, a dawning of colourin the cheeks, the brow busy with stirring thoughts. Esther's face wasa grave face still, for a child of her years; but now it was a noblegravity, showing intelligence and power and purpose; indicatingcapacity, and also an eager sympathy with whatever is great and worthyto take and hold the attention. Whether it were history that Dallastouched upon, or natural science; the divisions of nations or theharmonies of plants; Esther was ready, with her thoughtful, intenteyes, taking in all he could give her; and not merely as a snatch-biteof curiosity, but as the satisfaction of a good healthy mental appetitefor mental food. 

Until to-day the young man had never concerned himself much aboutEsther. Good nature had moved him to-day, when he saw the dullness thathad come over the child and recognised her forlorn solitude; and now hebegan to be interested in the development of a nature he had neverknown before. Young Dallas was a student of everything natural thatcame in his way, but this was the first bit of human nature that hadconsciously interested him. He thought it quite worth investigating alittle more. 

CHAPTER IV. 

_LEARNING_. 

They had a most delightful walk. It was not quite the first they hadtaken together; however, they had had none like this. They rovedthrough the meadows and over the low rocky heights and among thecopsewood, searching everywhere for flowers, and finding a good varietyof the dainty and delicate spring beauties. Columbine, most elegant, stood in groups upon the rocks; _Hepatica_ hid under beds of deadleaves; the slender _Uvularia_ was met with here and there; anemone andbloodroot and wild geranium, and many another. And as they weregathered, Dallas made Esther observe their various features and familycharacteristics, and brought her away from Christopher's technicalphraseology to introduce her instead to the living and everlastingrelations of things. To this teaching the little girl presently lent avery delighted ear, and brought, he could see, a quick wit and a keenpower of discrimination. It was one thing to call a delicate littleplant arbitrarily _Sanguinaria canadensis;_ it was another thing tofind it its place among the floral tribes, and recognise its kindredand associations and family character. 

On their way home, Dallas proposed that Esther should stop at his housefor a minute, and become a little familiar with the place where she wasto come to study Latin; and he led her in as he spoke. 

The Dallases' house was the best in the village. Not handsome in itsexterior, which bore the same plain and somewhat clumsy character asall the other buildings in its neighbourhood; but inside it wasspacious, and had a certain homely elegance. Rooms were large andexceedingly comfortable, and furnished evidently with everythingdesired by the hearts of its possessors. That fact has perhaps more todo with the pleasant, _liveable_ air of a house than aesthetic tastesor artistic combinations apart from it. There was a roomy verandah, with settees and cane chairs, and roses climbing up the pillars anddraping the balustrade. The hall, which was entered next, was wide andhomelike, furnished with settees also, and one or two tables, forsummer occupation, when doors could be set open front and back and thewind play through. Nobody was there to-day, and Dallas turned to a doorat the right and opened it. This let them into a large room where afire was burning, and a soft genial warmth met them, along with acertain odour, which Esther noticed and felt without knowing what itwas. It was very faint, yet unmistakeable; and was a compound probablymade up from the old wood of the house, burning coals in the chimney, great cleanliness, and a distant, hidden, secret store of all manner ofdelicate good things, fruits and sweets and spices, of which Mrs. Dallas's store closet held undoubtedly a great stock and variety. Thebrass of the old-fashioned grate glittered in the sunlight, it was sobeautifully kept; between the windows hung a circular mirror, to theframe of which were appended a number of spiral, slim, curlingbranches, like vine tendrils, each sustaining a socket for a candle. The rest of the furniture was good; dark and old and comfortable;painted vases were on the mantelpiece, and an old portrait hung overit. The place made a peculiar agreeable impression upon any oneentering it; ease and comfort and good living were so at home in it, and so invited one to take part in its advantages. Esther had hardlybeen in the house since the death of her mother, and it struck heralmost as a stranger. So did the lady sitting there, in state, as itseemed to the girl. 

For Mrs. Dallas was a stately person. Handsome, tall, of somewhat largeand full figure and very upright carriage; handsomely dressed; and witha calm, superior air of confidence, which perhaps had more effect thanall the other good properties mentioned. She was sitting in aneasy-chair, with some work in her hands, by a little work-table onwhich lay one or two handsomely bound books. She looked up and reviewedEsther as her son and she came in. 

'I have brought Esther Gainsborough, mother; you know her, don't you?'

'I know her, certainly, ' Mrs. Dallas answered, holding out her hand tothe child, who touched it as somewhat embodying a condescension ratherthan a kindness. 'How is your father, my dear?'

'He does not feel very well, ' said Esther; 'but he never does. '

'Pity!' said the lady; but Esther could not tell what she meant. It wasa pity, of course, that her father did not feel well. 'Where have youbeen all this while?' the lady went on, addressing her son. 

'Where?--well, in reality, walking over half the country. See ourflowers! In imagination, over half the world. Do you know what acollection of coins Colonel Gainsborough has?'

'No, ' said the lady coldly. 

'He has a very fine collection. '

'I see no good in coins that are not current. '

'Difference of opinion, you see, there, mother. An old piece, whichwhen it was current was worth only perhaps a farthing or two, now whenits currency is long past would sell maybe for fifty or a hundredpounds. '

'That is very absurd, Pitt!'

'Not altogether. '

'Why not?'

'Those old coins are history. '

'You don't want them for history. You have the history in books. '

Pitt laughed. 

'Come away, Esther, ' he said. 'Come and let me show you where you areto find me when you want me. '

'Find you for what?' asked the lady, before they could quit the room. 

'Esther is coming to take lessons from me, ' he said, throwing his headback laughingly as he went. 

'Lessons! In what?'

'Anything she wants to learn, that I can teach her. We have beenstudying history and botany to-day. Come along, Esther. We shall nottake our lessons _here_. '

He led the way, going out into the hall and at the further end of itpassing into a verandah which there too extended along the back of thehouse. The house on this side had a long offset, or wing, running backat right angles with the main building. The verandah also made an angleand followed the side of this wing, which on the ground floor containedthe kitchen and offices. Half way of its length a stairway ran up, onthe outside, to a door nearer the end of the building. Up this stairyoung Dallas went, and introduced Esther to a large room, which seemedto her presently the oddest and also the most interesting that she hadever in her life seen. Its owner had got together, apparently, the oldbits of furniture that his mother did not want any longer; there was anold table, devoid of all varnish, in the floor, covered, however, witha nice green cloth; two or three chairs were the table'scontemporaries, to judge by their style, and nothing harder or lessaccommodating to the love of ease ever entered surely a cabinetmaker'sbrain. The wood of which they were made had, however, come to be of asoft brown colour, through the influence of time, and the form was notinelegant. The floor was bare and painted, and upon it lay here an oldrug and there a great thick bearskin; and on the walls there wereseveral heads of animals, which seemed to Esther very remarkable andextremely ornamental. One beautiful deer's head, with elegant horns;and one elk head, the horns of which in their sweep and extent weresimply enormous; then there were one or two fox heads, and a raccoon;and besides all these, the room was adorned with two or three birds, very well mounted. The birds, as the animals, were unknown to Esther, and fascinated her greatly. Books were in this room too, though not inlarge numbers; a flower press was in one place, a microscope on thetable, a kind of _�tag�re_ was loaded with papers; and there wereboxes, and glasses, and cases; and a general air of a place where agood deal of business was done, and where a variety of tastes found atleast attempted gratification. It was a pleasant room, though thedescription may not sound like it; the heterogeneous articles were innice order; plenty of light blazed in at the windows, and the bearskinon the floor looked eminently comfortable. If that were luxurious, itwas the only bit of luxury in the room. 

'Where will you sit?' asked its owner, looking round. 'There isn'tanything nice enough for you. I must look up a special chair for you tooccupy when you come here. How do you like my room?'

'I like it--very much, ' said Esther slowly, turning her eyes from onestrange object to another. 

'Nobody comes here but me, so we shall have no interruption to fear. When you come to see me, Queen Esther, you will just go straightthrough the house, out on the piazza, and up these stairs, with outasking anybody; and then you will turn the handle of the door and comein, without knocking. If I am here, well and good; if I am not here, wait for me. You like my deer's horns? I got them up in Canada, where Ihave been on hunting expeditions with my father. '

'Did _you_ kill them?'

'Some of them. But that great elk head I bought. '

'What big bird is that?'

'That? That is the white-headed eagle--the American eagle. '

'Did that come from Canada too?'

'No; I shot him not far from here, one day, by great luck. '

'Are they difficult to shoot?'

'Rather. I sat half a day in a booth made with branches, to get thechance. There were several of them about that day, so I lay in wait. They are not very plenty just about here. That other fellow is thegreat European lammergeyer. '

Esther had placed herself on one of the hard wooden chairs, but now sherose and went nearer the birds, standing before them in greatadmiration. Slowly then she went from one thing in the room to another, pausing to contemplate each. A beautiful white owl, very large andadmirably mounted, held her eyes for some time. 

'That is the Great Northern Owl, ' observed her companion. 'They arefound far up in the regions around the North Pole, and only now andthen come so far south as this. '

'What claws!' said Esther. 

'Talons. Yes, they would carry off a rabbit very easily. '

'Do they!' cried Esther, horrified. 

'I don't doubt that fellow has carried off many a one, as well as hostsof smaller fry--squirrels, mice, and birds. '

'He looks cruel, ' observed Esther, with an abhorrent motion of hershoulders. 

'He does, rather. But he is no more cruel than all the rest. '

'The rest of what?' said Esther, turning towards him. 

'The rest of creation--all the carnivorous portion of it, I mean. '

'Are they all like that? they don't look so. The eyes of pigeons, forinstance, are quite different. '

'Pigeons are not flesh-eaters. '

'Oh!' said Esther wonderingly. 'No, I know; they eat bread and grain;and canary birds eat seeds. Are there _many_ birds that live on flesh?'

'A great many, Queen Esther. All creation, nearly, preys on some otherpart of creation--except that respectable number that are granivorous, and herbivorous, and graminivorous. '

Esther stood before the owl, musing; and Dallas, who was studying thechild now, watched her. 

'But what I want to know, is, ' began Esther, as if she were carrying onan argument, '_why_ those that eat flesh look so much more wicked thanthe others that eat other things?'

'Do they?' said Dallas. 'That is the first question. '

'Why, yes, ' said Esther, 'they do, Pitt. If you will think. There aresheep and cows and rabbits, and doves and chickens'--

'Halt there!' cried Dallas. 'Chickens are as good flesh-eaters asanybody, and as cruel about it, too. See two chickens pulling at thetwo ends of one earthworm. '

'Oh, don't!' said Esther. 'I remember they do; and they haven't niceeyes either, Pitt. But little turkeys have. '

Dallas burst out laughing. 

'Well, just think, ' Esther persisted. 'Think of horses' beautiful eyes;and then think of a tiger. '

'Or a cat, ' said Dallas. 

'But why is it, Pitt?'

'Queen Esther, my knowledge, such as it is, is all at your majesty'sservice; but the information required lies not therein. '

'Well, isn't it true, what I said?'

'I am inclined to think, and will frankly admit, that there issomething in it. '

'Then don't you think there must be a _real_ difference, to make themlook so different? and that I wasn't wrong when I called the owl cruel!'

'The study of animal psychology, so far as I know, has never beencarried into a system. Meanwhile, suppose we come from what I cannotteach, to what I can? Here's a Latin grammar for you. '

Esther came to his side immediately, and listened with grave attentionto his explanations and directions. 

'And you want me to learn these declensions?'

'It is a necessary preliminary to learning Latin. '

Esther took the book with a very awakened and contented face; then puta sudden irrelevant question. 'Pitt, why didn't you tell Mrs. Dallaswhat you were going to teach me?'

The young man looked at her, somewhat amused, but not immediately readywith an answer. 

'Wouldn't she like you to give me lessons?'

'I never asked her, ' he answered gravely. 

Esther looked at him, inquiring and uncertain. 

'I never asked her whether I might take lessons from your father, either. '

'No, of course not; but'--

'But what?'

'I don't know. I don't want to do it if she would not like it. '

'Why shouldn't she like it? She has nothing to do with it. It is I whoam going to give you the lessons, not she. And now for a lesson inbotany. '

He brought out a quantity of his dried flowers, beautifully preservedand arranged; and showed Esther one or two groups of plants, giving hervarious initiatory instruction by the way. It was a most delightfulhalf hour to the little girl; and she went home after it, with herLatin grammar in her hands, very much aroused and wakened up andcheered from her dull condition of despondency; just what Pitt hadintended. 

CHAPTER V. 

_CONTAMINATION_. 

The lessons went on, and the interest on both sides knew no flagging. Dallas had begun by way of experiment, and he was quite contented withhis success. In his room, over Latin and botany, at her own home, overhistory and the boxes of coins, he and Esther daily spent a good dealof time together. They were pleasant enough hours to him; but to herthey were sources of life-giving nourishment and delight. The girl hadbeen leading a forlorn existence; mentally in a desert and alone; and, added to that, with an unappeased longing for her departed mother, andsilent, quiet, wearing grief for the loss of her. Even now, herfeatures often settled into the dulness which had so struck Dallas; butgradually there was a lightening and lifting of the cloud: whenstudying she was wholly intent on her business, and when talking orreciting or examining flowers there was a play of life and thought andfeeling in her face which was a constant study to her young teacher, aswell as pleasure, for the change was his work. He read indications ofstrong capacity; he saw the tokens of rare sensitiveness and delicacy;he saw there was a power of feeling as well as a capacity for sufferingcovered by the quiet composure and reserve of manner and habit which, he knew, were rather signs of the depth of that which they covered. Esther interested him. And then, she was so simply upright and honest, and so noble in all her thoughts, so high-bred by nature as well aseducation, that her young teacher's estimation constantly grew, and tointerest was soon added liking. He had half expected that when thenovelty was off the pleasure of study would be found to falter; but itwas no such matter. Esther studied as honestly as if she had been afifth form boy at a good school; with a delight in it which boys atschool, in any form, rarely bring to their work. She studiedabsorbedly, eagerly, persistently; whatever pleasure she might get bythe way, she was plainly bent on learning; and she learned of coursefast. And in the botanical studies they carried on together, and in thehistorical studies which had the coins for an illumination, the childshowed as keen enjoyment as other girls of her age are wont to feel ina story-book or in games and plays. Of games and plays Esther knewnothing; she had no young companions, and never had known any; herintercourse had been almost solely with father and mother, and now onlythe father was left to her. She would have been in danger of growingmorbid in her sorrow and loneliness, and her whole nature might havebeen permanently and without remedy dwarfed, if at this time of herlife she had been left to grow like the wild things in the woods, without sympathy or care. For some human plants need a good deal ofboth to develop them to their full richness and fragrance; and Estherwas one of these. The loss of her mother had threatened to be anirreparable injury to her. Colonel Gainsborough was a tenderlyaffectionate father: still, like a good many men, he did not understandchild nature, could not adapt himself to it, had no sort of notion ofits wants, and no comprehension that it either needed or could receiveand return his sympathy. So he did not give sympathy to his child, nordreamed that she was in danger of starving for want of it. Indeed, hehad never in his life given much sympathy to anybody, except his wife;and in the loss of his wife, Colonel Gainsborough thought so much ofhimself was lost that the remainder probably would not last long. Hethought himself wounded to death. That it might be desirable, and thatit might be duty to live for his daughter's sake, was an idea that hadnever entered his very masculine heart. Yet Colonel Gainsborough was agood man, and even had the power of being a tender one; he had beenthat towards his wife; but when she died he felt that life had gonefrom him. 

All this, more or less, young Dallas came to discern and understand inthe course of his associations with the father and daughter. And now itwas with a little pardonable pride and a good deal of growingtenderness for the child, that he saw the change going on in Esther. She was always, now as before, quiet as a mouse in her father'spresence; truly she was quiet as a mouse everywhere; but under theoutward quiet Dallas could see now the impulse and throb of the strongand sensitive life within; the stir of interest and purpose and hope;the waking up of the whole nature; and he saw that it was a nature ofgreat power and beauty. It was no wonder that the face through whichthis nature shone was one of rare power and beauty too. Others couldsee that, besides him. 

'What a handsome little girl that is!' remarked the elder Dallas oneevening. Esther had just left the house, and his son come into the room. 

'It seems to me she is here a great deal, ' Mrs. Dallas said, after apause. The remark about Esther's good looks called forth no response. 'I see her coming and going pretty nearly every day. '

'Quite every day, ' her son answered. 

'And you go there every day!'

'I do. About that. '

'Very warm intercourse!'

'I don't know; not necessarily, ' said young Dallas. 'The classics arerather cool--and Numismatics refreshing and composing. '

'Numismatics! You are not teaching that child Numismatics, I suppose?'

'She is teaching me. '

Mrs. Dallas was silent now, with a dissatisfied expression. Her husbandrepeated his former remark. 

'She's a handsome little maid. Are you teaching her, Pitt?'

'A little, sir. '

'What, pray? if I may ask. '

'Teaching her to support existence. It about comes to that. '

'I do not understand you, I confess. You are oracular. '

'I did not understand _her_, until lately. It is what nobody else does, by the way. '

'Why should not anybody else understand her?' Mrs. Dallas asked. 

'Should, --but they do not. That's a common case, you know, mother. '

'She has her father; what's the matter with him?'

'He thinks a good deal is the matter with him. '

'Regularly hipped, ' said the elder Dallas. 'He has never held up hishead since his wife died. He fancies he is going after her as fast ashe can go. Perhaps he is; such fancies are often fatal. '

'It would do him good to look after his child, ' Mrs. Dallas said. 

'I wish you would put that in his head, mother. '

'Does he _not_ look after her?'

'In a sort of way. He knows where she is and where she goes; he has asort of outward care of her, and so far it is very particular care; butthere it stops. '

'She ought to be sent to school. '

'There is no school here fit for her. '

'Then she should be sent away, where there _is_ a school fit for her. '

'Tell the colonel so. '

'I shall not meddle in Colonel Gainsborough's affairs, ' said Mrs. Dallas, bridling a little; 'he is able to manage them himself; or hethinks he is, which comes to the same thing. But I should say, thatchild might better be in any other hands than his. '

'Well, she is not shut up to them, ' said young Dallas, 'since I havetaken her in hand. '

He strolled out of the room as he spoke, and the two elder people wereleft together. Silence reigned between them till the sound of his stepshad quite ceased to be heard. 

Mrs. Dallas was working at some wool embroidery, and taking herstitches with a thoughtful brow; her husband in his easy-chair wascarelessly turning over the pages of a newspaper. They were a contrast. She had a tall, commanding figure, a gracious but dignified manner, anda very handsome, stately face. There was nothing commanding, andnothing gracious, about Mr. Dallas. His figure was rather small, andhis manner insignificant. He was not a handsome man, either, althoughhe may be said to have but just missed it, for his features werecertainly good; but he did miss it. Nobody spoke in praise of Mr. Dallas's appearance. Yet his face showed sense; his eyes were shrewd, if they were also cold; and the mouth was good; but the man's whole airwas unsympathetic. It was courteous enough; and he was careful andparticular in his dress. Indeed, Mr. Dallas was careful of all thatbelonged to him. He wore long English whiskers of sandy hair, the headcrop being very thin and kept very close. 

'Hildebrand, ' said Mrs. Dallas when the sound of her son's footstepshad died away, 'when are you going to send Pitt to college?'

Mr. Dallas turned another page of his newspaper, and did not hurry hisanswer. 

'Why?'

'And _where_ are you going to send him?'

'Really, ' said Mr. Dallas, without ceasing his contemplation of thepage before him, 'I do not know. I have not considered the matterlately. '

'Do you remember he is eighteen?'

'I thought you were not ready to let him go yet?'

Mrs. Dallas stopped her embroidery and sighed. 

'But he must go, husband. '

Mr. Dallas made no answer. He seemed not to find the question pressing. Mrs. Dallas sat looking at him now, neglecting her work. 

'You have got to make up your mind to it, and so have I, ' she went onpresently. 'He is ready for college. All this pottering over theclassics with Colonel Gainsborough doesn't amount to anything. It keepshim out of idleness, --if Pitt ever could be idle, --but he has got to goto college after all, sooner or later. He must go!' she repeated withanother sigh. 

'No special hurry, that I see. '

'What's gained by delay? He's eighteen. That's long enough for him tohave lived in a place like this. If I had my way, Hildebrand, I shouldsend him to England. '

'England!' Mr. Dallas put down his paper now and looked at his wife. What had got into her head?

'Oxford is better than the things they call colleges in this country. '

'Yes; but it is farther off. '

'That's not a bad thing, in some respects. Hildebrand, you don't wantPitt to be formed upon the model of things in this country. You wouldnot have him get radical ideas, or Puritanical. '

'Not much danger!'

'I don't know. '

'Who's to put them in his head? Gainsborough is not a bit of a radical. '

'He is not one of us, ' said Mrs. Dallas. 'And Pitt is very independent, and takes his own views from nobody or from anybody. See his educatingthis girl, now. '

'Educating her!'

'Yes, he is with her and her father a great piece of every day; readingand talking and walking and drying flowers and giving lessons. I don'tknow what all they are doing. But in my opinion Pitt might be betteremployed. '

'That won't last, ' said the father with a half laugh. 

'What ought not to last, had better not be begun, ' Mrs. Dallas saidsententiously. 

There was a pause. 

'What are you afraid of, wife?'

'I am afraid of Pitt's wasting his time. '

'You have never been willing to have him go until now. I thought youstood in the way. '

'He was not wasting his time until lately. He was as well at home. Butthere must come an end to that, ' the mother said, with another slightsigh. She was not a woman given to sighing; it meant much from her. 

'But England?' said Mr. Dallas. 'What's your notion about England?Oxford is very well, but the ocean lies between. '

'Where would _you_ send him?'

'I'd send him to the best there is on this side. '

'That's not Oxford. I believe it would be good for him to be out ofthis country for a while; forget some of his American notions, and getright English ones. Pitt is a little too independent. '

The elder Dallas caressed his whiskers and pondered. If the truth weretold, he had been about as unwilling to let his son go away from homeas ever his mother could be. Pitt was simply the delight and pride ofboth their hearts; the one thing they lived for; the centre of allhopes, and the end of all undertakings. No doubt he must go to college;but the evil day had been pushed far off, as far as possible. Pitt wasa son for parents to be proud of. He had the good qualities of bothfather and mother, with some added of his own which they did not share, and which perhaps therefore increased their interest in him. 

'I expect he will have a word to say about the matter himself, ' thefather remarked. 'Oh, well! there's no raging hurry, wife. '

'Husband, it would be a good thing for him to see the English Church asit is in England, before he gets much older. '

'What then?'

'He would learn to value it. The cathedrals, and the noble services inthem, and the bishops; and the feeling that everybody around him goesthe same way; there's a great deal of power in that. Pitt would beimpressed by it. '

'By the feeling that everybody around him goes that way? Not he. That'squite as likely to stir him up to go another way. '

'It don't work so, Hildebrand. '

'You think he's a likely fellow to be talked over into anything?'

'No; but he would be influenced. Nobody would try to talk him over, andwithout knowing it he would feel the influence. He couldn't help it. All the influence at Oxford would be the right way. '

'Afraid of the colonel? I don't think you need. He hasn't spirit enoughleft in him for proselyting. '

'I am not speaking of anybody in particular. I am afraid of the airhere. '

Mr. Dallas laughed a little, but his face took a shade of gravity ithad not worn. Must he send his son away? What would the house bewithout him?

CHAPTER VI. 

_GOING TO COLLEGE_. 

Whatever thoughts were harboured in the elder heads, nothing was spokenopenly, and no steps were taken for some time. All through the summerthe pleasant intercourse went on, and the lessons, and the botanizing, and the study of coins. And much real work was done; but for Esther oneinvaluable and abiding effect of a more general character was gained. She was lifted out of her dull despondency, which had threatened tobecome stagnation, and restored to her natural life and energy and thefresh spring of youthful spirits. So, when her friend really went awayto college in the fall, Esther did not slip back to the condition fromwhich he had delivered her. 

But the loss of him was a dreadful loss to the child, although Pitt wasnot going over the sea, and would be home at Christmas. He tried tocomfort her with this prospect. Esther took no comfort. She sat silent, tearless, pale, in a kind of despair. Pitt looked at her, half amused, half deeply concerned. 

'And you must go on with all your studies, Esther, you know, ' he wassaying. 'I will show you what to do, and when I come home I shall gointo a very searching examination to see whether you have done it allthoroughly. '

'Will you?' she said, lifting her eyes to him with a gleam of suddenhope. 

'Certainly! I shall give you lessons just as usual whenever I comehome; indeed, I expect I shall do it all your life. I think I shallalways be teaching and you always be learning. Don't you think that ishow it will be, Queen Esther?' he said kindly. 

'You cannot give me lessons when you are away. '

'But when I come back!'

There was a very faint yet distinct lightening of the gloom in herface. Yet it was plain Esther was not cheated out of her perception ofthe truth. She was going to lose her friend; and his absence would bevery different from his presence; and the bits of vacation time wouldnot help, or help only by anticipation, the long stretches of months inwhich there would be neither sight nor sound of him. Esther's looks hadbrightened for a moment, but then her countenance fell again and herface grew visibly pale. Pitt saw it with dismay. 

'But Esther!' he said, 'this is nothing. Every man must go to college, you know, just as he must learn swimming and boating; and so I must go;but it will not last for ever. '

'How long?' said she, lifting her eyes to him again, heavy with theirburden of sorrow. 

'Well, perhaps three years; unless I enter Junior, and then it would beonly two. That isn't much. '

'What will you do then?'

'Then? I don't know. Look after you, at any rate. Let us see. How oldwill you be in two years?'

'Almost fourteen. '

'Fourteen. Well, you see you will have a great deal to do before youcan afford to be fourteen years old; so much that you will not havetime to miss me. '

Esther made no answer. 

'I'll be back at Christmas anyhow, you know; and that's only threemonths away, or a little more. '

'For how long?'

'Never mind; we will make a little do the work of a great deal. It willseem a long time, it will be so good. '

'No, ' said Esther; 'that will make it only the shorter. '

'Why, Esther, ' said he, half laughing, 'I didn't know you cared so muchabout me. I don't deserve all that. '

'I am not crying, ' said the girl, rising with a sort of childishdignity; 'but I shall be alone. '

They had been sitting on a rock, resting and talking, and now set outagain to go home. Esther spoke no more; and Pitt was silent, notknowing what to say; but he watched her, and saw that if she had notbeen crying at the time she had made that declaration, the tears hadtaken their revenge and were coming now. Yet only in a calm, repressedway; now and then he saw a drop fall, or caught a motion of Esther'shand which could only have been made to prevent a drop from falling. She walked along steadily, turning neither to the right hand nor theleft; she who ordinarily watched every hedgerow and ran to exploreevery group of plants in the corner of a field, and was keen to seeeverything that was to be seen in earth or heaven. Pitt walked alongsilently too. He was at a careless age, but he was a generous-mindedfellow; and to a mind of that sort there is something exceedinglyattractive and an influence exceedingly powerful in the fact of beingtrusted and depended on. 

'Mother, ' he said when he got home, 'I wish you would look after thatlittle girl now and then. '

'What little girl?'

'You must know whom I mean; the colonel's daughter. '

'The colonel is sufficient for that, I should say. '

'But you know what sort of a man he is. And she has no mother, noranybody else, except servants. '

'Isn't he fond of her?'

'Very fond; but then he isn't well, and he is a reserved, silent man;the child is left to herself in a way that is bad for her. '

'What do you suppose I can do?'

'A great deal; if you once knew her and got fond of her, mother. '

Mrs. Dallas made no promise; however, she did go to see Esther. It wasabout a week after Pitt's departure. She found father and daughter verymuch as her son had found them the day he was introduced to the box ofcoins. Esther was on the floor, beside the same box, and the colonelwas on his sofa. Mrs. Dallas did take the effect of the picture forthat moment before the colonel sprang up to receive her. Then she hadto do with a somewhat formal but courtly host, and the picture waslost. The lady sat there, stately in her silks and laces, carrying on astiff conversation; for she and Colonel Gainsborough had few points ofsympathy or mutual understanding; and for a while she forgot Esther. Then her eye again fell upon the child in her corner, sitting by herbox with a sad, uninterested air. 

'And how is Esther?' she said, turning herself a little towards thatend of the room. 'Really I came to see Esther, colonel. How does shedo?'

'She is much obliged to you, and quite well, madam, I believe. '

'But she must want playmates, colonel. Why don't you send her toschool?'

'I would, if there were a good school at hand. '

'There are schools at New Haven, and Hartford, and Boston, --plenty ofschools that would suit you. '

'Only that, as you observe, they are at New Haven, and Hartford, andBoston; out of my reach. '

'You couldn't do without her for a while?'

'I hardly think it; nor she without me. We are all, each of us, thatthe other has. '

'Pitt used to give you lessons, didn't he?' the lady went on, turningmore decidedly to Esther. Esther rose and came near. 

'Yes, ma'am. '

'What did he teach you?'

Now Esther felt no more congeniality than her father did with thishandsome, stately, commanding woman. Yet it would have been impossibleto the girl to say why she had an instant unwillingness to answer thissimple question. She did not answer it, except under protest. 

'It began with the coins, ' she said vaguely. 'He said we would studyhistory with them. '

'And did you?'

'Yes, ma'am. '

'How did you manage it? or how did he? He has original ways of doingthings. '

'Yes, ma'am. We used to take only one or two of the coins at once, andthen Pitt told me what to read. '

'What did he tell you to read?'

'A great many different books, at different times. '

'But tell Mrs. Dallas what books, Esther, ' her father put in. 

'There were so many, papa. Gibbon's History, and Plutarch's Lives, andRollin, and Vertot and Hume, and I--forget some of them. '

'How much of all these did you really read, Esther?'

'I don't know, ma'am. I read what he told me. '

The lady turned to Colonel Gainsborough with a peculiar smile. 'Soundsrather heterogeneous!' she said. 

It was on Esther's lips to justify her teacher, and say how far fromheterogeneous, how connected, and how thorough, and how methodical, thereading and the study had been; and how enriched with talk andexplanations and descriptions and discussions. How delightful thoseconversations were, both to herself and Pitt; how living the truth hadbeen made; how had names and facts taken on them the shape andcolouring of nature and reality. It rushed back upon Esther, and herlips opened; and then, an inexplicable feeling of something likecaution came down upon her, and she shut her lips again. 

'It was harmless amusement, ' remarked the colonel carelessly. 

Whether the mother thought that, may be questioned. She looked again atthe child standing before her; a child truly, with childlike innocenceand ignorance in her large eyes and pure lips. But the eyes were eyesof beauty; and the lips would soon and readily take to themselves thesweetness and the consciousness of womanhood, and a new bloom wouldcome upon the cheek. The colonel had never yet looked forward to allthat; but the wise eyes of the matron saw it as well as if alreadybefore her. This little girl might well by and by be dangerous. If Mrs. Dallas had come as a friend, she went away, in a sort, as an enemy, inso far, at least, as Esther's further and future relations with her sonwere concerned. 

The colonel went back to his sofa. Esther sat down again by the coins. She was not quite old enough to reflect much upon the developments ofhuman nature as they came before her; but she was conscious of adisagreeable, troubled sensation left by this visit of Mrs. Dallas. Ithad not been pleasant. It ought to have been pleasant: she was Pitt'smother; she came on a kind errand; but Esther felt at once repelled andput at a distance. 

The child had not gone back to the dull despondency of the time beforePitt busied himself with her; she was striving to fulfil all hiswishes, and working hard in order to accomplish more than he expectedof her. With the cherished secret hope of doing this, Esther wasdriving at her books early and late. She went from the coins to thehistories Pitt had told her would illustrate them; she fagged away atthe dry details of her Latin grammar; she even tried to push herknowledge of plants and see further into their relations with eachother, though in this department she felt the want of her teacherparticularly. From day to day it was the one pressing desire andpurpose in Esther's mind, to do more, and if possible much more, thanPitt wanted her to do; so that she might surprise him and win hisrespect and approbation. She thought, too, that she was in a fair wayto do this, for she was gaining knowledge fast, she knew; and it was agreat help towards keeping up spirit and hope and healthy action in hermind. Nevertheless, she missed her companion and friend, with anintense longing want of him which nobody even guessed. All the morekeen it was, perhaps, because she could speak of it to nobody. Itconsumed the girl in secret, and was only saved from being disastrousto her by the transformation of it into working energy, whichtransformation daily went on anew. It did not help her much, or shethought so, to remember that Pitt was coming home at the end ofDecember. He would not stay; and Esther was one of those thoughtfulnatures that look all round a subject, and are not deceived by a firstfair show. He could not stay; and what would his coming and the delightof it do, after all, but renew this terrible sense of want and make itworse than ever? When he went away again, it would be for a long, longtime, --an absence of months; how was it going to be borne?

The problem of life was beginning early for Esther. And the child wasalone. Nobody knew what went on in her; she had nobody to whom shecould open her heart and tell her trouble; and the troubles we can tellto nobody else somehow weigh very heavy, especially in young years. Thecolonel loved his child with all of his heart that was not buried inhis wife's grave; still, he was a man, and like most men had littleunderstanding of the workings of a child's mind, above all of a girl's. He saw Esther pale, thoughtful, silent, grave, for ever busy with herbooks; and it never crossed his thoughts that such is not the naturalcondition and wholesome manner of life for twelve years old. He knewnothing for himself so good as books; why should not the same be truefor Esther? She was a studious child; he was glad to see her sosensible. 

As for Pitt, he had fallen upon a new world, and was busily finding hisfeet, as it were. Finding his own place, among all these otheraspirants for human distinction; testing his own strength, among thecombatants in this wrestling school of human life; earning his laurelsin the race for learning; making good his standing and trying his poweramid the waves and currents of human influence. Pitt found his standinggood, and his strength quite equal to the call for it, and his powerdominating. At least it would have been dominating, if he had cared torule; all he cared for, as it happened, in that line, was to beindependent and keep his own course. He had done that always at home, and he found no difficulty in doing it at college. For the rest, hisabilities were unquestioned, and put him at once at the head of hisfellows. 

CHAPTER VII. 

_COMING HOME_. 

Without being at all an unfaithful friend, it must be confessed Pitt'smind during this time was full of the things pertaining to his own newlife, and he thought little of Esther. He thought little of anybody; hewas not at a sentimental age, nor at all of a sentimental disposition, and he had enough else to occupy him. It was not till he had put thecollege behind him, and was on his journey home, that Esther's imagerose before his mental vision; the first time perhaps for months. Itsmote him then with a little feeling of compunction. He recollected thechild's sensitive nature, her clinging to him, her lonely condition;and the grave, sad eyes seemed to reproach him with having forgottenher. He had not forgotten her; he had only not remembered. He mighthave taken time to write her one little letter; but he had not thoughtof it. Had she ceased to think of _him_ in any corresponding way? Pittwas very sure she had not. Somehow his fancy was very busy with Estherduring this journey home. He was making amends for months of neglect. Her delicate, tender, faithful image seemed to stand beforehim;--forgetfulness would never be charged upon Esther, norcarelessness of anything she ought to care for;--of that he was sure. He was quite ashamed of himself, that he had sent her never a littletoken of remembrance in all this time. He recalled the girl's eagernessin study, her delight in learning, her modest, well-bred manner; herevident though unconscious loving devotion to himself, and her profoundgrief at his going away. There were very noble qualities in that younggirl that would develop--into what might they develop? and how wouldthose beautiful thoughtful eyes look from a woman's soul by and by? Hadhis mother complied with his request and shown any kindness to thechild? Pitt had no special encouragement to think so. And what a lifeit must be for such a creature, at twelve years old, to be alone withthat taciturn, reserved, hypochondriac colonel?

It was near evening when the stage-coach brought Pitt to his nativevillage and set him down at home. There was no snow on the ground yet, and his steps rang on the hard frozen path as he went up to the door, giving clear intimation of his approach. Within there was waiting. Themother and father were sitting at the two sides of the fireplace, busywith keeping up the fire to an unmaintainable standard of brilliancy, and looking at the clock; now and then exchanging a remark about theweather, the way, the distance, and the proper time of the expectedarrival, --till that sharp sound of a step on the gravel came to theirears, and both parents started up and rushed to the door. There was ageneral confusion of kisses and hand-clasps and embraces, from whichPitt at last emerged. 

'Oh, my boy, how late you are!'

'Not at all, mother; just right. '

'A tedious, cold ride, hadn't you?'

'No, mother; not at all. Roads in capital order; smooth as a plankfloor; came along splendidly; but there'll be snow to-morrow. '

'Oh, I hope not, till you get the greens!'

'Oh, I'll get the greens, never fear; and put them up, too. '

Wherewith they entered the brilliantly-lighted room, where the suppertable stood ready, and all eyes could meet eyes, and read tokens eachof the other's condition. 

'He looks well, ' said Mrs. Dallas, regarding her son. 

'Why shouldn't I look well?'

'Hard work, ' suggested the mother. 

'Work is good for a fellow. I never got hard work enough yet. But homeis jolly, mother. That's the use of going away, I suppose, ' said theyoung man, drawing a chair comfortably in front of the fire; while Mrs. Dallas rang for supper and gave orders, and then sat down to gaze athim with those mother's eyes that are like nothing else in the world. Searching, fond, proud, tender, devoted, --Pitt met them and smiled. 

'I am all right, ' he said. 

'Looks so, ' said the father contentedly. 'Hold your own, Pitt?'

'Yes, sir. '

'Ahead of everybody?'

'Yes, sir, ' said the young man, a little more reservedly. 

'I knew it!' said the elder man, rubbing his hands; 'I thought I knewit. I made sure you would. '

'He hasn't worked too hard either, ' said the mother, with a careful eyeof examination. 'He looks as he ought to look. '

A bright glance of the eye came to her. 'I tell you I never had enoughto do yet, ' he said. 

'And, Pitt, do you like it?'

'Like what, mother?'

'The place, and the work, and the people?--the students and theprofessors?'

'That's what I should call a comprehensive question! You expect one yesor no to cover all that?'

'Well, how do you like the people?'

'Mother, when you get a community like that of a college town, you havesomething of a variety of material, don't you see? The people are allsorts. But the faculty are very well, and some of them capital fellows. '

'Have you gone into society much?'

'No, mother. Had something else to do. '

'Time enough for that, ' said the elder Dallas contentedly. 'When a manhas the money you'll have, my boy, he may pretty much command society. '

'Some sorts, ' said Pitt. 

'All sorts. '

'Must be a poor kind of society, I should say, that makes money thefirst thing. '

'It's the best sort you can get in this world, ' said the elder man, chuckling. 'There's nothing but money that will buy bread and butter;and they all want bread and butter. You'll find they all want bread andbutter, whatever else they want, --or have. '

'Of course they want it; but what has that to do with society?'

'You'll find out, ' said the other, with an unctuous kind of complacency. 

'But there's no society in this country, ' said Mrs. Dallas. 'Now, Pitt, turn your chair round, --here's the supper, --if you want to sit by thefire, that is. '

The supper was a royal one, for Mrs. Dallas was a good housekeeper; andthe tone of it was festive, for the spirits of them all were in a verygay and Christmas mood. So it was with a good deal of surprise as wellas chagrin that Mrs. Dallas, after supper, saw her son handling hisgreatcoat in the hall. 

'Pitt, you are not going out?'

'Yes, mother, for a little while. '

'Where can you be going?'

'I want to run over to Colonel Gainsborough's for a minute or two. '

'Colonel Gainsborough! You don't want to see him to-night?'

'Neither to-night nor any time--at least I can live without it; butthere's somebody else there that would like to see me. I'll be backsoon, mother. '

'But, Pitt, that is quite absurd! That child can wait till morning, surely; and I want you myself. I think I have a better claim. '

'You have had me a good while already, and shall have me again, ' saidPitt, laughing. 'I am just going to steal a little bit of the evening, mother. Be generous!'

And he opened the hall door and was off, and the door closed behindhim. Mrs. Dallas went back to the supper room with a very discomfitedface. 

'Hildebrand, ' she said, in a tone that made her husband look up, 'thereis no help for it! We shall have to send him to England. '

'What now?'

'Just what I told you. He's off to see that child. Off like the Northwind!--and no more to be held. '

'That's nothing new. He never could be held. Pity we didn't name himBoreas. '

'But do you see what he is doing?'

'No. '

'He is off to see that child. '

'That child to-day, and another to-morrow. He's a boy yet. '

'Hildebrand, I tell you there is danger. '

'Danger of what?'

'Of what you would not like. '

'My dear, young men do not fall dangerously in love with children. Andthat little girl is a child yet. '

'You forget how soon she will be not a child. And she is going to be avery remarkable-looking girl, I can tell you. And you must not forgetanother thing, husband; that Pitt is as persistent as he is wilful. '

'He's got a head, I think, ' said Mr. Dallas, stroking his whiskersthoughtfully. 

'_That_ won't save him. It never saved anybody. Men with heads are justas much fools, in certain circumstances, as men without them. '

'He might fancy some other child in England, if we sent him there, youknow. '

'Yes; but at least she would be a Churchwoman, ' said Mrs. Dallas, withher handsome face all cloudy and disturbed. 

Meanwhile her son had rushed along the village street, or road rather, through the cold and darkness, the quarter of a mile to ColonelGainsborough's house. There he was told that the colonel had a badheadache and was already gone to his room. 

'Is Miss Esther up?'

'Oh yes, sir, ' said Mrs. Barker doubtfully, but she did not invite thevisitor in. 

'Can I see her for a moment?'

'I haven't no orders, but I suppose you can come in, Mr. Dallas. It isMr. Dallas, ain't it?'

'Yes, it's I, Mrs. Barker, ' said Pitt, coming in and beginning at onceto throw off his greatcoat. 'In the usual room? Is the colonel lesswell than common?'

'Well, no, sir, not to call less well, as I knows on. It's the time o'year, sir, I make bold to imagine. He has a headache bad, that he has, and he's gone off to bed; but Miss Esther's well--so as she can be. '

Pitt got out of his greatcoat and gloves, and waited for no more. Hehad a certain vague expectation of the delight his appearance wouldgive, and was a little eager to see it. So he went in with a brightface to surprise Esther. 

The girl was sitting by the table reading a book she had laid closeunder the lamp; reading with a very grave face, Pitt saw too, and it alittle sobered the brightness of his own. It was not the dulness ofstagnation or of sorrow this time; at least Esther was certainly busilyreading; but it was sober, steady business, not the absorption of happyinterest or excitement. She looked up carelessly as the door opened, then half incredulously as she saw the entering figure, then she shuther book and rose to meet him. But then she did not show the livelypleasure he had expected; her face flushed a little, she hardly smiled, she met him as if he were more or less a stranger, --with much moredignity and less eagerness than he was accustomed to from her. Pitt wasastonished, and piqued, and curious. However, he followed her lead, ina measure. 

'How do you do, Queen Esther?' he said, holding out his hand. 

'How do you do, Pitt?' she answered, taking it; but with the oddestmingling of reserve and doubt in her manner; and the great grave eyeswere lifted to his face for a moment, with, it seemed to him, somethingof inquiry or questioning in them. 

'Are you not glad to see me?'

'Yes, ' she said, with another glance. 

'Then _why_ are you not glad to see me?' he asked impetuously. 

'I am glad to see you, of course, ' she said. 'Won't you sit down?'

'This won't do, you know, ' said the young man, half-vexed andhalf-laughing, but wholly determined not to be kept at a distance inthis manner. 'I am not going to sit down, if you are going to treat melike that. '

'Treat you how?'

'Why, as if I were a stranger, that you didn't care a pin about. What'sthe matter, Queen Esther?'

Esther was silent. Pitt was half-indignant; and then he caught theshimmer of something like moisture in the eyes, which were looking awayfrom him to the fire, and his mood changed. 

'What is it, Esther?' he said kindly. 'Take a seat, your majesty, andI'll do the same. I see there is some talking to be done here. '

He took the girl's hand and put her in her chair, and himself drew upanother near. 'Now what's the matter, Esther? Have you forgotten me?'

'No, ' she said. 'But I thought--perhaps--you had forgotten me. '

'What made you think that?'

'You were gone away, ' she said, hesitating; 'you were busy; papa said'--

'What did he say?'

'He said, probably I would never see you much more. '

But here the tears came to view undeniably; welled up, and filled theeyes, and rolled over. Esther brushed them hastily away. 

'And I hadn't the decency to write to you? Had that something to dowith it?'

'I thought--if you _had_ remembered me, you would perhaps have written, just a little word, ' Esther confessed, with some hesitation anddifficulty. Pitt was more touched and sorry than he would have supposedbefore that such a matter could make him. 

'Look here, Esther, ' he said. 'There are two or three things I want youto take note of. The first is, that you must never judge byappearances. '

'Why not?' asked Esther, considering him and this statement together. 

'Because they are deceptive. They mislead. '

'Do they?'

'Very frequently. '

'What is one to judge by, then?'

'Depends. In this case, by your knowledge of the person concerned. '

Esther looked at him, and a warmer shine came into her eye. 

'Yes, ' she said, 'I thought it was not like you to forget. But then, papa said I would not be likely to see much more of you--ever'--(Esthergot the words out with some difficulty, without, however, breakingdown)--'and I thought, I had to get accustomed to doing withoutyou--and I had better do it. '

'_Why_ should you not see much more of me?' Pitt demanded energetically. 

'You would be going away. '

'And coming back again!'

'But going to England, perhaps. '

'Who said that?'

'I don't know. I think Mrs. Dallas told papa. '

'Well, now look here, Queen Esther, ' Pitt said, more moderately: 'Itold you, in the first place, you are not to judge by appearances. Doyou see that you have been mistaken in judging me?'

She looked at him, a look that moved him a good deal, there was so muchwistfulness in it; so much desire revealed to find him what she hadfound him in times past, along with the dawning hope that she might. 

'Yes, ' said he, nodding, 'you have been mistaken, and I did not expectit of you, Queen Esther. I don't think I am changeable; but anyhow, Ihaven't changed towards you. I have but just got home this evening; andI ran away from home and my mother as soon as we had done supper, thatI might come and see you. '

Esther smiled: she was pleased, he saw. 

'And in the next place, as to that crotchet of your not seeing muchmore of me, I can't imagine how it ever got up; but it isn't true, anyhow. I expect you'll see an immense deal of me. I may go some timeto England; about that I can't tell; but if I go, I shall come backagain, supposing I am alive. And now, do you see that it would be veryfoolish of you to try to get accustomed to doing without me? for Ishall not let you do it. '

'I don't want to do it, ' said Esther confidingly; 'for you know I havenobody else except you and papa. '

'What put such an absurd notion in your head! You a Stoic, QueenEsther! You look like it!'

'What is a Stoic?'

'The sort of people that bite a nail in two, and smile as if it were astick of peppermint candy. '

'I didn't know there were any such people. '

'No, naturally. So it won't do for you to try to imitate them. '

'But I was not trying anything like that. '

'What were you trying to do, then?'

Esther hesitated. 

'I thought--I must do without you; and so--I thought I had better notthink about you. '

'Did you succeed?'

'Not very well. But--I suppose I could, in time. '

'See you don't! What do you think in that case _I_ should do?'

'Oh, you!' said Esther; 'that is different. I thought you would notcare. '

'Did you! You did me honour. Now, Queen Esther, let us understand thismatter. I do care, and I am going to care, and I shall always care. Doyou believe it?'

'I always believe what you say, ' said the girl, with a happy change inher face, which touched Pitt again curiously. Somehow, the contrastbetween his own strong, varied, rich, and active life, with itsabundance of resources and enjoyments, careless and satisfied, --andthis little girl alone at home with her cranky father, and no varietyor change or outlook or help, struck him painfully. It would hardlyhave struck most young men; but Pitt, with all his rollickingwaywardness and self-pleasing, had a fine fibre in him which could feelthings. Then Esther's nature, he knew, was one rich in possibilities;to which life was likely to bring great joy or great sorrow; moreprobably both. 

'What book have you got there?' he asked suddenly. 

'Book?--Oh, the Bible. '

'The Bible! That's something beyond your comprehension, isn't it?'

'No, ' said Esther. 'What made you think it was?'

'Always heard it wasn't the thing for children. What set you at that, Queen Esther? Reading about your namesake?'

'I have read about her. I wasn't reading about her to-night. '

'What were you after, then?'

'It's mamma's Bible, ' said Esther rather slowly; 'and she used to sayit was the best place to go for comfort. '

'Comfort! What do you want comfort for, Esther?'

'Nothing, now, ' she said, with a smile. 'I am so glad you are come!'

'What _did_ you want comfort for, then?' said he, taking her hand, andholding it while he looked into her eyes. 

'I don't know--papa had gone to bed, and I was alone--and somehow itseemed lonesome. '

'Will you go with me to-morrow after Christmas greens?'

'Oh, may I?' cried the girl, with such a flush of delight coming intoeyes and cheeks and lips, that Pitt was almost startled. 

'I don't think I could enjoy it unless you came. And then you will helpme dress the rooms. '

'What rooms?'

'Our rooms at home. And now, what have you been doing since I have beenaway?'

All shadows were got rid of; and there followed a half-hour of mosteager intercourse, questions and answers coming thick upon one another. Esther was curious to hear all that Pitt would tell her about his lifeand doings at college; and, nothing loath, Pitt gave it her. Itinterested him to watch the play of thought and interest in the child'sfeatures as he talked. She comprehended him, and she seemed to take inwithout difficulty the strange nature and conditions of his collegeworld. 

'Do you have to study hard?' she asked. 

'That's as I please. One must study hard to be distinguished. '

'And you will be distinguished, won't you?'

'What do you think? Do you care about it?'

'Yes, I care, ' said Esther slowly. 

'You were not anxious about me?'

'No, ' she said, smiling. 'Papa said you would be sure to distinguishyourself. '

'Did he? I am very much obliged to Colonel Gainsborough. '

'What for?'

'Why, for his good opinion. '

'But he couldn't help his opinion, ' said Esther. 

'Queen Esther, ' said Pitt, laughing, 'I don't know about that. Peoplesometimes hold opinions they have no business to hold, and that theywould not hold, if they were not perverse-minded. '

Esther's face had all changed since he came in. The premature gravityand sadness was entirely dispersed; the eyes were full of beautifullight, the mouth taking a great many curves corresponding to as manyalternations and shades of sympathy, and a slight colour of interestand pleasure had risen in the cheeks. If Pitt had vanity to gratify, itwas gratified; but he had something better, he had a genuine kindnessand liking for the little girl, which had suffered absolute pain, whenhe saw how his absence and silence had worked. Now the two were in fullenjoyment of the old relations and the old intercourse, when the dooropened, and Mrs. Barker's head appeared. 

'Miss Esther, it's your time. '

'Time for what?' asked Pitt. 

'It's my time for going to bed, ' said Esther, rising. 'I'll come, Mrs. Barker. '

'Queen Esther, does that woman say what you are to do and not do?' saidPitt, in some indignation. 

'Oh no; but papa. He likes me not to be up later than nine o'clock. '

'What has Barker to do with it? I think she wants putting in her place. '

'She always goes with me and attends to me. Yes, I must go, ' saidEsther. 

'But the colonel is not here to be disturbed. '

'He would be disturbed, if I didn't go at the right time. Good-night, Pitt. '

'Well, till to-morrow, ' said the young man, taking Esther's hand andkissing it. 'But this is what I call a very summary proceeding. QueenEsther, does your majesty always do what you are expected to do, andtake orders from everybody!'

'No; only from papa and you. Good-night, Pitt. Yes, I'll be readyto-morrow. '

CHAPTER VIII. 

_A NOSEGAY_. 

Pitt walked home, half amused at himself that he should take so muchpains about this little girl, at the same time very firmly resolvedthat nothing should hinder him. Perhaps his liking for her was deeperthan he knew; it was certainly real; while his kindly and generoustemper responded promptly to every appeal that her affection andconfidence made upon him. Affection and confidence are very winningthings, even if not given by a beautiful girl who will soon be abeautiful woman; but looking out from Esther's innocent eyes, they wentdown into the bottom of young Dallas's heart. And besides, his naturewas not only kind and noble; it was obstinate. Opposition, to him, in athing he thought good to pursue, was like blows of a hammer on a nail;drove the purpose farther in. 

So he made himself, it is true, very pleasant indeed to his parents athome, that night and the next morning; but then he went with Estherafter cedar and hemlock branches. It may be asked, what opposition hadhe hitherto found to his intercourse with the colonel's daughter? Andit must be answered, none. Nevertheless, Pitt felt it in the air, andit had the effect on him that the north wind and cold are said to haveupon timber. 

It was a day of days for Esther. First the delightful roving walk, andcutting the greens, which were bestowed in a cart that attended them;then the wonderful novelty of dressing the house. Esther had never seenanything of the kind before, which did not hinder her, however, fromgiving very good help. The hall, the sitting-room, the drawing-room, and even Pitt's particular, out-of-the-way work-room, all were wreathedand adorned and dressed up, each after its manner. For Pitt would nothave one place a repetition of another. The bright berries of thewinterberry and bittersweet were mingled with the dark shade of theevergreens in many ingenious ways; but the crowning triumph of art, perhaps, to Esther's eyes, was a motto in green letters, picked outwith brilliant partridge berries, over the end of thesitting-room, --'Peace on earth. ' Esther stood in delighted admirationbefore it, also pondering. 

'Pitt, ' she said at last, 'those partridge berries ought not to be init. '

'Why not?' said Pitt, in astonishment. 'I think they set it offcapitally. '

'Oh, so they do. I didn't mean that. They are beautiful, very. But youknow what you said about them. '

'What did I say?'

'You said they were poison. '

'Poison! What then, Queen Esther? they won't hurt anybody up there. Nopartridge will get at them. '

'Oh no, it isn't that, Pitt; but I was thinking--Poison shouldn't be inthat message of the angels. '

Pitt's face lighted up. 

'Queen Esther, ' said he solemnly, 'are you going to be _that_ sort ofperson?'

'What sort of person?'

'One of those whose spirits are attuned to finer issues than theirneighbours? They are the stuff that poets are made of. You are not apoet, are you?'

'No, indeed!' said Esther, laughing. 

'Don't! I think it must be uncomfortable to have to do with a poet. Youmay notice, that in nature the dwellers on the earth have nothing to dowith the dwellers in the air. '

'Except to be food for them, ' said Esther. 

'Ah! Well, --leaving that, --I should never have thought about thepartridge berries in that motto, and my mother would never have thoughtof it. For all that, you are right. What shall we do? take 'em down?'

'Oh, no, they look so pretty. And besides, I suppose, Pitt, by and by, poison itself will turn to peace. '

'What?' said Pitt. 'What is that? What can you mean, Queen Esther?'

'Only, ' said Esther a little doubtfully, 'I was thinking. You know, when the time comes there will be nothing to hurt or destroy in all theearth; the wild beasts will not be wild, and so I suppose poison willnot be poison. '

'The wild beasts will not be wild? What _will_ they be, then?'

'Tame. '

'Where did you get that idea?'

'It is in the Bible. It is not an idea. '

'Are you sure?'

'Certainly. Mamma used to read it to me and tell me about it. '

'Well, you shall show _me_ the place some time. How do you like it, mother?'

This question being addressed to Mrs. Dallas, who appeared in thedoorway. She gave great approval. 

'Do you like the effect of the partridge berries?' Pitt asked. 

'It is excellent, I think. They brighten it up finely. '

'What would you say if you knew they were poison?'

'That would not make any difference. They do no hurt unless you swallowthem, I suppose. '

'Esther finds in them an emblem of the time when the message of peaceshall have neutralized all the hurtful things in the world, and madethem harmless. '

Mrs. Dallas's eye fell coldly upon Esther. 'I do not think the Churchknows of any such time, ' she answered, as she turned away. Pittwhistled for some time thereafter in silence. 

The decorations were finished, and most lovely to Esther's eyes; then, when they were all done, she went home to tea. For getting the greensand putting them up had taken both the morning and the afternoon toaccomplish. She went home gaily, with a brisk step and a merry heart, at the same time thinking busily. 

Home, in its dull uniformity and stillness, was a contrast after thestir and freshness and prettiness of life in the Dallases's house. Itstruck Esther rather painfully. The room where she and her father tooktheir supper was pleasant and homely indeed; a bright fire burned onthe hearth, or in the grate, rather, and a bright lamp shone on thetable; Barker had brought in the tea urn, and the business of preparingtea for her father was one that Esther always liked. But, nevertheless, the place approached too nearly a picture of still life. The urn hissedand bubbled, a comfortable sound; and now and then there was a fallingcoal or a jet of gas flame in the fire; but I think these thingsperhaps made the stillness more intense and more noticeable. Thecolonel sat on his sofa, breaking dry toast into his tea andthoughtfully swallowing it; he said nothing, unless to demand anothercup; and Esther, though she had a healthy young appetite, could notquite stay the mental longing with the material supply. Besides, shewas pondering something curiously. 

'Papa, ' she said at last, 'are you busy? May I ask you something?'

'Yes, my dear. What is it?'

'Papa, what is Christmas?'

The colonel looked up. 

'What is Christmas?' he repeated. 'It is nothing, Esther; nothing atall. A name--nothing more. '

'Then, why do people think so much of Christmas?'

'They do not. Sensible people do not think anything of it. Christmas isnothing to me. '

'But, papa, why then does anybody make much of it? Mrs. Dallas has herhouse all dressed up with greens. '

'You had better keep away from Mrs. Dallas's. '

'But it looks so pretty, papa! Is there any harm in it?'

'Harm in what?'

'Dressing the house so? It is all hemlock wreaths, and cedar branches, and bright red berries here and there; and Pitt has put them up sobeautifully! You can't think how pretty it all is. Is there any harm inthat, papa?'

'Decidedly; in my judgment. '

'Why do they do it then, papa?'

'My dear, they have a foolish fancy that it is the time when Christ wasborn; and so in Romish times a special Popish mass was said on thatday; and from that the twenty-fifth of December got its presentname--Christ-mass; that is what it is. '

'Then He was not born the twenty-fifth of December?'

'No, nor in December at all. Nothing is plainer than that spring wasthe time of our Lord's coming into the world. The shepherds werewatching their flocks by night; that could not have been in the depthof winter; it must have been in the spring. '

'Then why don't they have Christmas in springtime?'

'Don't ask _me_, my dear; I don't know. The thing began in the ages ofignorance, I suppose; and as all it means now is a time of feasting andjollity, the dead of winter will do as well as another time. But it isa Popish observance, my child; it is a Popish observance. '

'There's no harm in it, papa, is there? if it means only feasting andjollity, as you say. '

'There is always harm in superstition. This is no more the time ofChrist's birth than any other day that you could choose; but there is asuperstition about it; and I object to giving a superstitious reverenceto what is nothing at all. Reverence the Bible as much as you please;you cannot too much; but do not put any ordinance of man, whether it beof the Popish church or any other, on a level with what the Biblecommands. '

The colonel had finished his toast, and was turning to his book again. 

'Pitt has been telling me of the way they keep Christmas in England, 'Esther went on. 'The Yule log, and the games, and the songs, and theplays. '

'Godless ways, ' said the colonel, settling himself to hisreading, --'godless ways! It is a great deal better in this country, where they make nothing of Christmas. No good comes of those things. '

Esther would disturb her father no more by her words, but she went onpondering, unsatisfied. In any question which put Mrs. Dallas and herfather on opposite sides, she had no doubt whatever that her fathermust be in the right; but it was a pity, for surely in the present caseMrs. Dallas's house had the advantage. The Christmas decorations hadbeen so pretty! the look of them was so bright and festive! the wallsshe had round her at home were bare and stiff and cold. No doubt herfather must be right, but it was a pity!

The next day was Christmas day. Pitt being in attendance on his fatherand mother, busied with the religious and other observances of thefestival, Esther did not see him till the afternoon. Late in the day, however, he came, and brought in his hands a large bouquet of hothouseflowers. If the two had been alone, Esther would have greeted him andthem with very lively demonstrations; as it was, it amused the youngman to see the sparkle in her eye, and the lips half opened for a cryof joy, and the sudden flush on her cheek, and at the same time thequiet, unexcited demeanour she maintained. Esther rose indeed, but thenstood silent and motionless and said not a word; while Pitt paid hiscompliments to her father. A new fire flashed from her eye when at lasthe approached her and offered her the flowers. 

'Oh, Pitt! Oh, Pitt!' was all Esther with bated breath could say. Thecolonel eyed the bouquet a moment and then turned to his book. He wason his sofa, and seemingly gave no further heed to the young people. 

'Oh, Pitt, where _could_ you get these?' The girl's breath was almosttaken away. 

'Only one place where I could get them. Don't you know old Macpherson'sgreenhouse?'

'But he don't let people in, I thought, in winter?'

'He let _me_ in. '

'Oh, Pitt, how wonderful! What is this? Now you must tell me all thenames. This beautiful white geranium with purple lines?'

'It's a _Pelargonium;_ belongs to the Geraniaceae; this one they callMecranthon. It's a beauty, isn't it? This little white blossom ismyrtle; don't you know myrtle?'

'And this geranium--this purple one?'

'That is Napoleon, and this Louise, and this Belle. This redmagnificence is a _Metrosideros;_ this white flower, is--I forget itsname; but _this_, this sweet one, is Daphne. Then here are two heaths;then this thick leaf is _Laurustinus_, and this other, with the redbud, _Camellia japonica_. '

'Oh, how perfectly beautiful!' exclaimed the delighted child. 'Oh, howperfectly beautiful! And this yellow flower?'

'_Coronilla_. '

'And this, is it a _red_ wallflower?'

'A red wallflower; you are right. '

'How lovely! and how sweet! And these blue?'

'These little blue flowers are _Lobelia;_ they are cousins of thecardinal flower; _that_ is _Lobelia cardinalis;_ these are _Lobeliaerinus_ and _Lobelia gracilis_. '

He watched the girl, for under the surprise and pleasure of his gifther face was itself but a nobler flower, all glowing and flashing andfragrant. With eyes dewy with delight she hung over the bouquet, almosttrembling in her eagerness of joy. She set the flowers carefully in avase, with tender circumspection, lest a leaf might be wronged bychance crowding or inadvertent handling. Pitt watched and read it all. He felt a great compassion for Esther. This creature, full of life andsensibility, receptive to every influence, at twelve years old shut upto the company of a taciturn and melancholy father and an empty house!What would ever become of her? There was the colonel now, on the sofa, attending only to his book; caring nothing for what was so moving hischild. Nobody cared, or was anywhere to sympathize with her. And if shegrew up so, shut up to herself, every feeling and desire repressed forwant of expression or of somebody to express it to, how would hernature ever develop? would it not grow stunted and poor, compared withwhat it might be? He was sorry for his little playmate and friend; andit did the young fellow credit, I think, for at his age boys are notwont to be tenderly sympathetic towards anything, unless it be abeloved mother or sister. Pitt silently watched the putting the flowersin water, speculating upon the very unhopeful condition of this littlehuman plant, and revolving schemes in his mind. 

After he had gone, Colonel Gainsborough bade Esther show him herflowers. She brought the dish to his sofa. The colonel reviewed themwith a somewhat jealous eye, did not seem to perceive their beauty, andtold her to take them away again. But the next day, when Esther was notin the room, he examined the collection carefully, looking to see ifthere were anything that looked like contraband 'Christmas greens. 'There were some sprigs of laurel and holly, that served to make thehues of the bouquet more varied and rich. _That_ the colonel did notthink of; all he saw was that they were bits of the objectionable'Christmas. ' Colonel Gainsborough carefully pulled them out and threwthem in the fire; and nothing, I fear, saved the laurustinus andjaponica from a like fate but their exquisite large blossoms. Estherwas not slow to miss the green leaves abstracted from her vase. 

'Papa, ' she said, in some bewilderment, 'I think somebody has been atmy flowers; there is some green gone. '

'I took out some sprigs of laurel and holly, ' said her father. 'Icannot have any Christmas decorations here. '

'Oh, papa, Pitt did not mean them for any such thing!'

'Whether he meant it or no, I prefer not to have them there. '

Esther was silenced, but she watched her vase with rather anxious eyesafter that time. However, there was no more meddling; the brilliantblossoms were allowed to adorn the place and Esther's life as long asthey would, or could. She cherished them to the utmost of herknowledge, all the rather that Pitt was gone away again; she gave themfresh water, she trimmed off the unsightly dry leaves and witheredblossoms; but all would not do; they lasted for a time, and thenfollowed the law of their existence and faded. What Esther did then, was to fetch a large old book and lay the different sprigs, leaves orflowers, carefully among its pages and put them to dry. She loved everyleaf of them. They were associated in her mind with all that pleasantinterlude of Christmas: Pitt's coming, his kindness; their going aftergreens together, and dressing the house. The bright interlude was past;Pitt had gone back to college; and the little girl cherished the fadedgreen things as something belonging to that good time which was gone. She would dry them carefully and keep them always, she thought. 

A day or two later, her father noticed that the vase was empty, andasked Esther what she had done with her flowers?

'They were withered, papa; they were spoilt; I could not keep them. '

'What did you do with them?'

'Papa, I thought I would try to dry them. '

'Yes, and what did you do with them?'

'Papa, I put them in that old, odd volume of the Encyclopaedia. '

'Bring it here and let me see. '

Much wondering and a little discomfited, Esther obeyed. She brought thegreat book to the side of the sofa, and turned over the pagescarefully, showing the dried and drying leaves. She had a great love tothem; what did her father want with them?

'What do you propose to do with those things, when they are dry? Theyare staining the book. '

'It's an old book, papa; it is no harm, is it?'

'What are you going to do with them? Are they to remain herepermanently?'

'Oh, no, sir; they are only put here to dry. I put a weight on thebook. They will be dry soon. '

'And what then?'

'Then I will take them out, papa. It's an old book. '

'And what will you do with them?'

'I will keep them, sir. '

'What is the use of keeping the flowers after their beauty is gone? Ido not think that is worth while. '

'_Some_ of their beauty is gone, ' said Esther, with a certaintenderness for the plants manifested in her manner, --'but I love themyet, papa. '

'That is not wise, my child. Why should you love a parcel of dryleaves? Love what is worthy to be loved. I think I would throw them allin the fire. '

'Oh, papa!'

'That's the best, my dear. They are only rubbish. I object to thehoarding of rubbish. It is a poor habit. '

The colonel turned his attention again to his book, and perhaps did noteven remark how Esther sat with a disconsolate face on the floor, looking at her condemned treasures. He would not have understood it ifhe had seen. In his nature there was no key to the feeling which nowwas driving the tears into Esther's eyes and making her heart swell. Like many men, and many women, for the matter of that, ColonelGainsborough had very little power of association. He would indeed haveregarded with sacred reverence anything that had once belonged to hiswife, down to her shoe; in that one instance the tension of feeling wasstrong enough to make the chords tremble under the lightest touch. Inother relations, what did it matter? They were nothing to him; and ifColonel Gainsborough made his own estimate the standard of the worth ofthings, he only did what I am afraid we all do, more or less. At anyrate, his was not one of those finer strung natures which recognise thepossibility of worlds of knowledge and feeling not open to themselves. It is also just possible that he divined his daughter's sentiment inregard to the flowers enough to be jealous of it. 

But Esther did not immediately move to obey his order. She sat on thefloor with the big book before her, the open page showing a half dryblossom of the Mecranthon geranium which was still to her eyes verybeautiful. And all the associations of that pleasant Christmasafternoon when Pitt had brought it and told her what its name was, roseup before her. She was exceedingly unwilling to burn it. The colonelperhaps had a guess that he had given a hard command; for he did notlook again at Esther or speak to her, or take any notice of her delayof obedience. That she would obey he knew; and he let her take hertime. So he did not see the big tears that filled her eyes, nor thequiet way in which she got rid of them; while the hurt, sorrowful, regretful look on her face would have certainly moved Pitt toindignation if he had been where he could see it. I am afraid, if thecolonel had seen it, _he_ would have been moved quite in a differentway. Not to anger, indeed; Colonel Gainsborough was never angry withhis child, as truly she never gave him cause; but I think he wouldprivately have applauded the wisdom of his regulation, which removedsuch objects of misplaced sentiment out of the way of doing furtherharm. And Esther sat and looked at the Mecranthon, brushed away hertears softly, swallowed her regrets and unwillingness, and finally roseup, carried her book to the fire, and one by one, turning the leaves, took out her drying favourites and threw them into the glowing grate. It was done; and she carried the book away and put it in its old place. 

But a week later it happened that Esther bethought her to open theEncyclopaedia again, to look at _the marks her flowers had left_ on thepages. For they _had_ stained the book a little, and here and there shecould discern the outline of a sprig, and trace a faint dash of colourleft behind by the petals of some flower rich in its dyes. If itappears from this that the colonel was right in checking the feelingwhich ran to such extremes, I cannot help that; I am reporting thefacts. Esther turned over the book from one place to another where herflowers had lain. Here had been heath; there coronilla; here--oh, herewas _still_ the wallflower! Dried beautifully; delicate and unbroken, and perfect and sweet. There was nothing else left, but here was thewallflower. A great movement of joy filled Esther's heart; then came adoubt. Must this be burned too? Would this one little sprig matter? Shehad obeyed her father, and destroyed all the rest of the bouquet; andthis wallflower had been preserved without her knowledge. Since it hadbeen saved, might it not be saved? Esther looked, studied, hesitated;and finally could not make up her mind without further order to destroythis last blossom. She never thought of asking her father's mind aboutit. The child knew instinctively that he would not understand her; asorrowful thing for a child to know; it did not occur to her that if he_had_ understood her feeling, he would have been still less likely tofavour it. She kept the wallflower, took it away from its exposedsituation in the Encyclopaedia, and put it in great safety among herown private possessions. 

CHAPTER IX. 

_WANT OF COMFORT_. 

The months were many and long before there came another break in themonotony of Esther's life. The little girl was thrown upon her ownressources, and that is too hard a position for her years, or perhapsfor any years. She had literally no companion but her father, and it isa stretch of courtesy to give the name to him. Another child would havefled to the kitchen for society, at least to hear human voices. Estherdid not. The instincts of a natural high breeding restrained her, aswell as the habits in which she had been brought up. Mrs. Barker waitedupon her at night and in the morning, at her dressing and undressing:sometimes Esther went for a walk, attended by Christopher; the rest ofthe time she was either alone, or in the large, orderly room whereColonel Gainsborough lay upon the sofa, and there Esther was rathermore alone than anywhere else. The colonel was reading; reverenceobliged her to keep quiet; he drew long breaths of weariness or sadnessevery now and then, which every time came like a cloud over suchsunshine as she had been able to conjure up; and besides all that, notwithstanding the sighs and the reading, her father always noticedand knew what she was doing. Now it is needless to say that ColonelGainsborough had forgotten what it was to be a child; he was thereforean incompetent critic of a child's doings or judge of a child's wants. He had an impatience for what he called a 'waste of time;' but Estherwas hardly old enough to busy herself exclusively with history andgeography; and the little innocent amusements to which she had recoursestood but a poor chance under his censorship. 'A waste of time, mydaughter, ' he would say, when he saw Esther busy perhaps with somechildish fancy work, or reading something from which she promisedherself entertainment, but which the colonel knew promised nothingmore. A word from him was enough. Esther would lay down her work or putaway the book, and then sit in forlorn uncertainty what she should doto make the long hours drag less heavily. History and geography andarithmetic she studied, in a sort, with her father; and ColonelGainsborough was not a bad teacher, so far as the progress of hisscholar was concerned. So far as her pleasure went, the lessons werevery far behind those she used to have with Pitt. And the recitationswere short. Colonel Gainsborough gave his orders, as if he were on acampaign, and expected to see them fulfilled. Seeing them fulfilled, heturned his attention at once to something else. 

Esther longed for her former friend and instructor with a longing whichcannot be put into words. Yet longing is hardly the expression for it;she was not a child to sit and wish for the unattainable; it was rathera deep and aching sense of want. She never forgot him. If Pitt's ownmother thought of him more constantly, she was the only person in theworld of whom that was true. Pitt sometimes wrote to ColonelGainsborough, and then Esther treasured up every revelation and detailof the letter and added them to what she knew already, so as to pieceout as full an image as possible of Pitt's life and doings. But how thechild wanted him, missed him, and wept for him! Though of the latternot much; she was not a child given to crying. The harder for her, perhaps. 

The Dallases, husband and wife, were not much seen at this time in thecolonel's quiet house. Mr. Dallas did come sometimes of an evening andsat and talked with its master; and he was not refreshing to Esther, not even when the talk ran upon his absent son; for the question hadbegun to be mooted publicly, whether Pitt should go to England tofinish his education. It began to be spoken of in Pitt's letters too;he supposed it would come to that, he said; his mother and father hadset their hearts on Oxford or Cambridge. Colonel Gainsborough heartilyapproved. It was like a knell of fate to Esther. 

They were alone together one day, as usual, the father and daughter;and silence had reigned a long while in the room, when Esther broke it. She had been sitting poring over a book; now she looked up with a veryburdened brow and put her question. 

'Papa, how do people get comfort out of the Bible?'

'Eh--what, my dear?' said the colonel, rousing his attention. 

'What must one do, to get comfort out of the Bible?'

'Comfort?' repeated the colonel, now looking round at her. 'Are you inwant of comfort, Esther?'

'I would like to know how to find it, papa, if it is here. '

'Here? What have you got there? Come where I can see you. '

Esther drew near, unwillingly. 'It is the Bible, papa. '

'And _what_ is it you want from the Bible?--Comfort?'

'Mamma used to say one could get comfort in the Bible, and I wanted toknow how. '

'Did she?' said the colonel with grave thoughtfulness. But he said nomore. Esther waited. Her father's tone had changed; he seemed to havegone back into regions of the past, and to have forgotten her. Theminutes ran on, without her daring to remind him that her question wasstill unanswered. The colonel at last, with a long sigh, took up hisbook again; then seemed to bethink him, and turned to Esther. 

'I do not know, my dear, ' he said. 'I never could get it there myself, except in a very modified way. Perhaps it is my fault. '

The subject was disposed of, as far as the colonel was concerned. Esther could ask him no more. But that evening, when Mrs. Barker wasattending upon her, she made one more trial. 

'Barker, do you know the Bible much?'

'The Bible, Miss Esther!'

'Yes. Have you read it a great deal? do you know what is in it?'

'Well, Miss Esther, I ain't a heathen. I do read my Bible, to be sure, more or less, all my life, so to speak; which is to say, ever since Icould read at all. '

'Did you ever find comfort in it?'

'Comfort, Miss Esther? Did I ever find _comfort_ in it, did ye ask?'the housekeeper repeated, very much puzzled. 'Well, I can't just say. Mebbe I never was just particlarly lookin' for that article when I wentto my Bible. I don't remember as I never was in no special want o'comfort--sich as should set me to lookin' for it; 'thout it was whenmissus died. '

'_She_ said, one could find comfort in the Bible, ' Esther went on, witha tender thrill in the voice that uttered the beloved pronoun. 

'Most likely it's so, Miss Esther. What my mistress said was sure andcertain true; but myself, it is something which I have no knowledge of. '

'How do you suppose one could find comfort in the Bible, Barker? Howshould one look for it?'

''Deed, Miss Esther, your questions is too hard for me. I'd ask thecolonel, if I was you. '

'But I ask you, if you can tell me. '

'And that's just which I ain't wise enough for. But when I don't knowwhere a thing is, Miss Esther, I allays begins at one end and goesclean through to the other end; and then, if the thing ain't there, whyI knows it, and if it is there, I gets it. '

'It would take a good while, ' said Esther musingly, 'to go through thewhole Bible from one end to the other. '

'That's which I am thinkin', Miss Esther. I'm thinkin' one might forgetwhat one started to look for, before one found it. But there! the Bibleain't just like a store closet, neither, with all the things ticketedon shelves. I'm thinkin' a body must do summat besides look in it. '

'What?'

'I don't know, Miss Esther; I ain't wise, no sort o' way, in sichmatters; but I was thinkin' the folks I've seen, as took comfort intheir Bibles, they was allays saints. '

'Saints! What do you mean by that?'

'That's what they was, ' said Barker decidedly. 'They was saints. Inever was no saint myself, but I've seen 'em. You see, mum, I've allayshad summat else on my mind, and my hands, I may say; and one can'tattend to more'n one thing at once in this world. I've allays had mybread to get and my mistress to serve; and I've attended to my businessand done it. That's which I've done. '

'Couldn't you do that and be a saint too?'

'There's no one can't be two different people at one and the same time, Miss Esther. Which I would say, if there is, it ain't me. '

If this was not conclusive, at least it was unanswerable by Esther, andthe subject was dropped. Whether Esther pursued the search aftercomfort, no one knew; indeed, no one knew she wanted it. The colonelcertainly not; he had taken her question to be merely a speculativeone. It did sometimes occur to Barker that her young charge moped; or, as she expressed it to Mr. Bounder, 'didn't live as a child had a rightto;' but it was not her business, and she had spoken truly: herbusiness was the thing Mrs. Barker minded exclusively. 

So Esther went on living alone, and working her way, as she could, alone, out of all the problems that suggested themselves to herchildish mind. What sort of a character would grow up in this way, insuch a close mental atmosphere and such absence of all training orguiding influences, was an interesting question, which, however, neverpresented itself before Colonel Gainsborough's mind. That his child wasall right, he was sure; indeed how could she go wrong? She was hermother's daughter, in the first place; and in the next place, his own;_noblesse oblige_, in more ways than one; and then--she saw nobody!That was a great safeguard. But the one person whom Esther did see, outof her family, or I should say the two persons, sometimes speculatedabout her; for to them the subject had a disagreeable practicalinterest. Mr. Dallas came now and then to sit and have a chat with thecolonel; and more rarely Mrs. Dallas called for a civil visit ofenquiry; impelled thereto partly by her son's instances and reminders. She communicated her views to her husband. 

'She is living a dreadful life, for a child. She will be everythingthat is unnatural and premature. '

Mr. Dallas made no answer. 

'And I wish she was out of Seaforth; for as we cannot get rid of her, we must send away our own boy. '

'Humph!' said her husband. 'Are you sure? Is that a certain necessity?'

'Hildebrand, you would like to have him finish his studies at Oxford?'said his wife appealingly. 

'Yes, to be sure; but what has that to do with the other thing? Youstarted from that little girl over there. '

'Do you want Pitt to make her his wife?'

'No!' with quiet decision. 

'He'll do it; if you do not take all the better care. '

'I don't see that it follows. '

'You do not see it, Hildebrand, but I do. Trust me. '

'What do you reason from?'

'You won't trust me? Well, the girl will be very handsome; she'll be_very_ handsome, and that always turns a young man's head; and then, you see, she is a forlorn child, and Pitt has taken it in to his headto replace father and mother, and be her good genius. I leave you tojudge if that is not a dangerous part for him to play. He writes to meevery now and then about her. '

Not very often; but Mrs. Dallas wanted to scare her husband. And sothere came to be more and more talk about Pitt's going abroad; andEsther felt as if the one spot of brightness in her sky were closing upfor ever. If Pitt did go, --what would be left?

It was a token of the real strength and fine properties of her mentalnature, that the girl did not, in any true sense, _mope_. In want ofcomfort she was; in sad want of social diversion and cheer, and ofvariety in her course of thought and occupation; she suffered from thewant; but Esther did not sink into idleness and stagnation. She workedlike a beaver; that is, so far as diligence and purpose characterizethose singular animals' working. She studied resolutely and eagerly thethings she had studied with Pitt, and which he had charged her to go onwith. His influence was a spur to her constantly; for he had wished it, and he would be coming home by and by for the long vacation, and thenhe would want to see what she had done. Esther was not quite alone, solong as she had the thought of Pitt and of that long vacation with her. If he should go to England, --then indeed it would be loneliness. Nowshe studied, at any rate, having that spur; and she studied things alsowith which Pitt had had no connection; her Bible, for instance. Thegirl busied herself with fancy work too, every kind which Mrs. Barkercould teach her, and her father did not forbid. And in one otherpleasure her father was helpful to her. Esther had been trying to drawsome little things, working eagerly with her pencil and a copy, absorbed in her endeavours and in the delight of partial success; whenone day her father came and looked over her shoulder. That was enough. Colonel Gainsborough was a great draughtsman; the old instinct of hisart stirred in him; he took Esther's pencil from her hand and showedher how she ought to use it, and then went on to make several littlestudies for her to work at. From that beginning, the lessons wentforward, to the mutual benefit of father and daughter. Esther developeda great aptitude for the art, and an enormous zeal. Whatever her fathertold her it would be good for her to do, in that connection, Esther diduntiringly--ungrudgingly. It was the one exquisite pleasure which eachday contained for her; and into it she gathered and poured her wholenatural, honest, childlike desire for pleasure. No matter if all therest of the day were work, the flower of delight that blossomed on thisone stem was sweet enough to take the place of a whole nosegay, and itbeautified Esther's whole life. It hardly made the child less soberoutwardly, but it did much to keep her inner life fresh and sound. 

Pitt this time did not allow it to be supposed that he had forgottenhis friends. Once in a while he wrote to Colonel Gainsborough, and senta message or maybe included a little note for Esther herself. Thesemessages and notes regarded often her studies; but toward the end ofterm there began to be mention made of England also in them; andEsther's heart sank very low. What would be left when Pitt was gone toEngland?

CHAPTER X. 

_THE BLESSING_. 

So spring came, and then high summer, and the time when the collegianwas expected home. The roses were blossoming and the pinks were sweet, in the old-fashioned flower garden in front of the house; and the smellof the hay came from the fields where mowers were busy, and the trillof a bob-o'-link sounded in the meadow. It was evening when Pitt madehis way from his father's house over to the colonel's; and he foundEsther sitting in the verandah, with all this sweetness about her. Thehouse was old and country fashioned; the verandah was raised but a stepabove the ground, --low, and with slim little pillars to support itsroof; and those pillars were all there was between Esther and theflowers. At one side of the house there was a lawn; in front, the spacedevoted to the flowers was only a small strip of ground, bordered bythe paling fence and the road. Pitt opened a small gate, and came up tothe house, through an army of balsams, hollyhocks, roses, andhoneysuckles, and balm and southernwood. Esther had risen to her feet, and with her book in her hand, stood awaiting him. Her appearancestruck him as in some sense new. She looked pale, he thought, and themental tension of the moment probably made it true, but it was notmerely that. There was a refined, ethereal gravity and beauty, which itis very unusual to see in a girl of thirteen; an expression toospiritual for years which ought to be full of joyous and carelessanimal life. Nevertheless it was there, and it struck Pitt not onlywith a sense of admiration, but almost with compassion; for what sortof apart and introverted life could it be which had called forth such alook upon so young a face? No child living among children could ever belike that; nor any child living among grown people who took proper careof her; unless indeed it were an exceptional case of disease, whichsets apart from the whole world; but Esther was perfectly well. 

'I've been watching for you, ' she said as she gave him her hand, and avery lovely smile of welcome. 'I have been looking for you ever solong. '

I don't know what made Pitt do it, and I do not think he knew; he hadnever done it before; but as he took the hand, and met the smile, hebent down and pressed his lips to those innocent, smiling ones. Isuppose it was a very genuine expression of feeling; the fact that hemight not know _what_ feeling is nothing to the matter. 

Esther coloured high, and looked at him in astonishment. It was a flushthat meant pleasure quite as much as surprise. 

'I came as soon as I could, ' he said. 

'Oh, I knew you would! Sit down here, Pitt. Papa is sleeping; he had aheadache. I am so glad you have come!'

'How is the colonel?'

'He says he's not well. I don't know. '

'And, Queen Esther, how are you?'

'Oh, I'm well. '

'Are you sure?'

'Why, certainly, Pitt. What should be the matter with me? There isnever anything the matter with me. '

'I should say, a little too much thinking, ' said Pitt, regarding her. 

'Oh, but I have to think, ' said Esther soberly. 

'Not at all necessary, nor in my opinion advisable. There are otherpeople in the world whose business it is to do the thinking. Leave itto them. You cannot do it, besides. '

'Who will do my thinking for me?' asked Esther, with a look and a smilewhich would have better fitted twice her years; a look of wistfulinquiry, a smile of soft derision. 

'I will, ' said Pitt boldly. 

'Will you? Oh, Pitt, I would like to ask you something! But not now, 'she added immediately. 'Another time. Now, tell me about college. '

He did tell her. He gave her details of things he told no one else. Heallowed her to know of his successes, which Pitt was too genuinelymodest and manly to enlarge upon even to his father and mother; but tothese childish eyes and this implicit trusting, loving, innocentspirit, he gave the infinite pleasure of knowing what he had secretlyenjoyed alone, in the depths of his own mind. It pleased him to shareit with Esther. As for her, her interest and sympathy knew no bounds. 

Pitt, however, while he was talking about his own doings and affairs, was thinking about Esther. She had changed, somehow. That wonderfulstage of life, 'where the brook and river meet, ' she had hardly yetreached; she was really a little girl still, or certainly ought to be. What was then this delicate, grave, spiritual look in the face, thethoughtful intelligence, the refinement of perception, so beyond heryears? No doubt it was due to her living alone, with a somewhat gloomyfather, and being prematurely thrown upon a woman's needs and a woman'sresources. Pitt recognised the fact that his own absence might have hadsomething to do with it. So long as he had been with her, teaching herand making a daily breeze in her still life, Esther had been in ameasure drawn out of herself, and kept from brooding. And then, beyondall, the natural organization of this fine creature was of the rarest;strong and delicate at once, of large capacities and withcorrespondingly large requirements; able for great enjoyment, and openalso to keen suffering. He could see it in every glance of the big, thoughtful eyes, and every play of the sensitive lips, which had, however, a trait of steadfastness and grave character along with theirsensitiveness. Pitt looked, and wondered, and admired. This child'sface was taking on already a fascinating power of expression, quitebeyond her years; and that was because the inner life was developingtoo soon into thoughtfulness and tenderness, and too early realizingthe meaning of life. Nothing could be more innocent ofself-consciousness than Esther; she did not even know that Pitt wasregarding her with more attention than ordinary, or, if she knew, shetook it as quite natural. He saw that, and so indulged himself. What acreature this would be, by and by! But in the meantime, what was tobecome of her? Without a mother, or a sister, or a brother; all alone;with nobody near who even knew what she needed. What would become ofher? It was not stagnation that was to be feared, but too vivid life;not that she would be mentally stunted, but that the growth would be toexhaustion, or lack the right hardening processes, and so be unhealthy. 

The colonel awoke after a while, and welcomed his visitor as truly, ifnot as warmly, as Esther had done. He always had liked young Dallas;and now, after so long living alone, the sight of him was speciallygrateful. Pitt must stay and have tea; and the talk between him and thecolonel went on unflaggingly. Esther said nothing now; but Pitt watchedher, and saw how she listened; saw how her eyes accompanied him, andher lips gave their silent tokens of understanding. Meanwhile shepoured out tea for the gentlemen; did it with quiet grace and neatness, and was quick to see and attend to any little occasion for hospitablecare. 

The old life began again now in good measure. Esther had no need to begPitt to come often; he came constantly. He took up her lessons, as ofold, and carried them on vigorously; rightly thinking that good soundmental work was wholesome for the child. He joined her in drawing, andbegged the colonel to give him instruction too; and they studied thecoins in the boxes with fresh zeal. And they had glorious walks, andmost delightful botanizing, in the early summer mornings, or when thesun had got low in the western sky. Sometimes Pitt came with a littletax-cart and took Esther a drive. It was all delight; I cannot tellwhich thing gave her most pleasure. To study with Pitt, or to play withPitt, one was as good as the other; and the summer days of that summerwere not fuller of fruit-ripening sun, than of blessed, warm, healthy, and happy influences for this little human plant. Her face grew brightand joyous, though in moments when the talk took a certain sober tonePitt could see the light or the shadow, he hardly knew which to callit, of that too early spiritual insight and activity come over it. 

One day, soon after his arrival, he asked her what she had beenthinking about so much. They were sitting on the verandah again, to beout of the way of the colonel; they were taking up lessons, and hadjust finished an examination in history. Pitt let the book fall. 

'You said the other day, Queen Esther, that you were under thenecessity of thinking. May I ask what you have been thinking about?'

'Did I say that?'

'Something like it. '

Esther's face became sober. 'Everybody must think, I suppose, Pitt?'

'That is a piece of your innocence. A great many people get along quitecomfortably without doing any thinking at all. '

'One might as well be a squash, ' said Esther gravely. 'I don't see howthey can live so. '

'Some people think too much. '

'Why?'

'I don't know why, I am sure. It's their nature, I suppose. '

'What harm, Pitt?'

'You keep a fire going anywhere, and it will burn up what is next toit. '

'Is thought like fire?'

'So far, it is. What were you thinking about, Queen Esther?'

'I had been wanting to ask you about it, Pitt, ' the girl said, a littlewith the air of one who is rousing herself up to give a confidence. 'Iwas looking for something and I did not know where to find it. '

'Looking for what?'

'I remembered, mamma said people could always find comfort in theBible; but I did not know how to look for it. '

'Comfort, Queen Esther!' said Pitt, rousing himself now; 'you were notin want of that article, were you?'

'After you were gone, you know--I hadn't anybody left. And oh, Pitt, are you going to--England?'

'One thing at a time. Tell me about this extraordinary want of comfort, at twelve years old. That is improper, Queen Esther!'

'Why?' she said, casting up to him a pair of such wistful, sensitive, beautiful eyes, that the young man was almost startled. 

'People at your age ought to have comfort enough to give away to otherpeople. '

'I shouldn't think they could, always, ' said Esther quaintly. 

'What is the matter with you?'

Esther looked down, a little uneasily. She felt that Pitt ought to haveknown. And he did know; however, he thought it advisable to have thingsbrought out into the full light and put into form; hoping they might sobe easier dealt with. Esther's next words were hardly consecutive, although perfectly intelligible. 

'I know, of course, you cannot stay here always. '

'Of course. But then I shall always be coming back. '

Esther sighed. She was thinking that the absences were long and thetimes of being at home short; but what was the use of talking about it?That lesson, that words do not change the inevitable, she had alreadylearned. Pitt was concerned. 

'Where did you say your highness went to look for comfort?'

'In the Bible. Oh, yes, that was what I wanted your help about. I didnot know how to look; and papa said he didn't; or I don't know if he_said_ exactly that, but it came to the same thing. And then I askedBarker. '

'Was she any wiser?'

'No. She said her way of finding anything was to begin at one end andgo through to the other; so I tried that. I began at the beginning; andI read on; but I found nothing until--I'll show you, ' she said, suddenly breaking off and darting away; and in two minutes more shecame back with her Bible. She turned over the leaves eagerly. 

'Here, Pitt, --I came to this. Now what does it mean?'

She gave him the volume open at the sixth chapter of Numbers; in theend of which is the prescribed form for the blessing of the children ofIsrael. Pitt read the words to himself. 

'The Lord bless thee, and keep thee. 'The Lord make His face shine uponthee, and be gracious unto thee. 'The Lord lift up His countenance uponthee, and give thee peace. '

Esther waited till she saw he had read them through. 

'Now, Pitt, what does that mean?'

'Which?'

'That last: "The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee, and give theepeace. " What does "lift up his countenance upon thee" mean?'

What _did_ it mean? Pitt asked himself the question for the first timein his life. He was quite silent. 

'You see, ' said Esther quaintly, after a pause, --'you see, _that_ wouldbe comfort. '

Pitt was still silent. 

'Do you understand it, Pitt?'

'_Understand_ it, Esther!' he said, knitting his brows, 'No. Nobodycould do that, except--the people that had it. But I think I see whatit means. '

'The people "that had it"? That had what?'

'This wonderful thing. '

'What wonderful thing?'

'Queen Esther, you ought to ask your father. '

'I can't ask papa, ' said the little girl. 'If ever I speak to him ofcomfort, he thinks directly of mamma. I cannot ask him again. '

'And I am all your dependence?' he said half lightly. 

'I mustn't depend upon you either. Only, now you are here, I thought Iwould ask you. '

'You ought to have a better counsellor. However, perhaps I can tellwhat you want to know, in part. Queen Esther, was your mother, or yourfather, ever seriously displeased with you?'

Esther reflected, a little astonished, and then said no. 

'I suppose not!' said Pitt. 'Then you don't know by experience what itwould be, to have either of them refuse to look at you or smile uponyou?--hide their face from you, in short?'

'Why, no! never. '

'You're a happy girl. '

'But what has that to do with it?'

'Nothing to do with it; it is the very contrast and opposite, in fact. Don't you see? "Lift up the light of thy countenance;"--you know whatthe "light" of a smiling, loving face of approval is? You know _that_, Queen Esther?'

'That?' repeated Esther breathlessly. 'Yes, I know; but this is God. '

'Yes, and I do not understand; but that is what it means. '

'You don't understand!'

'No. How should I? But that is what it means. Something that answers towhat among us a bright face of love is, when it smiles upon us. That is"light, " isn't it?'

'Yes, ' said Esther. 'But how can this be, Pitt?'

'I cannot tell. But that is what it means. "The Lord make His face toshine upon thee. " They are very fine words. '

'Then I suppose, ' said Esther slowly, 'if anybody had _that_, hewouldn't want comfort?'

'He wouldn't be without it, you mean? Well, I should think he wouldnot. "The Lord lift up His countenance upon thee, and give thee peace. "'

'But I don't understand, Pitt. '

'No, Queen Esther. This is something beyond you and me. '

'How can one come to understand?'

Pitt was silent a minute, looking down at the words. 'I do not know, 'he said. 'That is a question. It is a look of favour and love describedhere; but of course it would not give peace, unless the personreceiving it knew he had it. How that can be, I do not see. '

Both were silent a little while. 

'Well, ' said Esther, 'you have given me a great deal of help. '

'How?'

'Oh, you have told me what this means, ' said the child, hanging overthe words, which Pitt still held. 

'That does not give it to you. '

'No; but it is a great deal, to know what it means, ' said Esther, in atone which Pitt felt had a good element of hopefulness in it. 

'What are you going to do about it?'

Esther lifted her head and looked at him. It was one of those lookswhich were older than her years; far-reaching, spiritual, with anintense mixture of pathos and hope in her eyes. 

'I shall go on trying to get it, ' she said. 'You know, Pitt, it isdifferent with you. You go out into the world, and you have everythingyou want; but I am here quite alone. '

CHAPTER XI. 

_DISSENT_. 

The summer months were very rich in pleasure, for all parties; evenColonel Gainsborough was a little roused by the presence of his youngfriend, and came much more than usual out of his reserve. So that theconversations round the tea-table, when Pitt made one of their number, were often lively and varied; such as Esther had hardly known in herlife before. The colonel left off his taciturnity; waked up, as itwere; told old campaigning stories, and gave out stores of informationwhich few people knew he possessed. The talks were delightful, onsubjects natural and scientific, historical and local and picturesque. Esther luxuriated in the new social life which had blossomed outsuddenly at home, perhaps with even an intensified keen enjoyment fromthe fact that it was so transient a blossoming; a fact which the childknew and never for a moment forgot. The thought was always with her, making only more tender and keen the taste of every day's delights. AndPitt made the days full. With a mixture of motives, perhaps, which hisown mind did not analyze, he devoted himself very much to the lonelylittle girl. She went with him in his walks and in his drives; he saton the verandah with her daily and gave her lessons, and almost dailyhe went in to tea with her afterwards, and said that Christopher grewthe biggest raspberries in 'town. ' Pitt professed himself very fond ofraspberries. And then would come one of those rich talks between himand the colonel; and when Pitt went home afterwards he would reflectwith satisfaction that he had given Esther another happy day. It wastrue; and he never guessed what heart-aches the little girl wentthrough, night after night, in anticipation of the days that werecoming. She did not shed tears about it, usually; tears might have beenmore wholesome. Instead, Esther would stand at her window looking outinto the moonlit garden, or sit on the edge of her bed staring down atthe floor; with a dry ache at her heart, such as we are wont to say ayoung thing like her should not know. And indeed only one here andthere has a nature deep and fine-strung enough to be susceptible of it. 

The intensification of this pain was the approaching certainty thatPitt was going to England. Esther did not talk of it, rarely asked aquestion; nevertheless she heard enough now and then to make her surewhat was corning. And, in fact, if anything had been wanting to sharpenup Mrs. Dallas's conviction that such a step was necessary, it wouldhave been the experience of this summer. She wrought upon her husband, till himself began to prick up his ears and open his eyes; and betweenthem they agreed that Pitt had better go. Some evils are easier nippedin the bud; and this surely was one, for Pitt was known to be apersistent fellow, if once he took a thing in his head. And though Mr. Dallas laughed, at the same time he trembled. It was resolved that Pittshould make his next term at Oxford. The thought was not for a momentto be entertained, that all Mr. Dallas's money, and all the pretensionsproperly growing out of it, should be wasted on the quite pennilessdaughter of a retired army officer. For in this world the singular ruleobtaining is, that the more you have the more you want. 

One day Pitt came, as he still often did, to read with the colonel;more for the pleasure of the thing, and for the colonel's own sake, than for any need still existing. He found the colonel alone. It wasafternoon of a warm day in August, and Esther had gone with Mrs. Barkerto get blackberries, and was not yet returned. The air came in faintlythrough the open windows, a little hindered by the blinds which weredrawn to moderate the light. 

'How do you do, sir, to-day?' the young man asked, coming in withsomething of the moral effect of a breeze. 'This isn't the sort ofweather one would like for going on a forlorn-hope expedition. '

'In such an expedition it doesn't matter much what weather you have, 'said the colonel; 'and I do not think it matters much to me. I am muchthe same in all weathers; only that I think I am failing gradually. Gradually, but constantly. '

'You do not show it, colonel. '

'No, perhaps not; but I feel it. '

'You do not care about hearing me read to-day, perhaps?'

'Yes, I do; it distracts me; but first there is a word I want to say toyou, Pitt. '

He did not go on at once to say it, and the young man waitedrespectfully. The colonel sighed, passed his hand over his brow once ortwice, sighed again. 

'You are going to England, William?'

'They say so, sir. My father and mother seem to have set their minds onit. '

'Quite right, too. There's no place in the world like Oxford orCambridge for a young man. Oxford or Cambridge, --which, William?'

'Oxford, sir, I believe. '

'Yes; that would suit your father's views best. How do you expect toget there? Will you go this year?'

'Oh yes, sir; that seems to be the plan. My father is possessed withthe fear that I may grow to be not enough of an Englishman--or too muchof an American; I don't know which. '

'I think you will be a true Englishman. Yet, if you live herepermanently, you will have to be the other thing too. A man owes it tothe country of his adoption; and I think your father has no thought ofreturning to England himself?'

'None at all, sir. '

'How will you go? You cannot take passage to England. '

'That can be managed easily enough. Probably I should take passage in aship bound for Lisbon; from there I could make my way somehow toLondon. '

For, it may be mentioned, the time was the time of the last Americanstruggle with England, early in the century; and the high seas were notsafe and quiet as now. 

The colonel sighed again once or twice, and repeated that gesture withhis hand over his brow. 

'I suppose there is no telling how long you will be gone, if you oncego?'

'I cannot come home every vacation, ' said Pitt lightly. 'But since myfather and mother have made up their minds to that, I must make upmine. '

'So you will be gone years, ' said the colonel thoughtfully. 'Years. Ishall not be here when you return, William. '

'You are not going to change your habitation, sir?' said the young man, though he knew what the other meant well enough. 

'Not for any other upon earth, ' said the colonel soberly. 'But I shallnot be here, William. I am failing constantly. Slowly, if you please, but constantly. I am not as strong as I look, and I am far less wellthan your father believes. I should know best; and I know I am failing. If you remain in England three years, or even two years, when you comeback I shall not be here. '

'I hope you are mistaken, colonel. '

'I am not mistaken. '

There was silence a few minutes. Pitt did not place unqualified trustin this judgment, even although, as he could not deny, the colonelmight be supposed to know best. He doubted the truth of theprognostication; yet, on the other hand, he could not be sure that itwas false. What if it were not false?

'I hope you are mistaken, colonel, ' he said again; 'but if you areright--if it should be so as you fear'--

'I do not fear it, ' put in the colonel, interrupting him. 

'Not for yourself; but if it should be so, --what will become of Esther?'

'It was of her I wished to speak. She will be here. '

'Here in this house? She would be alone. '

'I should be away. But Mrs. Barker would look after her. '

'Barker!' Pitt echoed. 'Yes, Mrs. Barker could take care of the houseand of the cooking, as she does now; but Esther would be entirelyalone, colonel. '

'I have no one else to leave her with, ' said the colonel gloomily. 

'Let my mother take charge of her, in such a case. My mother would takecare of her, as if Esther were her own. Let her come to my mother, colonel!'

'No, ' said the colonel quietly, 'that would not be best. I am sure ofMrs. Dallas's kindness; but I shall leave Esther under the care ofBarker and her brother. Christopher will manage the place, and keepeverything right outside; and Barker will do her part faithfully. Esther will be safe enough so, for a while. She is a child yet. Butthen, William, I'll take a promise from you, if you will give it. '

'I will give any promise you like, sir. What is it?' said Pitt, who hadnever been in a less pleasant mood towards his friend. In fact he wasentirely out of patience with him. 'What promise do you want, colonel?'he repeated. 

'When you come back from England, Will, if I am no longer here, I wantyou to ask Esther for a sealed package of papers, which I shall leavewith her. Then open the package; and the promise I want from you isthat you will do according to the wishes you will find there expressed. '

Pitt looked at the colonel in much astonishment. 'May I not know whatthose wishes regard, sir?'

'They will regard all I leave behind me. '

There was in the tone of the colonel's voice, and the manner ofutterance of his words, something which showed Pitt that furtherexplanations were not to be had from him. He hesitated, not liking tobind himself to anything in the dark; but finally he gave the promiseas required. He went home, however, in a doubtful mood as regardedhimself, and a very impatient one as concerned the colonel. Whatridiculous, precise notion was this that had got possession of him? Howlittle was he able to comprehend the nature or the needs of his littledaughter; and what disagreeable office might he have laid upon Pitt inthat connection? Pitt revolved these things in a fever of impatiencewith the colonel, who had demanded such a pledge from him, and withhimself, who had given it. 'I have been a fool for once in my life!'thought he. 

Mr. And Mrs. Dallas were in the sitting-room, where Pitt went in. Theyhad been watching for his return, though they took care not to tell himso. 

'How's your friend the colonel to-day?' his father asked, willing tomake sure where his son had been. 

'He thinks he is dying, ' Pitt answered, in no very good humour. 

'He has been thinking that for the last two years. '

'Do you suppose there is anything in it?'

'Nothing but megrims. He's hipped, that's all. If he had some work todo--that he _must_ do, I mean--it's my belief he would be a well manto-day; and know it, too. '

'He honestly thinks he's dying. Slowly, of course, but surely. '

'Pity he ever left the army, ' said Mrs. Dallas. 'He is one of those menwho don't bear to be idle. '

'That's all humankind!' said her husband. 'Nobody bears to be idle. Can't do it without running down. '

'Still, ' said Pitt thoughtfully, 'you cannot tell. A man ought to bethe best judge of his own feelings; and perhaps Colonel Gainsborough isill, as he says. '

'What are you going to do about it?' said his father with a half sneer. 

'Nothing; only, _if_ he should turn out to be right, --if he should diewithin a year or two, what would become of his little daughter?'

Mr. And Mrs. Dallas exchanged a scarcely perceptible glance. 

'Send her home to his family, ' answered the former. 

'Has he a family in England?'

'So he says. I judge, not a small one. '

'Not parents living, has he?'

'I believe not; but there are Gainsboroughs enough without that. '

'What ever made him come over here?'

'Some property quarrel, I gather, though the colonel never told me inso many words. '

'Then he might not like to send Esther to them. Property quarrels areembittering. '

'Do you know any sort of quarrel that isn't? It is impossible to saybeforehand what Colonel Gainsborough might like to do. He's a fidgetyman. If there's a thing I hate, in the human line, it's a fidget. Youcan't reason with 'em. '

'Then what would become of that child, mother, if her father werereally to die?'

Pitt spoke now with a little anxiety; but Mrs. Dallas answered coolly. 

'He would make the necessary arrangements. '

'But they have no friends here, and no relations. It would bedreadfully forlorn for her. Mother, if Colonel Gainsborough _should_die, wouldn't it be kind if you were to take her?'

'Too kind, ' said Mr. Dallas. 'There is such a thing as being too kind, Pitt. Did you never hear of it?'

'I do not comprehend, sir. What objection could there be? The child isnot a common child; she is one that anybody might like to have in thehouse. I should think you and my mother might enjoy it very much, especially with me away. '

'Especially, ' said the elder man drily. 'Well, Pitt, perhaps you areright; but for me there is this serious objection, that she is adissenter. '

'A dissenter!' echoed Pitt in unfeigned astonishment. 'What is a"dissenter, " here in the new country?'

'Very much the same thing that he is in the old country, I suspect. '

'And what is that, sir?'

'Humph!--well, don't you know? Narrow, underbred, and pig-headed, andwith that, disgustingly radical. That is what it means to be adissenter; always did mean. '

'Underbred! You cannot find, old country or new country, a better-bredman than Colonel Gainsborough; and Esther is perfect in her manners. '

'I haven't tried _her_, ' said the other; 'but isn't he pig-headed? Andisn't he radical, think you? They all are; they always were, from thedays of Cromwell and Ireton. '

'But the child?--Esther knows nothing of politics. '

'It's in the blood, ' said Mr. Dallas stroking unmoveably his longwhiskers. 'It's in the blood. I'll have no dissenters in my house. Itis fixed in the blood, and will not wash out. '

'I don't believe she knows what a dissenter means. '

'Your father is quite right, ' put in Mrs. Dallas. 'I should not like adissenter in my family. I should not know how to get on with her. Inchance social intercourse it does not so much matter--though I feel thedifference even there; but in the family-- It is always best for liketo keep to like. '

'But these are only differences of form, mother. '

'Do you think so?' said Mrs. Dallas, drawing up her handsome person. 'Ibelieve in form, Pitt, for my part; and when you get to England youwill find that it is only the nobodies who dispense with it. But theChurch is more than form, I should think. You'll find the Archbishop ofCanterbury is something besides a form. And is our Liturgy a form?'

Pitt escaped from the discussion, half angry and half amused, butseriously concerned about Esther. And meanwhile Esther was having herown thoughts. She had come home from her blackberrying late, after Pitthad gone home; and a little further on in the afternoon she hadfollowed him, to get her daily lesson. As the weather was warm allwindows were standing open; and the talkers within the house, beingsomewhat eager and preoccupied in their minds, did not moderate theirvoices nor pay any attention to what might be going on outside; and soit happened that Esther's light step was not heard as it came past thewindows; and it followed very easily that one or two half sentencescame to her ear. She heard her own name, which drew her attention, andthen Mr. Dallas's declaration that he would have no dissenters in hishouse. Esther paused, not certainly to listen, but with a sudden checkarising from something in the tone of the words. As she stood still indoubt whether to go forward or not, a word or two more were spoken andalso heard; and with that Esther turned short about, left all thoughtof her lesson, and made her way home; walking rather faster than shehad come. 

She laid off her hat, went into the room where her father was, and satdown in the window with a book. 

'Home again, Esther?' said he. 'You have not been long away. '

'No, papa. '

'Did you have your lesson?'

'No, papa. '

'Why not?'

'Pitt was talking to somebody. '

The colonel made no further remark, and the room was very still forawhile. Until after au hour or more the colonel's book went down; andthen Esther from her window spoke again. 

'Papa, if you please, what is a "dissenter"?'

'A _what?_' demanded the colonel, rousing himself. 

'A "dissenter, " papa. '

'What do you know about dissenters?'

'Nothing, papa. What is it?'

'What makes you ask?'

'I heard the word, papa, and I didn't know what it meant. '

'There is no need you should know what it means. A dissenter is one whodissents. '

'From what, sir?'

'From something that other people believe in. '

'But, papa, according to that, then, everybody is a dissenter; and thatis not true, is it?'

'What has put the question into your head?'

'I heard somebody speaking of dissenters. '

'Whom?'

'Mrs. Dallas. '

'Ah!' The colonel smiled grimly. 'She might be speaking of you and me. '

Esther knew that to have been the fact, but she did not say so. Sheonly asked, 'What do we dissent from, papa?'

'We dissent from the notion that form is more than substance, and thekernel less valuable than the shell. '

This told Esther nothing. She was mystified; at the same time, herrespect for her father did not allow her to press further a question heseemed to avoid. 

'Is Pitt a dissenter, papa?'

'There is no need you should trouble your head with the question ofdissent, my child. In England there is an Established Church; all whodecline to come into it are there called Dissenters. '

'Does it tire you to have me ask questions, papa?'

'No. '

'Who established the Church there?'

'The Government. '

'What for?'

'Wanted to rule men's consciences as well as their bodies. '

'But a government cannot do that, papa?'

'They have tried, Esther. Tried by fire and sword, and cruelty, andpersecution; by fines and imprisonments and disqualifications. Somesubmitted, but a goodly number dissented, and our family has alwaysbelonged to that honourable number. See you do it no discredit. TheGainsboroughs were always Independents; we fought with Cromwell, andsuffered under the Stuarts. We have an unbroken record of striving forthe right. Keep to your traditions, my dear. '

'But why should a Government wish to rule people's consciences, papa?'

'Power, my dear. As long as men's minds are free, there is somethingwhere power does not reach. '

'I should think everybody would _like_ Dissenters, papa?' was Esther'ssimple conclusion. 

'Mrs. Dallas doesn't, ' said the colonel grimly. 

CHAPTER XII. 

_THE VACATION_. 

The days went too fast, as the last half of Pitt's vacation passedaway. Ay, there was no holding them, much as Esther tried to make eachone as long as possible. I think Pitt tried too; for he certainly gavehis little friend and playmate all he could of pleasure, and all hecould of himself. Esther shared everything he did, very nearly, thatwas not done within his own home. Nothing could have been moredelightful than those days of August and September, if only the visionof the end of them had not been so near. That vision did not hinder theenjoyment; it intensified it; every taste of summer and social delightwas made keen with that spice of coming pain; even towards the verylast, nothing could prevent Esther's enjoyment of every moment she andPitt spent together. Only to be together was such pleasure. Every wordhe spoke was good in her ears; and to her eyes, every feature of hisappearance, and every movement of his person was comely and admirable. She gave him, in fact, a kind of grave worship, which perhaps nobodysuspected in its degree, because it was not displayed in the manner ofchildish effusiveness. Esther was never effusive; her manner was alwaysquiet, delicate, and dignified, such as a child's can well be. And soeven Pitt himself did not fully know how his little friend regardedhim, though he had sometimes a queer approach to apprehension. Itstruck him now and then, the grave, absorbed look of Esther's beautifuleyes; occasionally he caught a flash of light in them, such as innature only comes from heavily-charged clouds. Always she liked to dowhat he liked, and gave quick regard to any expressed wish of his;always listened to him, and watched his doings, and admired hissuccesses, with the unconditional devotion of an unquestioning faith. Pitt was half-aware of all this; yet he was at an age when speculationis apt to be more busy with matters of the head than of the heart; andbesides, he was tolerably well accustomed to the same sort of thing athome, and took it probably as very natural and quite in order. And heknew well, and did not forget, that to the little lonely child hisgoing away would be, even more than it might be to his mother, the lossof a great deal of brightness out of her daily life. He did even dreadit a little. And as the time drew near, he saw that his fears weregoing to be justified. 

Esther did not lament or complain; she never, indeed, spoke of hisgoing at all; but what was much more serious, she grew pale. And whenthe last week came, the smile died out of her eyes and from her lips. No tears were visible; Pitt would almost rather have seen her cry, likea child, much as with all other men he hated tears; it would have beenbetter than this preternatural gravity with which the large eyes openedat him, and the soft mouth refused to give way. She seemed to enterinto everything they were doing with no less interest than usual; shewas not abstracted; rather, Pitt got the impression that she carriedabout with her, and brought into everything, the perfect recollectionthat he was going away. It began to oppress him. 

'I wish I could feel, mother, that you would look a little after thatmotherless child, ' he said, in a sort of despairing attempt one evening. 

'She is not fatherless, ' Mrs. Dallas answered composedly. 

'No, but a girl wants a mother. '

'She is accustomed to the want now. '

'Mother, it isn't kind of you!'

'How would you have me show kindness?' Mrs. Dallas asked calmly. Nowthat Pitt was going away and safe, she could treat the matter withoutexcitement. 'What would Colonel Gainsborough like me to do for hisdaughter, do you think?'

Pitt was silent, and vexed. 

'What do you want me to do for her?'

'I'd like you to be a friend to her. She will need one. '

'If her father dies, you mean?'

'If he lives. She will be very lonely when I am gone away. '

'That is because you have accustomed her so much to your company. Inever thought it was wise. She will get over it in a little while. '

Would she? Pitt studied her next day, and much doubted his mother'sassertion. All the months of his last term in college had not beenenough to weaken in the least Esther's love for him. It was real, honest, genuine love, and of very pure quality; a diamond, he was readyto think, of the first water. Only a child's love; but Pitt had toofine a nature himself to despise a child's love; and full as his headwas of novelties, hopes and plans and purposes, there was space in hisheart for a very tender concern about Esther beside. 

It came to the last evening, and he was sitting with her on theverandah. It was rather cool there now; the roses and honeysuckles andthe summer moonshine were gone; the two friends chose to stay therebecause they could be alone, and nobody overhear their words. Words fora little while had ceased to flow. Esther was sitting very still, andPitt knew how she was looking; something of the dry despair had comeback to her face which had been in it when he was first moved to busyhimself about her. 

'Esther, I shall come back, ' he said suddenly, bending down to look inher face. 

'When?' she said, half under her breath. It was not a question; it wasan answer. 

'Well, not immediately; but the years pass away fast, don't you knowthat?'

'Are you sure you will come back?'

'Why, certainly! if I am alive I will. Why, if I came for nothing else, I would come to see after you, Queen Esther. '

Esther was silent. Talking was not easy. 

'And meanwhile, I shall be busy, and you will be busy. We have both agreat deal to do. '

'You have. '

'And I am sure you have. Now let us consult. What have you got to do, before we see one an other again?'

'I suppose, ' said Esther, 'take care of papa. '

She said it in a quiet, matter-of-course tone, and Pitt started alittle. It was very likely; but it had not just occurred to him before, how large a part that care might play in the girl's life for some timeto come. 

'Does he need so much care?' he asked. 

'It isn't real _care_, ' said Esther, in the same tone; 'but he likes tohave me about, to do things for him. '

'Queen Esther, aren't you going to carry on your studies for me, allthe same?'

'For you!' said she, lifting her heavy eyes to him. It hurt him to seehow heavy they were; weighted with a great load of sorrow, too mightyfor tears. 

'For me, certainly. I expect everything to go on just as if I were hereto look after it. I expect everything to go on so, that when I comeagain I may find just what I want to find. You must not disappoint me. '

Esther did not say. She made no answer at all, and after a minute put aquestion which was a diversion. 

'Where are you going first, Pitt?'

'To Lisbon. '

'Yes, I know that; but when you get to England?'

'London first. You know that is the great English centre?'

'Do you know any people there?'

'Not I. But I have a great-uncle there, living at Kensington. I believethat is part of London, though really I don't know much about it. Ishall go to see him, of course. '

'Your great-uncle! That is, Mr. Dallas's own uncle?'

'No, my mother's. His name is Strahan. '

'And then you are going to Oxford? Why do you go there? Are not thecolleges in America just as good?'

'I can tell better after I've seen Oxford. But no, Queen Esther; thatis larger and older and richer than any college in America can be;indeed it is a cluster of colleges--it is a University. '

'Will you study in them all?'

'No, ' said Pitt, laughing, 'not exactly! But it is a fine place, by allaccounts--a noble place. And then, you know, we are English, and myfather and mother wish me to be as English as possible. That isnatural. '

'We are English too, ' said Esther, sighing. 

'Therefore you ought to be glad I am going. '

But Esther's cheek only grew a shade paler. 

'Will you keep up your studies, like a good girl?'

'I will try. '

'And send me a drawing now and then, to let me see how you are gettingon?'

She lifted her eyes to him again, for one of those grave, appealinglooks. 'How could I get it to you?'

'Your father will have my address. I shall write to him, and I shallwrite to you. '

She made no answer. The things filling her heart were too many for it, and too strong; there came no tears, but her breathing was laboured;and her brow was dark with what seemed a mountain of oppression. Pittwas half-glad that just now there came a call for Esther from the roombehind them. Both went in. The colonel wanted Esther to search in arepository of papers for a certain English print of some months back. 

'Well, my boy, ' said he, 'are you off?'

'Just off, sir, ' said Pitt, eyeing the little figure that was busy inthe corner among the papers. It gave him more pain than he had thoughtto leave it. 'I wish you would come over, colonel. Why shouldn't you?It would do you good. I mean, when there is peace again upon the highseas. '

'I shall never leave this place again till I leave all that isearthly, ' Colonel Gainsborough answered. 

'May I take the liberty sometimes of writing to you, sir?'

'I should like it very much, William. '

'And if I find anything that would amuse Esther, sir, may I tell herabout it?'

'I have no objection. She will be very much obliged to you. So you aregoing? Heaven be with you, my boy. You have lightened many an hour forme. '

He rose up and shook Pitt's hand, with a warm grasp and a dignifiedmanner of leave-taking. But when Pitt would have taken Esther's hand, she brushed past him and went out into the hall. Pitt followed, withanother bow to the colonel, and courteously shutting the door behindhim, wishing the work well over. Esther, however, made no fuss, hardlyany demonstration. She stood there in the hall and gave him her handsilently, I might say coldly, for the hand was very cold, and her facewas white with suppressed feeling. Pitt grasped the hand and looked atthe face; hesitated; then opened his arms and took her into them andkissed her. Was she not like a little sister? and was it possible tolet this heartache go without alleviation? No doubt if the colonel hadbeen present he would not have ventured such a breach of forms; but asit was Pitt defied forms. He clasped the sorrowing little girl in hisarms and kissed her brow and her cheek and her lips. 

'I'm coming back again, ' said he. 'See that you have everything allright for me when I come. '

Then he let her out of his arms and went off without another word. Ashe went home, he was ready to smile and shake himself at the warmth ofdemonstration into which he had been betrayed. He was not Esther'sbrother, and had no particular right to show himself so affectionate. The colonel would have been, he doubted, less than pleased, and itwould not have happened in his dignified presence. But Esther was achild, Pitt said to himself, and a very tender child; and he could notbe sorry that he had shown her the feeling was not all on her side. Perhaps it might comfort the child. It never occurred to him toreproach himself with showing more than he felt, for he had nooccasion. The feeling he had given expression to was entirely genuine, and possibly deeper than he knew, although he shook his head, figuratively, at himself as he went home. 

Esther, when the door closed upon Pitt, stood still for some minutes, in the realization that now it was all over and he was gone. The halldoor was like a grim kind of barrier, behind which the light of herlife had disappeared. It remained so stolidly closed! Pitt's hand didnot open it again; the hand was already at a distance, and would maybenever push that door open any more. He was gone, and the last day ofthat summer vacation was over. The feeling absorbed Esther for a fewminutes and made her as still as a stone. It _did_ comfort her that hehad taken such a kindly leave of her, and at the same time it sealedthe sense of her loss. For he was the only one in the world in whoseheart it was to give her good earnest kisses like that; and he wasaway, away! Her father's affection for her was undoubted, neverthelessit was not his wont to give it that sort of expression. Esther was notcomparing, however, nor reflecting; only filled with the sense of herloss, which for the moment chilled and stiffened her. She heard herfather's voice calling her, and she went in. 

'My dear, you stay too long in the cold. Is William gone?'

'Oh yes, papa. '

'This is not the right paper I want; this is an August paper. I wantthe one for the last week in July. '

Esther went and rummaged again among the pile of newspapers, mechanically, finding it hard to command her attention to such anindifferent business. She brought the July paper at last. 

'Papa, do you think he will ever come back?' she asked, trembling withpain and the effort not to show it. 

'Come back? Who? William Dallas? Why shouldn't he come back? Hisparents are here; if he lives, he will return to them, no doubt. '

Esther sat down and said no more. The earth seemed to her dreadfullyempty. 

CHAPTER XIII. 

_LETTERS_. 

And so life seemed for many days to the child. She could not shake offthe feeling, nor regain any brightness of spirit. Dull, dull, everything in earth and heaven seemed to be. The taste and savour hadgone out of all her pleasures and occupations. She could not read, without the image of Pitt coming between her and the page; she couldnot study, without an unendurable sense that he was no longer there norgoing to be there to hear her lessons. She had no heart for walks, where every place recalled some memory of Pitt, and what they had doneor said there together; she shunned the box of coins, and hardly caredto gather one of the few lingering fall flowers. And the last of themwere soon gone, for the pleasant season was ended. Then came rains andclouds and winds, and Esther was shut up to the house. 

I can never tell how desolate she was. Truly she was only a girl ofthirteen; she ought not to have been desolate, perhaps, for any nogreater matter. She had her father, and her books, and her youth. BatEsther had also a nature delicate and deep far beyond what is common;and then she was unduly matured by her peculiar life. Intercourse withlight-hearted children like herself had not kept her thoughtless andcareless. At thirteen Esther was looking into life, and finding italready confused and dark. At thirteen also she was learning andpractising self-command. Her father, not much of an observer unless inthe field of military operations, had no perception that she wassuffering; it never occurred to him that she might be solitary; henever knew that she needed his tenderest care and society and guidance. He might have replaced everything to Esther, so that she would havefound no want at all. He did nothing of the kind. He was a good man;just and upright and highly honourable; but he was selfish, like mostmen. He lived to himself in his own deprivation and sorrow, and neverthought but that Esther would in a few days get over the loss of heryoung teacher and companion. He hardly thought about it at all. Theidea of filling Pitt's place, of giving her in his own person what lefther when Pitt went away, did not enter his head. Indeed, he had noknowledge of what Pitt had done for her. If he had known it, there islittle doubt it would have excited his jealousy. For it is quite insome people's nature to be jealous of another's having what they do notwant themselves. 

And so Esther suffered in a way and to a degree that was not good forher. Her old dull spiritless condition was creeping upon her again. Sherealized, more than it is the way of thirteen years old to realize, that something more than an ocean of waters--an ocean ofcircumstances--had rolled itself between her and the one friend andcompanion she had ever had. Pitt said he would return; but four or fiveyears, for all present purposes, is a sort of eternity at her age; hopecould not leap over it, and expectation died at the brink. Her want ofcomfort came back in full force; but where was the girl to get it?

The sight of Mr. And Mrs. Dallas used to put her in a fever. Once in awhile the two would come to make an evening call upon her father; andthen Esther used to withdraw as far as possible into a corner of theroom and watch and listen; watch the looks of the pair with a kind ofirritated fascination, and listen to their talk with her heart jumpingand throbbing in pain and anxiety and passionate longing. For they werePitt's father and mother, and only the ocean of waters lay between himand them, which they could cross at any time; he belonged to them, andcould not be separated from them. All which would have drawn Esthervery near to them and made them delightful to her, but that she knewvery well they desired no such approach. Whether it were simply becauseshe and her father were 'dissenters' Esther could not tell; whateverthe reason, her sensitive nature and discerning vision saw the fact. They made visits of neighbourly politeness to the one English familythat was within reach; but more than politeness they desired neither togive nor receive. I suppose it was this perception which made the sightof the pair so irritating to Esther. _They_ were near Pitt, but theydid not wish that _she_ should be. Esther kept well at a distance. Butwith all this they talked of their son perpetually: of his voyage, ofhis prospects, of his grand-uncle at Kensington, of his career incollege, or at the University rather, and of his possible permanentremaining in the old country; at any rate, of his studying there for aprofession. The colonel was only faintly interested, and would take uphis book with a sigh of relief when they were gone; but Esther wouldsit in passionate misery, not shedding any tears; only staring with herbig eyes at the lire in a sort of fixed gravity most unfit for heryears. 

The months went heavily. Winters were rather severe and very long atSeaforth; Esther was much shut up to the house. It made things all theharder for her. To the colonel it made no difference. He lay upon hiscouch, summer or winter, and went on with his half-heartedreading, --half a heart was all he brought to it; while Esther wouldstand at the window, watching the snow drive past, or the beating downof the rain, or the glitter of the sunbeams upon a wide white world, and almost wonder at the thought that warm lights and soft airs andflowers and walks and botanizing had ever been out there, where now theglint of the sunbeams on the snow-crystals was as sharp as diamonds, and all vegetable life seemed to be gone for ever. 

Pitt had sailed in November, various difficulties having delayed hisdeparture to a month later than the time intended for it. Thereforenews from him could not be looked for until the new year was on itsway. Towards the end of January, however, as early as could possibly behoped, a letter came to Colonel Gainsborough, which he immediately knewto be in Pitt's hand. 

'No postmark, ' he said, surveying it. 'I suppose it came by privateopportunity. '

'Papa, you look a long while at the outside!' said Esther, who stood byfull of excited impatience which she knew better than to show. 

'The outside has its interest too, my dear, ' said her father. 'I waslooking for the Lisbon postmark, but there is none whatever. It musthave come by private hand. '

He broke the seal, and found within an enclosure directed to Esther, which he gave her. And Esther presently left the room. Her father, shesaw, was deep in the contents of his letter, and would not notice hergoing, while if she stayed in the room she knew she would be calledupon to read her own letter or to show it before she was ready. Shewanted to enjoy the full first taste of it, slowly and thoroughly. Meanwhile, the colonel never noticed her going. Pitt's letter was dated'Lisbon, Christmas Day, 1813, ' and ran as follows:--

'MY DEAR COLONEL, --I have landed at last, as you see, in this dirtiestof all places I ever was in. I realize now why America is called theNew world; for everything here drives the consciousness upon me thatthe world on this side is very old--so old, I should say, that it ispast cleansing. I do suppose it is not fair to compare it withSeaforth, which is as bright in comparison as if it were an ocean shellshining with pure lights; but I certainly hope things will mend when Iget to London. 

'But I did not mean to talk to you about Lisbon, which I suppose youknow better than I do. My hope is to give you the pleasure of an earlypiece of news. Probably the papers will already have given it to you, but it is just possible that the chances of weather and ships may letmy letter get to you first, and in that case my pleasure will be gained. 

'There is great news. Napoleon has been beaten, beaten! isn't thatgreat? He has lost a hundred thousand men, and is driven back over theRhine. Holland has joined the Allies, and the Prince of Orange; andLord Wellington has fought such a battle as history hardly tells of;seven days' fighting; and the victory ranks with the greatest that everwere gained. 

'That is all I can tell you now, but it is so good you can afford towait for further details. It is now more difficult than ever to getinto France, and I don't know yet how I am going to make my way toEngland; it is specially hard for Americans, and I must be reckoned anAmerican, you know. However, money will overcome all difficulties;money and persistence. I have written to Esther something about myvoyage, which will, I hope, interest her. I will do myself the pleasureof writing again when I get to London. Meanwhile, dear sir, I remain

'Ever your grateful and most obedient, 'WILM. PITT DALLAS. '

Esther, while her father was revelling in this letter, was taking avery different sort of pleasure in hers. There was a fire up-stairs inher room; she lit a candle, and, in the exquisite sense of having herenjoyment all to herself, went slowly over the lines; as slowly as shecould. 

'Lisbon, _Christmas Day_, 1813. 'MY DEAR LITTLE ESTHER, --If you think avoyage over the sea is in anything like a journey by land, you aremistaken. The only one thing in which they are alike, is that in bothways you _get on_. But wheels go smoothly, even over a jolty road; andwaves do nothing but toss you. It was just one succession of rollingsand pitchings from the time we left New Bedford till we got sight ofthe coast of Portugal. The wind blew all the time _almost_ a gale, rising at different points of our passage to the full desert of thename. One violent storm we had; and all the rest of the voyage we werepitching about at such a rate that we had to fight for our meals;tables were broken, and coffee and chocolate poured about with areckless disregard of economy. For about halt the way it rainedpersistently; so altogether you may suppose, Queen Esther, that myfirst experience has not made me in love with the sea. But it wasn'tbad, after all. The wind drove us along, that was one comfort; and itwould have driven us along much faster, if our sails had been good foranything; but they were a rotten set, a match for the crew, who were arascally band of Portuguese. However, we drove along, as I said, seeingnobody to speak to all the way except ourselves; not a sail in sightnearer than eight or ten miles off. 

'Well, the 23rd we sighted land, to everybody's great joy, you maysuppose. The wind fell, and that night was one of the most beautifuland delicious you can imagine. A smooth sea without a ripple, a clearsky without a cloud, stars shining down quietly, and air as soft as Mayat Seaforth. I stood on deck half the night, enjoying, and thinking offive hundred thousand things one after another. Now that I was almostsetting my foot on a new world, my life, past and future, seemed torise up and confront me; and I looked at it and took counsel with it, as it were. Seaforth on one side, and Oxford on the other; the questionwas, what should William Pitt be between them? The question neverlooked so big to me before. Somehow, I believe, the utter perfection ofthe night suggested to me the idea of perfection generally; what amortal may come to when at his best. Such a view of nature as I washaving puts one out of conceit, I believe, with whatever is out oforder, unseemly, or untrue, or what for any reason misses the end ofits existence. _Then_ rose the question, what is the end ofexistence?--but I did not mean to give you my moralizings, QueenEsther; I have drifted into it. I can tell you, though, that mymoralizing got a sharp emphasis the next day. 

'I turned in at last, leaving the world of air and water a very imageof peace. I slept rather late, I suppose; was awakened by the hoarsevoice of the captain calling all hands on deck, in a manner that showedme there must be urgent cause. I tumbled up as soon as possible. Whatdo you think I saw?

'The morning was as fair as the night had been. The sea was smooth, thesun shining brilliantly. I suppose the colonel would tell you, thatseas may be _too_ smooth; anyhow I saw the fact now. There had been notwind enough during the night to make our sails of any use; a currenthad caught us, and we had been drifting, drifting, till now it appearedwe were drifting straight on to a line of rocks which we could see at alittle distance; made known both to eye and ear: to the former by aline of white where the waves broke upon the rocks, and to the latterby the thundering noise the breakers made. Now you know, where wavesbreak, a ship would stand very little chance of holding together; butwhat were we to do? The only thing possible we did, --let out ouranchors; but the question was, would they hold? They did hold, but nonetoo soon; for we were left riding only about three times our ship'slength from the threatening danger. You see, we had a drunken crew; noproper watch was kept; the captain was first roused by the thunder ofthe waves dashing upon the rocks; and then nothing was ready or inorder, and before the anchors could be got out we were where I tellyou. The anchors held, but we could not tell how long they would hold, nor how soon the force of the waves would drag us, cables and all, tothe rocks. There we sat and looked at the view and situation. Wehoisted a signal and fired guns of distress; but we were in front of arocky shore that gave us little hope of either being of avail. At last, after three hours of this, the captain and some of the passengers gotinto the yawl and went off to find help. We, left behind, stared at thebreakers. After three more hours had gone, I saw the yawl coming back, followed by another small boat, and further off by four royal pilotboats with sails. I saw them with the glass, that is, from my stationin the rigging. When they came up, all the passengers except half adozen, of whom I was one, were transferred to the pilot boats. Youshould have heard the jabber of the Portuguese when they came on board!But the captain had determined to try to save his brig, as by this timea slight breeze had sprung up, and I stayed with some of the others tohelp in the endeavour. When the rest of the passengers were safe onboard the pilot boats, we set about our critical undertaking. Sailswere spread, one anchor hoisted, the cable of the other cut, and westood holding our breath, to see whether wind or water would provestrongest. But the sails drew; the brig slowly fell off before thewind, and we edged away from our perilous position. Then, when we werefairly off, there rose a roar of shouts that rent the air; for theboats had all waited, lying a few rods off, to see what would become ofus. Queen Esther, I can tell you, if I had been a woman, I should havesat down and cried; what _I_ did I won't say. As I looked back to thescene of our danger, there was a most lovely rainbow spanning it, showing in the cloud of spray that rose above the breakers. 

'At six o'clock on Christmas eve I landed at Lisbon, where I gotcomfortable quarters in an English boarding-house. When I can get toLondon, I do not yet know. I am here at a great time, to see history asit is taking shape in human life and experience; something differentfrom looking at it as cast into bronze or silver in former ages andpacked up in a box of coins; hey, Queen Esther? But that's good too inits way. Your father will tell you the news. 

'Your devoted subject, 'WILM. PITT DALLAS. '

CHAPTER XIV. 

_STRUGGLES_. 

Esther sat, swallowed up of excitement, poring over this letter, longerthan she knew; whether it gave her most pain or pleasure she could nothave told. Pleasure came in a great wave at first; and then pricks ofpain began to make themselves felt, as if the pleasure wave had beenfull of sharp points. Her cheeks glowed, her eyes sent looks, or ratherone steady look, at the paper, which would certainly have bored itthrough or set it on fire if moral qualities had taken to themselvesmaterial power. At last, remembering that she must not stay too long, she folded the letter up and returned to her father. He had taken _his_letter coolly, she saw, and gone back to his book. How far his worldwas from hers! Absolutely, Pitt's letter was nothing to him. 

'Well, my dear, ' said he, after a while observing her, 'what does hesay?'

'I suppose he told you, papa, what happened to him?'

'No, he did not; he only told me what is happening to the world. He hasgone to Europe at a grand time!'

'What is happening to the world, papa?'

'My dear, that arch-usurper and mischief-maker, Napoleon Buonaparte, has been beaten by the allied armies at Leipzig--driven back over theRhine. It's glorious news! I wish I was with Lord Wellington. '

'To fight, papa?'

'Certainly. I would like to have a hand in what is going on. If Icould, ' he added with a sigh. 

'But papa, I should think fighting was not pleasant work?'

'Women's fighting is not. '

'Is men's fighting, papa? _Pleasant?_'

'It is pleasant to have a blow at a rascal. Ah, well! my fighting daysare over. What does Pitt tell you?'

'About his voyage, papa; nothing else. '

'Are you going to let me hear it?'

Esther would a little rather have kept it to herself, simply because itwas so precious to her. However, this question was a command, and sheread the letter aloud to her father. With that the matter was disposedof, in all but her own mind. For the final result of the letter was tostir up all the pain the writer's absence had caused, and to add to itsome new elements of aggravation. Esther had not realized, till thoseletters came, how entirely the writer of them had gone out of herworld. In love and memory she had in a sort still kept him near;without vision she had yet been not fully separated from him. Now thesepictures of the other world and of Pitt's life in it came like abright, sheer blade severing the connection which had until thensubsisted between her life and his. Yes, he was in another world! andthere was no connection any longer. He had not forgotten her yet, buthe would forget; how should he not? how could he help it? In the richsweep of variety and change and eager action which filled hisexperience, what thought could he have any more for that quiet figureon the sofa, or this lonely little child, whose life contained nointerest whatever! or how could his thoughts return at all to this dullroom, where everything remained with no change from morning to nightand from one week to another? Always Colonel Gainsborough there on thesofa; always that same green cloth covering the table in the middle ofthe floor, and the view of the snow-covered garden and road and fieldsoutside the windows, with those everlasting pollard poplars along thefence. While Europe was in commotion, and armies rolling their massesover it, and Napoleon fleeing and Lord Wellington chasing, and everybreath was full of eagerness and hope and triumph and purpose in thatworld without. 

Esther fell back into a kind of despair. Pitt was gone from her; nowshe realized that fact thoroughly; not only gone in person, but movedfar off in mind. Maybe he might write again, once or twice; very likelyhe would, for he was kind; but his life was henceforth separated fromSeaforth and from all the other life that had its home there. The oldcry for comfort began to sound in Esther's heart with a terribleurgency. Where was it to come from? And as the child had only onepossible outlook for comfort, she began to set her face that way in akind of resolute determination. That is, she began to shut herself upwith her Bible and search it as a man who is poor searches for a hidtreasure, or as one who is starving looks for something to eat. Nobodyknew. She shut herself up and carried on her search alone, and troublednobody with questions. Nobody ever noticed the air of the child; thegrave, far-away look of her eyes; the pale face; the unnaturally quietdemeanour. At least nobody noticed it to any purpose. Mrs. Barker didcommunicate to Christopher her belief that that child was 'mopin'herself into ninety years old;' and they were both agreed that sheought to be sent to school. 'A girl don't grow just like one o' mycabbages, ' said Mr. Bounder; '_that_'ll make a head for itself. '

'Miss Esther's got a head, ' put in Mrs. Barker. 

''Twon't be solid and that, if it ain't looked after, ' retorted herbrother. 'I don't s'pose you understand the natural world, though. What's the colonel thinkin' about?'

'That ain't your and my business, Christopher. But I do worrit myselfabout Miss Esther's face, the way I sees it sometimes. '

The colonel, it is true, did not see it as Mrs. Barker saw it. Not butthat he might, if he had ever watched her. But he did not watch. Itnever occurred to him but that everything went right with Esther. Whenshe made him his tea, she was attentive and womanly; when she readaloud to him, she read intelligently; and in the reciting of the fewlessons she did with her father, there was always no fault to find. Howcould the colonel suppose anything was wrong? Life had become a dull, sad story to him; why should it be different to anybody else? Nay, thecolonel would not have said that in words; it was rather the supinecondition into which he had lapsed, than any conclusion of hisintelligence; but the fact was, he had no realization of the fact thata child's life ought to be bright and gay. He accepted Esther's sedateunvarying tone and manner as quite the right thing, and found it suithim perfectly. Nobody else saw the girl, except at church. The familyhad not cultivated the society of their neighbours in the place, andEsther had no friends among them. 

There was a long succession of months during which things went on afterthis fashion. Very weary months to Esther; indeed, months covered by sothick a gloom that part of the child's life consisted in the struggleto break it. Letters did not come frequently from Pitt, even to hisfather and mother; he wrote that it was difficult to get a vessel totake American letters at all, and that the chances were ten to one, ifaccepted, that they would never get to the hands they were intendedfor. American letters or American passengers were sometimes held tovitiate the neutrality of a vessel; and if chased she would be likelyto throw them, that is, the former, overboard. Pitt was detained stillin Lisbon by the difficulty of getting passports, as late as the middleof March, but expected then soon to sail for England. His passage wastaken. So Mr. And Mrs. Dallas reported on one of their evening visits. They talked a great deal of politics at these visits, which sometimesinterested Esther and sometimes bored her excessively; but this lastbit of private news was brought one evening about the end of April. 

'He has not gained much by his winter's work, ' remarked the colonel. 'He might as well have studied this term at Yale. '

'He will not have lost his time, ' said Mr. Dallas comfortably. 'He isthere, that is one thing; and he is looking about him; and now he willhave time to feel a little at home in England and make all hisarrangements before his studies begin. It is very well as it is. '

'If you think so, it is, ' said the colonel drily. 

The next news was that Pitt had landed at Falmouth, and was going bypost-chaise to London in a day or two. He reported having just got LordByron's two last poems, --'The Corsair' and 'The Bride of Abydos';wished he could send them home, but that was not so easy. 

'He had better send them home, or send them anywhere, ' said thecolonel; 'and give his attention to Sophocles and Euclid. Light poetrydoes not amount to anything; it is worse than waste of time. '

'I don't want a man to be made of Greek and Latin, ' said Mrs. Dallas. 'Do you think, only the Ancients wrote what is worthy to be read, colonel?'

'They didn't write nonsense, my dear madam; and Byron does. '

'Nonsense!'

'Worse than nonsense. '

'Won't do to enquire too strictly into what the old Greeks and Romanswrote, if folks say true, ' remarked Mr. Dallas slyly. 

'In the dead languages it won't do a young man so much harm, ' said thecolonel. 'I hope William will give himself now to his Greek, since youhave afforded him such opportunity. '

Mrs. Dallas's air, as she rose to take leave, was inimitably expressiveof proud confidence and rejection of the question. Mr. Dallas laughedcarelessly and said, as he shook the colonel's hand, 'No fear!'

The next news they had came direct. Another letter from Pitt to thecolonel; and, as before, it enclosed one for Esther. Esther ran awayagain to have the first reading and indulge herself in the firstimpressions of it alone and free from question or observation. She evenlocked her door. This letter was written from London, and dated May1814. 

'MY DEAR QUEEN ESTHER, --I wish you were here, for we certainly wouldhave some famous walks together. Do you know, I am in London? and thatmeans, in one of the most wonderful places in the world. You can haveno idea what sort of a place it is, and no words I can write will tellyou. I have not got over my own sense of astonishment and admirationyet; indeed it is growing, not lessening; and every time I go out Icome home more bewildered with what I have seen. Do you ask me why? Inthe first place, because it is so big. Next, because of theunimaginable throng of human beings of every grade and variety. Such amultitude of human lives crossing each other in an intraceable andinterminable network; intraceable to the human eye, but what a sight itmust be to the eye that sees all! All these people, so many hundreds ofthousands, acting and reacting upon one another's happiness, prosperity, goodness, and badness. Now at such a place as Seaforthpeople are left a good deal to their individuality, and arecomparatively independent of one another; but here I feel what apressure and bondage men's lives draw round each other. It makes mecatch my breath. You will not care about this, however, nor be able tounderstand me. 

'But another thing you would care for, and delight in; and that is thehistorical associations of London. Queen Esther, it is delightful! Youand I have looked at coins and read books together, and looked athistory so; but here I seem to touch it. I have been to-day to CharingCross, standing and wandering about, and wondering at the things thathave happened there. Ask your father to tell you about Charing Cross. Icould hardly come away. If you ask me how _I_ know so well whathappened there, I will tell you. I have found an old uncle here. Youknew I had one? He lives just a little out of London, or out of thethick of London, in a place that is called Kensington; in a queer oldhouse, which, however, I like very much, and that is filled withcuriosities. It is in a pleasant situation, not far from one of thepublic parks, --though it is not called a park, but "Garden, "--and withone or two palaces and a number of noble mansions about it. My unclereceived me very hospitably, and would have me come and make my homewith him while I am in London. That is nice for me, and in many ways. He is a character, this old uncle of mine; something of an antiquary, agood deal of a hermit, a little eccentric, but stuffed with localknowledge, and indeed with knowledge of many sorts. I think he hastaken a fancy to me somehow, Queen Esther; at any rate, he is verykind. He seems to like to go about with me and show me London, andexplain to me what London is. He was there at Charing Cross with me, holding forth on history and politics--he's a great Tory; ask thecolonel what that is; and really I seemed to see the ages rollingbefore me as he talked, and I looked at Northumberland House and at thebrazen statue of Charles I. If I had time I would tell you about them, as Mr. Strahan told me. And yesterday I was in the House of Commons, and heard some great talking; and to-morrow we are going to the Tower. I think, if you were only here to go too, we should have a first-ratesort of a time. But I will try and tell you about it. 

'And talking of history, --Mr. Strahan has some beautiful coins. Thereis one of Philip of Macedon, and two of Alexander; think of that, QueenEsther; and some exquisite gold pieces of Tarentum and Syracuse. Howyour eyes would look at them! Well, study up everything, so that whenwe meet again we may talk up all the world. I shall be very hard atwork myself soon, as soon as I go to Oxford. In the meantime I amrather hard at work here, although to be sure the work is play. 

'This is a very miserable bit of a letter, and nothing in it, justbecause I have so much to say. If I had time I would write it over, butI have not time. The next shall be better. I am a great deal with Mr. Strahan, in-doors as well as out. I wish I could show you his house, Queen. It is old and odd and pretty. Thick old walls, little windows indeep recesses; low ceilings and high ceilings, for different parts ofthe house are unlike each other; most beautiful dark oakenwainscotings, carved deliciously, and grown black with time; and big, hospitable chimney-pieces, with fires of English soft coal. Some of therooms are rather dark, to me who am accustomed to the sun of Americapouring in at a wealth of big windows; but others are to me quitecharming. And this quaint old house is filled with treasures andcuriosities. Mr. Strahan lives in it quite alone with two servants, afactotum of a housekeeper and another factotum of a man-servant. I mustsay I find it intelligible that he should take pleasure in having mewith him. Good-bye for to-night. I'll write soon again. 

'WM. PITT DALLAS. '

As on occasion of the former letter, Esther lingered long over thereading of this; her uneasiness not appeased by it at all; then at lastwent down to her father, to whom the uneasiness was quite unknown andunsuspected. 

'I think William writes the longest letters to you, ' he remarked. 'Whatdoes he say this time?'

Esther read her letter aloud. 

'Will has fallen on his feet, ' was the comment. 

'What does he say to you, papa?'

'Not much; and yet a good deal. You may read for yourself. '

Which Esther did, eagerly. Pitt had told her father about his visit tothe House of Commons. 

'I had yesterday, ' he wrote, 'a rare pleasure, which you, my dearcolonel, would have appreciated. Mr. Strahan took me to the House ofCommons; and I heard Mr. Canning, Mr. Whitbread, Mr. Wilberforce, Mr. Ponsonby, and others, on what question, do you think? Nothing less thanthe duty which lies upon England just at this moment, to use theadvantage of her influence with her allies in Europe to get them tojoin with her in putting down the slave trade. It was a royal occasion;and the enjoyment of it quite beyond description. To-day I have beenstanding at Charing Cross, looking at the statue of Charles I. , andwondering at the world. My grand-uncle is a good Tory and held fortheloquently as we stood there. Don't tell my mother! but privately, mydear colonel, I seem to discover in myself traces of Whiggism. Whetherit be nature, or your influence, or the air of America, that has causedit to grow, I know not; but there it is. My mother would be veryseriously disturbed if she suspected the fact. As to my father, Ireally never discovered to my satisfaction what his politics are. ToMr. Strahan I listen reverently. It is not necessary for me to say tohim all that comes into my head. _But_ it came into my head to-day, asI stood gazing up at the equestrian statue at Charing Cross, that itwould better become the English people to have John Hampden there thanthat miserable old trickster, Charles Stuart. '

Esther read and re-read. 

'Papa, ' she said at last, 'what is a Tory?'

'It is a party name, my dear; it is given to a certain political party. '

'You are not a Tory?'

'No! If I had been, I should never have found my way here. ' The colonelsaid it with a sigh. 

'Then I suppose you are a Whig. And are Mr. And Mrs. Dallas Tories?'

'Humph!--Will says his mother is. He ought to know. '

'What is the difference, papa?'

'My dear, I don't know that you can understand. The names grew up inthe old days when the Stuarts were trying to get all the power of thegovernment into their own hands and to leave none to the people. Thosewho stood by the king, through thick and thin, were called Tories;those who tried to limit him and guard the people's liberties, wereWhigs. '

'What queer names! Papa, are there Whigs and Tories in England now?'

'What are called so. '

'Are the kings still trying to get away the liberties of the people?'

'No, my child. Those are pretty well secured. '

'And here we have no king at all. I don't see how you can be a Whig, orMrs. Dallas a Tory. '

'There are always the two parties. One, that sticks by the governmentand aims to strengthen its hands, right or wrong; and the other, thatlooks out for the liberties of the people and watches that they be notinfringed or tampered with. '

Esther thought a while, but not exclusively over the politicalquestion. It might have occurred to an older person to wonder howWilliam Pitt had got his name from parents who were both Tories. Thefact was that here, as in many another case, money was the solution ofthe difficulty. A rich relation, who was also a radical, had promised afine legacy to the boy if he were given the name of the famous Whigstatesman, and Mr. Mrs. And Dallas had swallowed the pill per help ofthe sugar. About this Esther knew nothing. 

'Papa, ' she said, 'don't you think Pitt will get so fond of Englandthat he will never want to come back?'

'It would not be strange if he did. '

'Is England so much better than America, papa?'

'It is England, my dear!' the colonel said, with an expression whichmeant, she could not tell what. 

CHAPTER XV. 

_COMFORT_. 

These letters, on the whole, did not comfort Esther. The momentaryintense pleasure was followed by inevitable dull reaction and contrast;and before she had well got over the effect of one batch of lettersanother came; and she was kept in a perpetual stir and conflict. ForPitt proved himself a good correspondent, although it was June beforethe first letter from his parents reached him. So he reported, writingon the third of that month; and told that the Allied Sovereigns werejust then leaving Paris for a visit to the British Capital, and all theLondon world was on tiptoe. 'Great luck for me to be here just now, ' hewrote; and so everybody at home agreed. Mrs. Dallas grew more stately, Esther thought, with every visit she made at the colonel's house; andshe and her husband made many. It was a necessity to have some one tospeak to about Pitt and Pitt's letters; and it was urgent likewise thatMrs. Dallas should know if letters had been received by the same mailat this other house. She always found out, one way or another; and thenshe would ask, 'May I see?' and scan with eager eyes the sheet thecolonel generally granted her. Of the letters to Esther nothing wassaid, but Esther lived in fear and trembling that some inadvertent wordmight let her know of their existence. 

Another necessity which brought the Dallases often to ColonelGainsborough's was the political situation. They could hardly discussit with anybody else in Seaforth, and what is the use of a politicalsituation if you cannot discuss it? All the rest of the families in theneighbourhood were strong Americans; and even Pitt, in his letters, wasmore of an American than anything else. Indeed, so much more, that itgave his mother sad annoyance. He told of the temper of the Englishpeople at this juncture; of the demands to be made by the Englishgovernment before they would hear of peace; of a strong force sent toCanada, and the general indignant and belligerent tone of feeling andspeech among members of Parliament; but Pitt did not write as if hesympathized with it. 'He has lived here too long already!' sighed hismother. 

'Not if he is destined to live here the rest of his life, my dearmadam, ' said the colonel. 

'He will not do that. He will end by settling in England. '

'Will may have his own views, on that as on some other things. '

'By the time he has gone through the University and studied for hisprofession, he will be more of an Englishman than of an American, ' Mr. Dallas observed contentedly. 'He will choose for himself. '

'What profession? Have you fixed upon one? or has he?'

'Time enough yet for that. '

'But your property lies here. '

'I am here to take care of it, ' said Mr. Dallas, laughing a little. 

All this sort of talk, which Esther heard often, with variations, madeone thing clear to her, namely, that if it depended on his father andmother, Pitt's return to his native country would be long delayed orfinally prevented. It did not entirely depend on them, everybody knewwho knew him; nevertheless it seemed to Esther that the fascinations ofthe old world must be great, and the feeling of the distance betweenher and Pitt grew with every letter. It was not the fault of theletters or of the writer in any way, nor was it the effect the latterwere intended to produce; but Esther grew more and more despondentabout him. And then, after a few months, the letters became short andrare. Pitt had gone to Oxford; and, from the time of his entering theUniversity, plunged head and ears into business, so eagerly that timeand disposition failed for writing home. Letters did come, from time totime, but there was much less in them; and those for ColonelGainsborough were at long intervals. So, when the second winter ofPitt's absence began to set in, Esther reckoned him, to all intents andpurposes, lost to her life. 

The girl went with increased eagerness and intentness to the oneresource she had--her Bible. The cry for happiness is so natural to thehuman heart, that it takes long oppression to stifle it. The cry wasstrong in Esther's young nature--strong and imperative; and in all theworld around her she saw no promise of help or supply. The spring atwhich she had slaked her thirst was dried up; the desert was as barrento her eye as it had been to Hagar's; but, unlike Hagar, she soughtwith a sort of desperate eagerness in one quarter where she believedwater might be found. When people search in _that_ way, unless they getdiscouraged, their search is apt to come to something; unless, indeed, they are going after a mirage, and it was no mirage that hovered beforeEsther, --no vision of anything, indeed; she was searching into themeaning of a promise. 

And, as I said, nobody knew; nobody helped her; the months of thatwinter rolled slowly and gloomily over her. Esther was between fourteenand fifteen now; her mind just opening to a consciousness of itspowers, and a growing dawn of its possibilities. Life was unfolding, not its meaning, but something of its extent and richness to her; lessthan ever could she content herself to have it a desert. The study wenton all through the winter with no visible change or result. But withthe breaking spring the darkness and ice-bound state of Esther's mindseemed to break up too. Another look came into the girl's face--a highquiet calm; a light like the light of the spring itself, so graciousand tender and sweet. Esther was changed. The duties which she had doneall along with a dull punctuality were done now with a certain blessedalacrity; her eye got its life of expression again, and a smile moresweet than any former ones came readily to the lips. I do not think thecolonel noticed all this; or if he noticed at all, he simply thoughtEsther was glad of the change of season; the winter, to be sure, hadkept her very much shut up. The servants were more observing. 

'Do you know, we're a-goin' to have a beauty in this 'ere house?'inquired Christopher one evening of his sister, with a look of slysearch, as if to see whether she knew it. 

'Air we?' asked the housekeeper. 

'A beauty, and no mistake. Why, Sarah, can't you see it?'

'I sees all there is to see in the family, ' the housekeeper returnedwith a superior air. 

'Then you see that. She's grown and changed uncommon, within a year. '

'She's a very sweet young lady, ' Mrs. Barker agreed. 

'And she's goin' to be a stunner for looks, ' Christopher repeated, withthat same sly observation of his sister's face. 'She'll bebetter-lookin' than ever her mother was. '

'Mrs. Gainsborough was a handsome woman too, ' said the housekeeper. 'But Miss Esther's very promisin'--you're right there; she's verypromisin'. She's just beginnin' to show what she will be. '

'She's got over her dumps lately uncommon. I judged the dumps wasnatural enough, sitiwated as she is; but she's come out of 'em. She'sopenin' up like a white camellia; and there ain't anythin' that growsthat has less shadow to it; though maybe it ain't what you'd call a gayflower, ' added Christopher thoughtfully. 

'Is that them stiff white flowers as has no smell to 'em?'

'The same, Mrs. Barker--if you mean what I mean. '

'Then I wouldn't liken Miss Esther to no sich. She's sweet, she is, andshe ain't noways stiff. She has just which I call the manners a younglady ought to have. '

'Can't beat a white camellia for manners, ' responded Christopherjocularly. 

So the servants saw what the father did not. I think he hardly kneweven that Esther was growing taller. 

One evening in the spring, Esther was as usual making tea for herfather. As usual also the tea-time was very silent. The colonelsometimes carried on his reading alongside of his tea-cup; at othertimes, perhaps, he pondered what he had been reading. 

'Papa, ' said Esther suddenly, 'would it be any harm if I wrote aletter to Pitt?'

The colonel did not answer at once. 

'Do you want to write to him?'

'Yes, papa; I would like it--I would like to write once. '

'What do you want to write to him for?'

'I would like to tell him something that I think it would please him tohear. '

'What is that?'

'It is just something about myself, papa, ' Esther said, a littlehesitatingly. 

'You may write, and I will enclose it in a letter of mine. '

'Thank you, papa. '

A day or two passed, and then Esther brought her letter. It was closedand sealed. The colonel took it and turned it over. 

'There's a good deal of it, ' he remarked. 'Was it needful to use somany words?'

'Papa, ' said Esther, hesitating, 'I didn't think about how many words Iwas using. '

'You should have had thinner paper. Why did you seal it up?'

'Papa, I didn't think about that either. I only thought it had got tobe sealed. '

'You did not wish to hinder my seeing what you had written?'

'No, papa, ' said Esther, a little slowly. 

'That will do. ' And he laid the letter on one side, and Esther supposedthe matter was disposed of. But when she had kissed him and gone off tobed, the colonel brought the letter before him again, looked at it, andfinally broke the seal and opened it. There was a good deal of it, ashe had remarked. 

'Seaforth, _May_ 11, 1815. 'MY DEAR PITT, --Papa has given me leave towrite a letter to you; and I wanted to write, because I have somethingto tell you that I think you will be glad to hear. I am afraid I cannottell it very well, for I am not much accustomed to writing letters; butI will do as well as I can. 

'I am afraid it will take me some time to say what I want to say. Icannot put it in two or three sentences. You must have patience with me. 

'Do you remember my telling you once that I wanted comfort? And do youremember my asking you once about the meaning of some words in theBible, where I was looking for comfort, because mamma said it was thebest place? We were sitting in the verandah, one afternoon. You hadbeen away, to New Haven, and were home for vacation. 

'Well, I partly forgot about it that summer, I was so happy. You knowwhat a good time we had with everything, and I forgot about wantingcomfort. But after you went away that autumn to Lisbon and to England, then the want came back. You were very good about writing, and Ienjoyed your letters very much; and yet, somehow, every one seemed tomake me feel a little worse than I did before. That is, after the firstbit, you know. For an hour, perhaps, while I was reading it, andreading it the second time, and thinking about it, I was almostperfectly happy; the letters seemed to bring you near; but when justthat first hour was passed, they made you seem farther off than ever;farther off every time. And then the want of comfort came back, and Idid not know where to get it. There was nobody to ask, and no help atall, if I could not find it in the Bible. All that winter, and all thesummer, last summer that was, and all the first part of this lastwinter, I did not know what to do, I wanted comfort so. I thought maybeyou would never come back to Seaforth again; and you know there isnobody else here, and I was quite alone. I never do see anybody butpapa, except Mr. And Mrs. Dallas, who come here once in a while. So Iwent to the Bible. I read, and I thought. 

'Do you remember those words I once asked you about? Perhaps you donot, so I will write them down here. "The Lord make His face shine uponthee, and be gracious unto thee. The Lord lift up His countenance uponthee, and give the peace. " Those are the words. 

'Do you remember what you said at that time, about the pleasure ofseeing a face that looks brightly and kindly upon one? only you did notknow how that could be true of God, because we cannot really _see_ Hisface? Well, I thought a great deal about that. You see, there are thewords; and so, I thought, the thing must be possible somehow, and theremust be some way in which they can be true, or the Bible would not sayso. I began to pray that the Lord would make His face shine upon _me_. Then I remembered another thing. It is only the faces we _love_ that wecare about seeing--I mean, that we care about so very much; and it isonly the faces that love us that _can_ "shine" upon us. But I did notlove God, for I did not know Him; and I knew He could not love me, forHe knew me too well. So I began to pray a different prayer. I askedthat God would teach me to love Him, and make me such a person that Hecould love me. It was all very dark and confused before my mind; Ithink I was like a person groping about and feeling for things hecannot see. It was very miserable, for I had no comfort at all; and thedays and the nights were all sad and dark, only I kept a little bit ofhope. 

'Then I must tell you another thing. I had been doing nothing butpraying and reading the Bible. But one day I came to these words, whichstruck me very much. They are in the fourteenth chapter of John:--

'"He that hath my commandments, and keepeth them, he it is that lovethme; and he that loveth me shall be loved of my Father; and I will lovehim, and will manifest myself to him. "

'Do you notice those last words? That is like making the face shine, orlifting up the countenance upon a person. But then I saw that to getthat, which I wanted. I must _keep His commandments_. I hardly knewwhat they were, and I began to read to find out. I had been onlylooking for comfort before. And as fast as I found out one of Hiscommands, I began to do it, as far as I could. Pitt, His commandmentsare such beautiful things!

'And then, I don't know how it came or when it came, exactly, but Ibegan to _see His face_. And it began to shine upon me. And thedarkness began to go away, And now, Pitt, this is what I wanted to tellyou: I have found comfort. I am not dark, and I don't feel alone anymore. The promise is all true. I think He has manifested Himself to me;for I am sure I know Him a little, and I love Him a great deal; andeverything seems changed. It is _so_ changed, Pitt. I am happy now, andcontented, and things seem beautiful to me again, as they used to dowhen you were here, only even more, I think. 

'I thought you would be glad to know it, and so I have written all thislong letter, and my fingers are really tired. 

'Your loving friend, 'ESTHER GAINSBOROUGH. '

The colonel read this somewhat peculiar document with wonderingattention. He got to the end, and began again, with his mind in a gooddeal of confusion. A second reading left him more confused than thefirst, and he began the third time. What did Esther mean by this wantof comfort? How could she want comfort? And what was this strange thingthat she had found? And how came she to be pouring out her mind in thisfashion to Pitt, to him of all people? The colonel was half touched, half jealous, half awed. What had his child learned in her strangesolitary Bible study? He had heard of religious ecstasies and religiousenthusiasts; devotees; people set apart by a singular experience; washis Esther possibly going to be anything like that? He did not wish it. He wanted her certainly to be a good woman, and a religious woman; hedid not want her to be extravagant. And this sounded extravagant, evenvisionary. How had she got it? What had Pitt Dallas to do with it? Wasit for want of _him_ that Esther had set up such a cry for comfort? Thecolonel liked nothing of all the questions that started up in his mind;and the only satisfactory thing was that in some way Esther seemed tobe feeling happy. But her father did not want her to be given over to avisionary happiness, which in the end would desert her. He sat up along time reading and brooding over the letter. Finally he closed itand sealed it again, and resolved to let it go off, and to have a talkwith his daughter. 

CHAPTER XVI. 

_REST AND UNREST_. 

It cost the colonel a strange amount of trouble to get to that talk. For an old soldier and man of the world to ask a little innocent girlabout her meaning of words she had written, would seem a simple matterenough; but there was something about it that tied the colonel'stongue. He could not bring himself to broach the subject at breakfast, with the clear homely daylight streaming upon the breakfast table, andEsther moving about and attending to her usual morning duties; all hecould do was to watch her furtively. This creature was growing up outof his knowledge; he looked to see what outward signs of change mightbe visible. He saw a fair, slim girl, no longer a little girlcertainly, with a face that still was his child's face, he thought. Andyet, as he looked, he slowly came to the conviction that it was theface of something more than a child. The old simplicity and the oldpurity were there indeed; but now there was a blessed calm upon thebrow, and the calmness had a certain lofty quality; and the sweetness, which was more than ever, was refined and deep. It was not thesweetness of hilarious childhood, but something that had a more distantsource than childhood draws from. The colonel ate his breakfast withoutknowing what he was eating; however, he could not talk to Esther atthat time. He waited till evening had come round again, and the lampwas lit, and he was taking his toast and tea, with Esther ministeringto him in her wonted course. 

'How old are you, Esther?' he began suddenly. 

'Near fifteen, papa. '

'Fifteen! Humph!'

'Why, papa? Had you forgotten?'

'At the moment. ' Then he began again. 'I sent your letter off. '

'Thank you, papa. '

'It was sealed up. Why did you seal it? Did you mean me not to read it?'

Esther's eyes opened. 'I never thought about it, papa. I didn't knowyou would care to read it. I thought it must be sealed, and I sealedit. '

'I did care to read it, so I opened it. Had you any objection?'

'No, papa!' said Esther, wondering. 

'And having opened it, I read it. I did not quite understand it, Esther. '

Esther made no reply. 

'What do you want _comfort_ so much for, my child? I thought you werehappy--as happy as other children. '

'I _am_ happy now, papa; more happy than other children. '

'But you were not?'

'No, papa; for a while I was not. '

'Why? What did you want, that you had not?--except your mother, ' thecolonel added, with a sigh of consciousness that there might be amissing something there. 

'I was not thinking of her, papa, ' Esther said slowly. 

'Of what, then?' The colonel was intensely curious. 

'I was very happy, as long as Pitt was at home. '

'William Dallas! But what is he to you? he's a collegian, and you are alittle girl. '

'Papa, the collegian was very kind to the little girl, ' Esther said, with a smile that was very bright, and also merry with a certain senseof humour. 

'I grant it; still--it is unreasonable And was it because he was gone, that you wanted comfort?'

'I didn't want it, or I didn't know that I wanted it, while he washere. '

'People that don't know they need comfort, do _not_ need it, I fancy. You draw fine distinctions. Well, go on, Esther. You have found it, your letter says. '

'Oh yes, papa. '

'My dear, I do not understand you; and I should like to understand. Canyou tell me what you mean?'

As he raised his eyes to her, he saw a look come over her face that hecould as little comprehend as he could comprehend her letter; a look ofsurprise at him, mingled with a sudden shine of some inner light. Shewas moving about the tea-table; she came round and stood in front ofher father, full in view. 

'Papa, I thought my letter explained it. I mean, that now I have cometo know the Lord Jesus. '

'_Now?_ My dear, I was under the impression that you had been taughtand had known the truths of the gospel all your life?'

'Oh, yes, papa; so I was. The difference'--

'Well?'

'The difference, papa, is, that now I know _Him_. '

'Him? Whom?'

'I mean Jesus, papa. '

'How do you know Him? Do you mean that lately you have begun to thinkabout Him?'

'No, papa, I had been thinking a great while. '

'And now?'--

'Now I have come to know Him. '

That Esther knew what she meant was evident; it was equally plain thatthe colonel did not. He was puzzled, and did not like to show it toofully. The one face was shining with clearness and gladness; the otherwas dissatisfied and perplexed. 

'My dear, I do not understand you, ' the colonel said, after a pause. 'Have you been reading mystical books? I did not know there were any inthe house. '

'I have been reading only the Bible, papa; and _that_ is not mystical. '

'Your language sounds so. '

'Why, no, papa! I do not mean anything mystical. '

'Will you explain yourself?'

Esther paused, thinking how she should do this. When one has used thesimplest words in one's vocabulary, and is called upon to expound themby the use of others less simple, the task is somewhat critical. Thecolonel watched with a sort of disturbed pleasure the thoughtful, clearbrow, the grave eyes which had become so sweet. The intelligence atwork there, he saw, was no longer that of a child; the sweetness was nolonger the blank of unconscious ignorance, but the wisdom of someblessed knowledge. What did she know that was hidden from hisexperience?

'Papa, it is very difficult to tell you, ' Esther began. 'I used to knowabout the things in the Bible, and I had learned whole chapters byheart; but that was all. I did not know much more than the name ofChrist, --and His history, of course, and His words. '

'What more could you know?' inquired the colonel, in increasingastonishment. 

'That's just it, papa; I did not know Himself. You know what you meanwhen you say you don't know somebody. I mean just that. '

'But, Esther, that sounds to me very like--very like--an improper useof language, ' said the colonel, stammering. 'How can you _know Him_, asyou speak?'

'I can't tell you, papa. I think He showed Himself to me. '

'Showed Himself! Do you mean in a vision?'

'Oh no, papa!' said Esther, smiling. 'I have not seen His face, notliterally. But He has somehow showed me how good He is, and howglorious; and has made me understand how He loves me, and how He iswith me; so that I do not feel alone any more. I don't think I evershall feel alone again. '

Was this extravagance? The colonel pondered. It seemed to him a thingto be rebuked or repressed; he knew nothing of this kind in his ownreligious experience; he feared it was visionary and fanciful. But whenhe looked at Esther's face, the words died on his tongue which he wouldhave spoken. Those happy eyes were so strong in their wistfulness, sograve in their happiness, that they forbade the charge of folly orfancifulness; nay, they were looking at something which the colonelwished he could himself see, if the sight brought such contentment. They stopped his mouth. He could not say what he thought to say, andhis own eyes oddly fell before them. 

'What does William Dallas know about all this?' he asked. 

'Nothing, papa. I don't think he knows it at all. '

'Why did you write about it to him, then?'

'I was sure he would be glad for me, papa. Once, a good while ago, Iasked Pitt what could be the meaning of a verse in the Bible; thatbeautiful verse in Numbers; and he could not tell me, though what hesaid gave me a great help. So I knew he would remember, and he would beglad. And I want him to know Jesus too. '

The colonel felt a little twinge of jealousy here; but Esther did notknow, he reflected, that her own father was in equal destitution ofthat knowledge. Or was it all visionary that she had been saying, andhis view of religion the right one after all? It _must_ be the rightone. Yet his religion had never given his face the expression thatshone in Esther's now. It almost hurt him. 

'And now you have comfort?' he said, after a moment's pause. 

'Yes, papa. More than comfort. '

'Because you think that God looks upon you with favour. '

'Because I love Him, papa. I know Him and I love Him. And I know Heloves me, and will do everything for me. '

'How do you know it?' asked the colonel almost harshly. 'That sounds tome rather presuming. You may hope it; but how can you know it?'

'He has made me know it, papa. And He has said it in the Bible. I justbelieve what He says. '

Colonel Gainsborough gave up the argument. Before Esther's face ofquiet confidence he felt himself baffled. If she were wrong, he couldnot prove her wrong. Uneasy and worsted, he gave up the discussion; butthought he would not have any more letters go to William Dallas. 

And as the days went on, he watched furtively his daughter. He had notbeen mistaken in his observations that evening. A steadfastness ofsweet happiness was about her, beautifying and elevating all she didand all she was. Fair quiet on the brow, loving gladness on the lips, and hands of ready ministry. She had always been a dutiful child, faithful in her ministering; but now the service was not of duty, butof love, and gracious accordingly, as the service of duty can never be. The colonel watched, and saw something of the difference, without beingable, however, to come at a satisfactory understanding of it. He sawhow, under this influence of love and gladness, his child was becomingthe rarest of servants to him; and more still, how under it she wasdeveloping into a most exquisite personal beauty. He watched her, as ifby watching he might catch something of the secret mental charm byvirtue of which these changes were wrought. But 'the secret of the Lordis with them that fear Him;' and it cannot be communicated from one toanother. 

As has been mentioned, Pitt's letters after he got to work at Oxfordbecame much fewer and scantier. It was only at very rare intervals thatone came to Colonel Gainsborough; and Esther made no proposition ofwriting to England again. On that subject the colonel ceased to takeany thought. It was otherwise with Pitt's family. 

Mrs. Dallas sat one evening pondering over the last letter receivedfrom her son. It was early autumn; a little fire burning in thechimney, towards which the master of the house stretched out his legs, lying very much at his ease in an old-fashioned chaise lounge, andturning over an English newspaper. His attitude bespoke the comfortableease and carelessness of his mind, on which certainly nothing layheavy. His wife was in all things a contrast. Her handsome, statelyfigure was yielding at the moment to no blandishments of comfort orluxury; she sat upright, with Pitt's letter in her hand, and on herbrow there was an expression of troubled consideration. 

'Husband, ' she said at length, 'do you notice how Pitt speaks of thecolonel and his daughter?'

'No, ' came slowly and indifferently from the lips of Mr. Dallas, as heturned the pages of his newspaper. 

'Don't you notice how he asks after them in every letter, and wants meto go and see them?'

'Natural enough. Pitt is thinking of home, and he thinks of them;--partof the picture. '

'That boy don't forget!'

'Give him time, ' suggested Mr. Dallas, with a careless yawn. 

'He has had some time, --a year and a half, and in Europe; anddistractions enough. But don't you know Pitt? He sticks to a thing evencloser than you do. '

'If he cares enough about it. '

'That's what troubles me, Hildebrand. I am afraid he does care. If hecomes home next summer and finds that girl-- Do you know how she isgrowing up?'

'That is the worst of children, ' said Mr. Dallas, in the same lazy way;'they will grow up. '

'By next summer she will be--well, I don't know how old, but quite oldenough to take the fancy of a boy like Pitt. '

'I know Pitt's age. He will be twenty-two. Old enough to know better. He isn't such a fool. '

'Such a fool as what?' asked Mrs. Dallas sharply. 'That girl is goingto be handsome enough to take any man's fancy, and hold it too. She isuncommonly striking. Don't you see it?'

'Humph! yes, I see it. '

'Hildebrand, I do not want him to marry the daughter of a dissentingcolonel, with not money enough to dress her. '

'I do not mean he shall. '

'Then think how you are going to prevent it. Next summer, I warn you, it may be too late. '

In consequence, perhaps, of this conversation, though it is by no meanscertain that Mr. Dallas needed its suggestions, he strolled over aftertea to Colonel Gainsborough's. The colonel was in his usual place andposition; Esther sitting at the table with her books. Mr. Dallas eyedher as she rose to receive him, noticed the gracious, quiet manner, thefair and noble face, the easy movement and fine bearing; and turned toher father with a strengthened purpose to do what he had come to do. Hehad to wait a while. He told the news of Pitt's last letter; intimatedthat he meant to keep him in England till his studies were all ended;and then went into a discussion of politics, deep and dry. When Estherat last left the room, he made a sudden break in the discussion. 

'Colonel, what are you going to do with that girl of yours?'

'What am I going to do with her?' repeated the colonel, a little drily. 

'Yes. Forgive me; I have known her all her life, you know, nearly. I amconcerned about Esther. '

'In what way?'

'Well, don't take it ill of me; but I do not like to see her growing upso without any advantages. She is such a beautiful creature. '

Colonel Gainsborough was silent. 

'I take the interest of a friend, ' Mr. Dallas went on. 'I have a rightto so much. I have watched her growing up. She will be somethinguncommon, you know. She ought really to have everything that can helpto make humanity perfect. '

'What would you have me do?' the colonel asked, half conscious and halfimpatient. 

'I would give her all the advantages that a girl of her birth andbreeding would have in the old country. '

'How is that possible, at Seaforth?'

'It is not possible at Seaforth. There is nothing here. But elsewhereit is possible. '

'I shall never leave Seaforth, ' said the colonel doggedly. 

'But for Esther's sake? Why, she ought to be at school now, colonel. '

'I shall never quit Seaforth, ' the other repeated. 'I do not expect tolive long anywhere; when I die, I will lie by my wife's side, here. '

'You are not failing in health, ' Mr. Dallas persisted. 'You areimproving, colonel; every time I come to see you I am convinced of it. We shall have you a long while among us yet; you may depend on it. '

'I have no particular reason to wish you may be right. And I see myselfno signs that you are. '

'You have your daughter to live for. '

'She will be taken care of. I have little fear. '

There was a somewhat grim set of Mr. Dallas's mouth in answer to thisspeech; his words however were 'smoother than butter. '

'You need have no fear, ' he said. 'Miss Gainsborough, with her birthand beauty and breeding, will do--what you must wish her to do, --marrysome one well able to take care of her; but--you are not doing herjustice, colonel, in not giving her the education that should go withher birth and breeding. I speak as a friend; I trust you will not takeit ill of me. '

'I cannot send her to England. '

'You do not need. There are excellent institutions of learning in thiscountry now. '

'I do not know where. '

'My wife can tell you. She has some knowledge of such things, throughfriends who have daughters at school. She could tell you of severalgood schools for girls. '

'Where are they?'

'I believe in or near New York. '

'I do not wish to leave Seaforth, ' said the colonel gloomily. 

'And I am sure we do not wish to have you leave it, ' said the other, rising. 'It would be a terrible loss to us. Perhaps, after all, I havebeen officious; and you are giving Esther an education more than equalto what she could get at school. '

'I cannot quit Seaforth, ' the colonel repeated. 'All that I care for inthe world lies here. When I have done with the world, I wish to liehere too; and till then I will wait. '

Mr. Dallas took his leave; and the set of his mouth was grim again ashe walked home. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

_MOVING_. 

Mr. Dallas's visits became frequent. He talked of a great variety ofthings, but never failed to bring the colonel's mind to the subject ofEsther's want of education. Indirectly or directly, somehow, hepresented to the colonel's mind that one idea: that his daughter wasgoing without the advantages she needed and ought to have. It was true, and the colonel could not easily dispose of the thought which hisfriend so persistently held up before him. Waters wear away stones, aswe know to a proverb; and so it befell in this case, and Mr. Dallasknew it must. The colonel began to grow uneasy. He often reassertedthat he would never leave Seaforth; he began to think about it, nevertheless. 

'What should I do with this place?' he asked one evening when thesubject was up. 

'What do you wish to do with it?'

'I wish to live in it as long as I live anywhere, ' said the colonel, sighing; 'but you say--and perhaps you are right--that I ought to besomewhere else for my child's sake. In that case, what could I do withmy place here?'

'I ask again, what do you wish to do with it? Would you let it?'

'No, ' said the colonel, sighing again; 'if I go I must sell. My meanswill not allow me to do otherwise. '

'I will buy it of you, if you wish to sell. '

'You! What would you do with the property?'

'Keep it for you, against a time when you may wish to buy it back. Butindeed it would come very conveniently for me. I should like to haveit, for my own purposes. I will give you its utmost value. '

The colonel pondered, not glad, perhaps, to have difficulties clearedout of his way. Mr. Dallas waited, too keen to press his point unduly. 

'I should have to go and reconnoitre, ' the former said presently. 'Imust not give up one home till I have another ready. I never thought toleave Seaforth. Where do you say this place is that Mrs. Dallasrecommends?'

'In New York. The school is said to be particularly good and thorough, and conducted by an English lady; which would be a recommendation tome, as I suppose it is to you. '

'I should have to find a house in the neighbourhood, ' said the colonel, musing. 

Mr. Dallas said no more, and waited. 

'I must go and see what I can find, ' the colonel repeated. 'PerhapsMrs. Dallas will be so good as to give me the address of the school inquestion. '

Mrs. Dallas did more than that. She gave letters to friends, andaddresses of more than one school teacher: and the end was, ColonelGainsborough set off on a search. The search was successful. He wassatisfied with the testimonials he received respecting one of theinstitutions and respecting its head; he was directed by some of Mr. Dallas's business friends to various houses that might suit him for aresidence; and among them made his choice, and even made his bargain, and came home with the business settled. 

Esther had spent the days of his absence in a very doubtful mood, notknowing whether to be glad or sorry, to hope or to fear. Seaforth wasthe only home she had ever known; she did not like the thought ofleaving it; but she knew by this time as well as Mr. Dallas knew thatshe needed more advantages of education than Seaforth could give her. On the whole, she hoped. 

The colonel was absent several days. There was no telegraphing in thosetimes, and so the day of his return could not be notified; but when aweek had passed, Esther began to look for him. It was the first time hehad ever been away from her, and so, of course, it was the first cominghome. Esther felt it deserved some sort of celebration. The stagearrived towards evening, she knew. 

'I think maybe he will be here to-night, Barker, ' she said. 'What isthere we could have for supper that papa likes particularly?'

'Indeed, Miss Esther, the colonel favours nothing more than another, asI know. His toast and tea, that is all he cares for nights, mostly. '

'Toast and tea!' said Esther disparagingly. 

'It's the most he cares for, as I know, ' the housekeeper repeated. 'There's them quails Mr. Dallas sent over; they's nice and fat, and tobe sure quails had ought to be eaten immediate. I can roast two orthree of 'em, if you're pleased to order it; but the colonel, it's myopinion he won't care what you have. The gentlemen learns it so in thearmy, I'm thinkin'. The colonel never did give himself no care aboutwhat he had for dinner, nor for no other time. '

Esther knew that; however, she ordered the quails, and watched eagerlyfor her father. He came, too, that same evening. But the quails hardlygot their deserts, nor Esther neither, for that matter. The colonelseemed to be unregardful of the one as much as of the other. He gavehis child a sufficiently kind greeting, indeed, when he first came in;but then he took his usual seat on the sofa, without his usual book, and sat as if lost in thought. Tea was served immediately, and Isuppose the colonel had had a thin dinner, for he consumed a quail anda half; yet satisfactory as this was in itself, Esther could not seethat her father knew what he was eating. And after tea he stillneglected his book, and sat brooding, with his head leaning on hishand. He had not said one word to his daughter concerning the successor non-success of his mission; and eager as she was, it was not inaccordance with the way she had been brought up that she shouldquestion him. She asked him nothing further than about his own healthand condition, and the length and character of his journey; whichquestions were shortly disposed of, and then the colonel sat there withhis head in his hand, doing nothing that he was wont to do. Estherfeared something was troubling him, and could not bear to leave him tohimself. She came near softly, and very softly let her finger-tipstouch her father's brow and temples, and stroke back the hair fromthem. She ventured no more. 

Perhaps Colonel Gainsborough could not bear so much. Perhaps he wasreminded of the only other fingers which had had a right since hisboyhood to touch him so. Yet he would not repel the gentle hand, and toavoid doing that he did another very uncommon thing; he drew Estherdown into his arms and put her on his knee, leaning his head againsther shoulder. It was exceeding pleasant to the girl, as a touch ofsympathy and confidence; however, for that night the confidence went nofurther; the colonel said nothing at all. He was in truth overcome withthe sadness of leaving his home and his habits and the place of hiswife's grave. As he re-entered Seaforth and entered his house, thissadness had come over him; he could not shake it off; indeed, he didnot try; he gave him self up to it, and forgot Esther, or rather forgotwhat he owed her. And Esther, who had done what she could, sat still onher father's knee till she was weary, and wished he would release her. Yet perhaps, she thought, it was a pleasure to him to have her there, and she would not move or speak. So they remained until it was pastEsther's bedtime. 

'I think I will go now, papa, ' she said. 'It is getting late. '

He kissed her and let her go. 

But next morning the colonel was himself again, --himself as if he hadnever been away, only he had his news to tell; and he told it inorderly business fashion. 

'I have taken a house, Esther, ' he said; 'and now I wish to get movedas soon as possible. You must tell Barker, and help her. '

'Certainly, papa. Whereabouts is the house you have taken?'

'On York Island. It is about a mile out of the city, on the bank of theriver; a very pretty situation. '

'Which river, papa?'

'The Hudson. '

'And am I to go to school?'

'Of course. That is the purpose of the movement. You are to enter MissFairbairn's school in New York. It is the best there, by all I cangather. '

'Thank you, papa. Then it is not near our new house?'

'No. You will have to drive there and back. I have made arrangementsfor that. '

'Won't that cost a good deal, papa?'

'Not so much as to live in the city would cost. And we are accustomedto the country; it will be pleasanter. '

'Oh, much pleasanter! What will be done with this house, papa?'

'Mr. Dallas takes it and the place off my hands. '

Esther did not like that; why, she could not possibly have told. For, to be sure, what could be better?

'Will he buy it?'

'Yes, he buys it. '

Again a little pause. Then--'What will become of the furniture andeverything, papa?'

'That must be packed to go. The house I have taken is empty. We shallwant all we have got. '

Esther's eye went round the room. Everything to be packed! She stoodlike a young general, surveying her battlefield. 

'Then, papa, you never mean to come back to Seaforth again?'

The colonel sighed. 'Yes, when I die, Esther. I wish my bones to belaid here. '

He said no more. Having made his communications, he took up his book;his manner evidently saying to Esther that in what came next he had noparticular share. But could it be that he was leaving it all to herinexperience? Was it to be her work, and depend on her wisdom?

'Papa, you said we were to move soon; do you wish me to arrange withBarker about it?'

'Yes, my dear, yes; tell her, and arrange with her. I wish to make thechange as early as possible, before the weather becomes unfavourable;and I wish you to get to school immediately. It cannot be too soon, tell Barker. '

So he was going to leave it all to her! On ordinary occasions he waswont to consider Esther a child still; now it was convenient to supposeher a woman. He did not put it so to himself; it is some men's way. Esther went slowly to the kitchen, and informed Barker of what wasbefore her. 

'An' it's mor'n the middle of October, ' was the housekeeper's comment. 

'That's very good time, ' said Esther. 

'You're right, Miss Esther, and so it is, if we was all ready thisminute. All ain't done when you are moved, Miss Esther; there's theother house to settle; and it'll take a good bit o' work before we getso far as to that. '

'Papa wants us to be as quick as we can. '

'We'll be as quick as two pair o' hands is able for, I'll warrant; butthat ain't as if we was a dozen. There's every indiwiddle thing to putup, Miss Esther, from our chairs to our beds; and books, and china, andall I'll go at the china fust of all, and to-day. '

'And what can I do, Barker?'

'I don' know, Miss Esther. You hain't no experience; and experience issomethin' you can't buy in the shops--even if there was any shops hereto speak of. But Christopher and me, we'll manage it, I'll warrant. Thecolonel's quite right. This ain't no place for you no longer. We'll seeand get moved as quick as we can, Miss Esther. '

Without experience, however, it was found that Esther's share of thenext weeks of work was a very important one. She packed up the clothesand the books; and she did it 'real uncommon, ' the housekeeper said;but that was the least part. She kept her father comfortable, lettingnone of the confusion and as little as possible of the dust come intothe room where he was. She stood in the gap when Barker was in thethick of some job, and herself prepared her father's soup or got histea. Thoughtful, quiet, diligent, her head, young as it was, provedoften a very useful help to Barker's experience; and something abouther smooth composure was a stay to the tired nerves of hersubordinates. Though Christopher Bounder really had no nerves, yet hefelt the influence I speak of. 

'Ain't our Miss Esther growed to be a stunner, though!' he remarkedmore than once. 

'I'm sure I don't rightly know what you mean, Christopher, ' his sisteranswered. 

'Well, I tell you she's an uncommon handsome young lady, Sarah. An' shehas the real way with her; the real thing, she has. '

'What do you mean by that?'

'I'll wager a cucumber you can tell, ' said Christopher, shutting up hiseyes slyly. 'There ain't no flesh and blood round in these parts likethat;--no mor'n a cabbage ain't like a camellia. An' _that_ don't tellit. She's that dainty and sweet as a camellia never was--not as ever Isee; and she has that fine, soft way with her, that is like the touchof a feather, and yet ain't soft neither if you come to go agin it. Itell you what, Sarah, that shows blood, that does, ' concludedChristopher with a competent air. 'Our young lady, she's the realthing. You and me, now, we couldn't be like that if we was to die forit. That's blood, that is. '

'I don't know, ' said the housekeeper. 'She _is_ sweet, uncommon; andshe is gentle enough, and she has a will of her own, too; but I don'tknow--she didn't use for to be just so. '

''Cause she's growin' up to years, ' said the gardener. 'La, Sally, folks is like vegetables, uncommon; you must let 'em drop their roughleaves, before you can see what they're goin' to be. '

'There warn't never no rough leaves nor rough anything about MissEsther. I can't say as I knows what you mean, Christopher. '

'A woman needn't to know everything, ' responded her brother withsuperiority; 'and the natural world, to be sure, ain't your department, Sarah. You're good for a great deal where you be. '

CHAPTER XVIII. 

_A NEIGHBOUR_. 

The packing and sending off of boxes was ended at last; and the bare, empty, echoing, forlorn house seemed of itself to eject itsinhabitants. When it came to that, everybody was ready to go. Mrs. Barker lamented that she could not go on before the rest of the family, to prepare the place a bit for them; but that was impossible; they mustall go together. 

It was the middle of November when at last the family made theirflitting. They had no dear friends to leave, and nothing particular toregret, except that one low mound in the churchyard; yet Esther feltsober as they drove away. The only tangible reason for this on whichher thoughts could fix, was the fact that she was going away from theplace where Pitt Dallas was at home, and to which he would come when hereturned from England. She would then be afar off. Yet there would benothing to hinder his coming to see them in their new home; so thefeeling did not seem well justified. Besides that, Esther also had asomewhat vague sense that she was leaving the domain of childhood andentering upon the work and sphere of a woman. She was just going toschool! But perhaps the time of confusion she had been passing throughmight have revealed to her that she had already a woman's life-work onher hands. And the confusion was not over, and the work only begun. Shehad perhaps a dim sense of this. However, she was young; and thesoberness was certainly mixed with gladness. For was she not going toschool, and so, on the way to do something of the work Pitt was doing, in mental furnishing and improvement? I think, gladness had the upperhand. 

It took two days of stage travelling to get them to their destination. They were days full of interest and novelty for Esther; eageranticipation and hope; but the end of the second day found her welltired. Indeed, it was the case with them all. Mrs. Barker had lamentedthat she and Christopher were not allowed to go off some time before'the family, ' so as to have things in a certain degree of readiness forthem; the colonel had said it was impossible: they could not be sparedfrom Seaforth until the last minute. And now here they were 'all in aheap, ' as Mrs Barker expressed it, 'to be tumbled into the house atonce. ' She begged that the colonel would stay the night over in thecity, and give her at least a few hours to prepare for him. The colonelwould not hear of it, however, but at once procured vehicles to takethe whole party and their boxes out to the place that was to be theirnew home. It was then already evening; the short November day hadclosed in. 

'He's that simple, ' Mrs. Barker confided to her brother, 'he expects tofind a fire made and a room ready for him! It's like all the gentlemen. They never takes no a 'Thinks the furniture 'll hop out o' the boxes, like, 'count of how things is done, if it ain't _their_ things. ' andstan' round, ' echoed Christopher. 'I'm afeard they won't be soobligin'. '

The drive was somewhat slower in the dark than it would have beenotherwise, and the stars were out and looking down brilliantly upon thelittle party as they finally dismounted at their door. The shadow ofthe house rising before them, a cool air from the river, the sparklingstars above, the vague darkness around; Esther never forgot thathome-coming. 

They had stopped at a neighbour's house to get the key; and now, thefront door being unlocked, made their way in, one after another. Estherwas confronted first by a great packing-case in the narrow hall, whichblocked up the way. Going carefully round this, which there was justroom to do, she stumbled over a smaller box on the floor. 

'Oh, papa, take care!' she cried to her father, who was following her;'the house is all full of things, and it is so dark. Oh, Barker, can'tyou open the back door and let in a gleam of light?'

This was done, and also in due time a lantern was brought upon thescene. It revealed a state of things almost as hopeless as the worldappeared to Noah's dove the first time she was sent out of the ark. Ifthere was rest for the soles of their feet, it was all that could besaid. There was no promise of a place to sit down; and as for _lying_down and getting their natural rest, the idea was Utopian. 

'Now look here, ' said a voice suddenly out of the darkness outside:'you're all fagged out, ain't ye? and there ain't nothin' on arth yekin du to-night; there's no use o' your tryin'. Jes' come over to myhouse and hev some supper. Ye must want it bad. Ben travellin' all day, ain't ye? Jes' come over to me; I've got some hot supper for ye. Landssakes! ye kin't do nothin' here to-night. It _is_ a kind of a turn-up, ain't it? La, a movin's wuss'n a weddin', for puttin' everybody out. '

The voice, sounding at first from the outside, had been graduallydrawing nearer and nearer, till with the last words the speaker alsoentered the back room, where Esther and her father were standing. Theywere standing in the midst of packing-cases, of every size and shape, between which the shadows lay dark, while the faint lantern light justserved to show the rough edges and angles of the boxes and the hopelesscondition of things generally. It served also now to let the new-comerbe dimly seen. Esther and her father, looking towards the door, perceived a stout little figure, with her two hands rolled up in hershawl, head bare, and with hair in neat order, for it glanced in thelantern shine as only smooth things can. The features of the face werenot discernible. 

'It's the cunnel himself, ain't it?' she said. 'They said he was a tallman, and I see _this_ is a tall un. Is it the cunnel himself? Icouldn't somehow make out the name--I never kin; and I kin't _see_nothin', as the light is. '

'At your service, madam, ' said the person addressed. 'ColonelGainsborough. '

The visitor dropped a little dot of a curtsey, which seemed to Estherinexpressibly funny, and went on. 

'Beg pardon for not knowin'. Wall, cunnel, I'm sure you're tired andhungry, --you and your darter, is it?--and I've got a hot supper for youover to my house. I allays think there's nothin' like hevin' thingshot, --cold comfort ain't no comfort, for me, --and I've got everythin'hot for you--hot and nice; and now, will you come over and eat it? Yousee, you kin't do nothin' here to-night. I don't see how ever you're tosleep, in this world; there ain't nothin' here but the floor and theboxes, and if you'll take beds with me, I'm sure you're welcome. '

'I thank you, madam; you are very kind; but I do not think we needtrouble you, ' the colonel said, with civil formality. Esther wasamused, but also a little eager that her father should accept theinvitation. What else would become of him? she thought. The prospectwas desolation. Truly they had some cooked provisions; but that wasonly cold comfort, as their visitor had said; doubtful if the termcould be applied at all. 

'Now you'd jes' best come right over!' the fluent but kind voice saidpersuasively. 'It's all spilin' to be eat. An' what kin you do? Thereain't no fire here to warm you, and it'll take a bit of a while beforeyou kin get one; an' you're all tired out. Jes' come over and hev a cupo' hot coffee, and get heartened up a bit, and then you'll know what todo next. I allays think, one thing at a time. '

'Papa, ' said Esther a little timidly, 'hadn't you better do it? There'snothing but confusion here; it will be a long time before we can getyou even a cup of tea. '

'It's all ready, ' their visitor went on, --'ready and spilin'; an' I gotit for you o' purpose. Now don't stan' thinkin' about it, but jes' comeright over; I'll be as glad to hev you as if you was new apples. '

'How far is it, ma'am?' Esther asked. 

'Jes' two steps--down the other side o' the field; it's the very nexthouse to your'n. Oh, I've lived there a matter o' ten year; and I wasmain glad to hear there was somebody comin' in here agin; it's so sorto' lonesome to see the winders allays shut up; and your light looksreal cheery, if it is only a lantern light. I knowed when you was acomin', and says I, they'll be real tired out when they gits there, says I; and I'll hev a hot supper ready for 'em, it's all I kin du; butI'm sure, if you'll sleep, you're welcome. '

'If you please, sir, ' put in Mrs. Barker, 'it would be the mostadvisedest thing you could do; for there ain't no prospect here, and ifyou and Miss Esther was away for a bit, mebbe me and Christopher wouldcome to see daylight after a while; which it is what I don't do atpresent. '

The good woman's voice sounded so thoroughly perturbed, and expressedsuch an undoubted earnest desire, that the colonel, contrary to all histraditions, gave in. He and Esther followed their new friend, ''crossthe field, ' as she said, but they hardly knew where, till the light andwarmth of her hospitable house received them. 

How strange it was! The short walk in the starlight; then the homelyhospitable room, with its spread table--the pumpkin pie, and thesausage, and the pickles, and the cheese, and the cake! The very coarsetablecloth; the little two-pronged forks, and knives which might havebeen cut out of sheet iron, and singular ware which did service forchina. The extreme homeliness of it all would almost have hinderedEsther from eating, though she was very hungry. But there was goodbread and butter; and coffee that was hot, and not bad otherwise, although assuredly it never saw the land of Arabia; certainly it seemedvery good to Esther that night, even taken from a pewter spoon. And thetablecloth was clean, and everything upon it. So, with doubtfulhesitation at first, Esther found the supper good, and learned herfirst lesson in the broadness of humanity and the wide variety in theways of human life. 

Their hostess, seen by the light of her dip candles, was in perfectharmony with her entertainment. A round little woman, very neat, andterribly plain, with a full oval face, which had no othercharacteristic of beauty; insignificant features, and a pale skin, covered with freckles. Out of this face, however, looked a pair ofsmall, shrewd, and kind grey eyes; their owner could be no fool. 

Esther was surprised to see that her father, who was, to be sure, anold campaigner, made a very fair supper. 

'In the darkness I could hardly see where we went, ' he remarked. 'But Isuppose your husband is the owner of the neat gardens I observedformerly near our house?'

'Wall, he would be if he was alive, ' was the answer, 'but that's whathe hain't ben this five year. '

'Then, do _you_ manage them?'

'Wall, cunnel, I manage 'em better'n he did. Mr. Blumenfeld was an easykind o' man; easy to live with, tu; but when you hev other folks to seeto, it don't du no ways to let 'em hev their own head too much. An'that's what he did. He was a fust-rate gardener and no mistake; heknowed his business; but the thing he _didn't_ know was folks. So theycheated him. La, folks ain't like flowers, not 'zactly; or if they be, as he used to say, there's thorns among 'em now and then and a weed ortwo!'

'Blumenfeld?' repeated the colonel. 'You are not German, surely?'

'Wall, I guess I ain't, ' said the little woman, 'Not if I know myself. I ain't sayin' nothin' agin what _he_ was; but la, there's differentnaturs in the world, and I'm different. Folks doos say, his folks isgreat for gittin' along; but _he_ warn't; that's all I hev to say. Helearned me the garden work, though; that much he did. '

'And now you manage the business?'

'I do so. Won't you hev another cup, cunnel?'

They went back to their disordered house, resisting all further offersof hospitality. And in time, beds were got out and prepared; how, Esther could hardly remember afterwards, the confusion was so great;but it was done, and she lost every other feeling in the joy of repose. 

CHAPTER XIX. 

_HAPPY PEOPLE_. 

At Esther's age nature does her work of recuperation well and fast. Itwas early yet, and the dawn just breaking into day, when she woke; and, calling to mind her purposes formed last night, she immediately got up. The business of the toilet performed as speedily as possible, she stoledown-stairs and roused Mrs. Barker; and while waiting for her to beready, went to the back door and opened it. A fresh cool air blew inher face; clouds were chasing over the sky before a brisk wind, andbelow her rolled the broad Hudson, its surface all in commotion; whilethe early light lay bright on the pretty Jersey shore. Esther stood ina spell of pleasure. This was a change indeed from her Seaforth view, where the eye could go little further than the garden and the road. Here was a new scene opening, and a new chapter in life beginning;Esther's heart swelled. There was a glad mental impulse towards growthand developement, which readily connected itself with this outwardchange, and with this outward stir also. The movement of wind and watermet a movement of the animal spirits, which consorted well with it; thecool air breathed vigour into her resolves; she turned to Mrs. Barkerwith a very bright face. 

'Oh, Barker, how lovely it is!'

'If you please, which is it, Miss Esther?'

'Look at that beautiful river. And the light. And the air, Barker. Itis delicious!'

'I can't see it, mum. All I can see is that there ain't an indiwiddlecheer standin' on its own legs in all the house; and whatever'll thecolonel do when he comes down? and what to begin at first, I'm sure Idon't know. '

'We'll arrange all that. Where is Christopher? We want him to open theboxes. We'll get one room in some sort of order first, and then papacan stay in it. Where is Christopher?'

They had to wait a few minutes for Christopher, and meanwhile Esthertook a rapid review of the rooms; decided which should be thedining-room, and which the one where her father should have his sofaand all his belongings. Then she surveyed the packing-cases, to becertain which was which, and what ought to be opened first; examiningher ground with the eye of a young general. Then, when the lagging Mr. Bounder made his appearance, there was a systematic course of actionentered upon, in which packing-cases were knocked apart and clearedaway; chairs, and a table or two, were released from durance and set ontheir legs; a rug was found and spread down before the fireplace; thecolonel's sofa was got at, and unboxed, and brought into position; andfinally a fire was made. Esther stood still to take a moment'scomplacent review of her morning's work. 

'It looks quite comfortable, ' she said, 'now the fire is burning up. Wehave done pretty well, Barker, for a beginning?'

'Never see a better two hours' job, ' said Christopher. ''Tain't muchmore. That's Miss Esther. Sarah there, she wouldn't ha' knowed whichwas her head and which was her heels, and other things according, ifshe hadn't another head to help her. What o'clock is it now, MissEsther?'

'It is some time after eight. Papa may be down any minute. Now, Barker, the next thing is breakfast. '

'Breakfast, Miss Esther?' said the housekeeper, standing still to lookat her. 

'Yes. Aren't you hungry? I think we must all want it. '

'And how are we goin' to get it? The kitchen's all cluttered full o'boxes and baggage and that; and I don' know where an indiwiddle thingis, this minute. '

'I saw the tea-kettle down-stairs. '

'Yes 'm, but that's the sole solitary article. I don' know wherethere's a pan, nor a gridiron; and there's no fire, Miss Esther; andit'll take patience to get that grate agoin'. '

The housekeeper, usually so efficient, now looked helpless. It wastrue, the system by means of which so much had been done that morning, had proceeded from Esther's head solely. She was not daunted now. 

'I know the barrel in which the cooking things were packed standsthere; in the hall, I think. Christopher, will you unpack it? Butfirst, fill the kettle and bring it here. '

'_Here_, Miss Esther?' cried the housekeeper. 

'Yes; it will soon boil here. And, Barker, the hampers with the chinaare in the other room; if you will unpack them, I think you can findthe tea-pot and some cups. '

'They'll all want washin', Miss Esther. '

'Very well; we shall have warm water here by that time. And then I cangive papa his tea and toast, and boil some eggs, and that will do verywell; everything else we want is in the basket, and plenty, as we didnot eat it last night. '

It was all done, --it took time, to be sure, but it was done; and whenColonel Gainsborough came down, hesitating and somewhat forlorn, hefound a fire burning in the grate, Mrs. Barker watching over a skilletin one corner, and Esther over a tea-kettle in the other. The room wasfilled with the morning light, which certainly showed the bare floorand the packing-boxes standing around; but also shone upon an unpackedtable, cups, plates, bread and butter. Esther had thought it was verycomfortable. Her father seemed not to take that view. 

'What are you doing there?' he said. 'Is this to be the kitchen?'

'Only for this morning, papa, ' said Esther cheerfully. 'This is justthe kettle for your tea, and Barker is boiling an egg for you; at leastshe will as soon as the water boils. '

'All this should have been done elsewhere, my dear. '

'It was not possible, papa. The kitchen is absolutely full of boxes--itwill take a while to clear it; and I wanted first to get a corner foryou to be comfortable in. We will get things in order as fast as wecan. Now the kettle boils, Barker, don't it? You may put in the eggs. '

'My dear, I do not think this is the place for the sofa. '

'Oh no, papa, I do not mean it; the room looking towards the water isthe prettiest, and will be the pleasantest; that will be thesitting-room, I think; but we could only do one thing at a time. Now, you shall have your tea and toast in two minutes. '

'There is no doing anything well without system, ' said the colonel. 'Arrange your work always, and then take it in order, the first thingfirst, and so on. Now I should have said, the _first_ thing here wasthe kitchen fire. '

Esther knew it was not, and that her doings had been with admirablesystem; she was a little disappointed that they met with norecognition. She had counted upon her father's being pleased, and evena little surprised that so much had been done. Silently she made histea, and toasted him with much difficulty a slice of bread. Mrs. Barkerdisappeared with her skillet. But the colonel was in the state of mindthat comes over many ease-loving men when their ease is temporarilydisturbed. 

'How long is it going to take two people to get these things unboxedand in their places?' he inquired, as his eye roved disconsolately overthe room and its packing-cases. 'This is pretty uncomfortable!'

'_Three_ people, papa. I shall do the very best I can. You would likethe sitting-room put in order first, where your sofa and you can bequiet?'

'You are going to school. '

'Oh, papa! but I must see to the house first. Barker cannot get alongwithout me. '

'It is her business, ' said the colonel. 'You are going to school. '

'But, papa, please, let me wait a few days. After I once begin to go toschool I shall be so busy with study. '

'Time you were. That's what we are come here for. The season is latenow. '

'But your comfort, and the house, papa?'

'My comfort must take its chance. I wish you to go to Miss Fairbairn onMonday. Then Barker and Christopher can take the house between them. '

There was no gainsaying her father when once an order was given, Estherknew; and she was terribly disappointed. Her heart was quite set onthis business of righting and arranging the new home; nobody could doit as it should be done, she knew, except by her order; and her ownhand longed to be in the work. A sudden cloud came over the brightnessof her spirit. She had been very bright through all the strain and rushof the morning; now she suddenly felt tired and dispirited. 

'What is Christopher doing?'

'Papa, I do not know; he has been opening boxes. '

'Let him put the kitchen in order. '

'Yes, papa. ' Esther knew it was impossible, however. 

'And let Barker get the rooms up-stairs arranged. '

'Papa, don't you want your sitting-room prepared first?--just so thatyou may have a corner of comfort?'

'I do not expect to see comfort, my dear, for many a day--to judge bywhat I have around me. '

Esther swallowed a choking feeling in her throat, commanded back sometears which had a mind to force their way, and presided over the restof the meal with a manner of sweet womanly dignity, which had a lovelyunconscious charm. The colonel did even become a little conscious of it. 

'You are doing the best you know, my dear, ' he condescended kindly. 'Ido not grudge any loss of comfort for your sake. '

'Papa, I think you shall not lose any, ' Esther said eagerly; but thenshe confined her energies to doing. And with nerves all strung upagain, she went after breakfast at the work of bringing order out ofdisorder. 

'The first thing for you to do, Barker, ' she said, 'is to get papa'ssleeping-room comfortable. He will have the one looking to the west, Ithink; that is the prettiest. The blue carpet, that was on his room atSeaforth, will just do. Christopher will undo the roll of carpet foryou. '

'Miss Esther, I can't do nothing till I get the kitchen free. There'llbe the dinner. '

'Christopher will manage the kitchen. '

'He can't, mum. He don't know one thing that's to be done, no more'none of his spades. It's just not possible, Miss Esther. '

'I will oversee what he does. Trust me. I will not make any badmistakes, Barker. You put papa's room in order. He wishes it. '

What the colonel desired had to be done, Barker knew; so with awondering look at Esther's sweet, determined face, she gave in. Andthat day and the next day, and the third, were days very full ofbusiness, and in which a vast deal was accomplished. The house wasreally very pretty, as Esther soon saw; and before Saturday nightclosed in, those parts of it at least which the colonel had most to dowith were stroked into order, and afforded him all his wonted ease andluxury. Esther had worked every hour of those days, to the admirationof her subordinates; the informing spirit and regulating will of everystep that was taken. She never lost her head, or her patience, or hersweet quiet; though she was herself as busy as a bee and at the sametime constantly directing the activity of the others. Wise, andquick-witted, and quick to remember, her presence of mind and readinessof resource seemed unfailing. So, as I said, before Saturday nightcame, an immense deal of work was accomplished, and done in a stylethat needed not to be done over again. All which, however, was notfinished without some trace of the strain to which the human instrumenthad been put. 

The sun had just set, and Esther was standing at the window of herfather's room, looking out to the west. She had been unpacking hisclothes and laying them in the drawers of his bureau and press. 

'Miss Esther, you're tired, bad!' said the housekeeper wistfully, coming up beside her. 'There's all black rings under your eyes; andyour cheeks is pale. You have worked too hard, indeed. '

'Never mind, ' said Esther cheerfully; 'that will pass. How pretty itis, Barker! Look out at that sky. '

'Yes 'm, it's just the colour from that sky that keeps your cheeks fromshowin' how white they be. Miss Esther, you've just done too much. '

'Never mind, ' said the girl again. 'I wanted to have papa comfortablebefore I went to school. I am going to school Monday morning, Barker. Now I think he'll do very nicely. ' She looked round the room, which wasa pattern of neatness and of comfort that was both simple and elegant. But the housekeeper's face was grave with disapproval and puckered withlines of care. The wistful expression of anxiety upon it touched Esther. 

'Barker, ' she said kindly, 'you do not look happy. '

'Me! No, Miss Esther, it is which I do not expect to look. '

'Why not?'

'Mum, things is not accordin' in this world. '

'I think you are mistaken. Do you know who the happy people are?'

'Indeed, Miss Esther, I think they're the blessed ones that has goneclean away from the earth. '

'Oh no! I mean, people that are happy now and happy here, Barker. '

'I am sure and I don't know, Miss Esther; if it wouldn't be littlechildren, --which is, them that is too young to know what the world islike. I do suppose they are happy. '

'Don't you know, the Bible says some other people are happy?'

'The Bible!'

Mrs. Barker stared, open-mouthed, at the face before her. Esther hadsat down by the window, where the glow from the west was upon it, likea glory round the head of a young saint; and the evening sky was notmore serene, nor reflected more surely a hidden light than did thebeautiful eyes. Mrs. Barker gazed, and could not bring out another word. 

'You read your Bible, don't you?'

'Yes 'm, in course; which it isn't very often; but in course I readsit. '

'Don't you know what it says about happy people?'

'In Paradise, ' gasped the housekeeper. 

'No, not in Paradise. Listen; let me tell you. "Blessed is the manwhose iniquities are forgiven, whose sins are covered. "'

Mrs. Barker met the look in Esther's eyes, and was absolutely dumb. 

'Don't you know that?'

'I've heerd it, mum. '

'Well, you understand it?'

'If you please, Miss Esther, I think a body could be that knowed it;that same, I mean. '

'How can anybody be happy that does _not_ know it?'

'True enough, mum; but how is anybody to know it for sure, Miss Esther?'

'_I_ know it, Barker. '

'_You_, Miss Esther! Yes, mum, that's easy, when you never did nothin'wrong in your life. 'Tain't the way with the likes o' us. '

'It is not the way with anybody. Nothing but the blood of Christ canmake any one clean. But that will. And don't you see, Barker, _that_ isbeing happy?'

There was indeed no dissent in the good woman's eyes, but she saidnothing. Esther presently went on. 

'Now I will tell you another word. Listen. "Blessed is the man whosestrength the Lord is. " Don't you think so, Barker? Don't you see? He_can never be weak_. '

'Miss Esther, you do speak beautiful!' came out at last the housekeeper. 

'Don't you think that is being happy?'

'It do sound so, mum. '

'I can tell you it feels so, Barker. "Blessed are all they that puttheir trust in Him. " And that is, they are happy. And I trust in Him;and I love Him; and I know my sins are forgiven and covered; and mystrength is in Him--all my strength. But that makes me strong. '

She went away with that from the window and the room, leaving thehousekeeper exceedingly confounded; much as if a passing angel's wingshad thrown down a white light upon her brown pathway. And from thistime, it may be said Mrs. Barker regarded her young lady with somethinglike secret worship. She had always been careful and tender of hercharge; now in spirit she bowed down before her to the ground. For awhile after Esther had left the room she stood very still, like oneupon whom a spell had fallen. She was comparing things; remembering thelook Mrs. Gainsborough had used to wear--sweet, dignified, butshadowed; then the face that at one time was Esther's face, also sweetand dignified, but uneasy and troubled and dark; and now--what was hercountenance like? The housekeeper was no poet, nor in any way fanciful;otherwise she might have likened it to some of the fairest things innature; and still the comparison would have fallen short. Sweet as awhite rose; untroubled as the stars; full of hope as the flush of themorning. Only, in the human creature there was the added element of_life_, which in all these dead things was wanting. Mrs. Barkerprobably thought of none of these images for her young mistress;nevertheless, the truth that is in them came down upon her very heart;and from that time she was Esther's devoted slave. There was no opendemonstration of feeling; but Esther's wishes were laws to her, andEsther's welfare lay nearest her heart of all things in the world. 

CHAPTER XX. 

_SCHOOL_. 

After much consideration the colonel had determined that Esther shouldbe a sort of half boarder at Miss Fairbairn's school; that is, sheshould stay there from Monday morning to Saturday night. Esthercombated this determination as far as she dared. 

'Papa, will not that make me a great deal more expense to you than Ineed be?'

'Not much difference, my dear, as to that. If you came back every nightI should have to keep a horse; now that will not be necessary, andChristopher will have more time to attend to other things. '

'But, papa, it will leave you all the week alone!'

'That must be, my child. I must be alone all the days, at any rate. '

'Papa, you will miss me at tea, and in the evenings. '

'I must bear that. '

It troubles me, papa. '

'And that you must bear. My dear, I do not grudge the price I pay. Seeyou only that I get what I pay for. '

'Yes, papa, ' Esther said meekly. She could go no further. 

Miss Fairbairn was a tall woman, but not imposing either in manner orlooks. Her face was sensible, with a mixture of the sweet and thepractical which was at least peculiar; and the same mixture was in hermanner. This was calm and gentle in the utmost degree; also cool andself-possessed equally; and it gave Esther the impression of one whoalways knew her own mind and was accustomed to make it the rule for allaround her. A long talk with this lady was the introduction to Esther'sschool experience. It was a very varied talk; it roved over a greatmany fields and took looks into others; it was not inquisitive orprying, and yet Esther felt as if her interlocutor were probing herthrough and through, and finding out all she knew and all she did notknow. In the latter category, it seemed to Esther, lay almosteverything she ought to have known. Perhaps Miss Fairbairn did notthink so; at any rate her face expressed no disappointment and nodisapproval. 

'In what way have you carried on your study of history, my dear?' shefinally asked. 

'I hardly can tell; in a box of coins, I believe, ' Esther answered. 

'Ah? I think I will get me a box of coins. '

Which meant, Esther could not tell what. She found herself at last, toher surprise, put with the highest classes in the English branches andin Latin. 

Her work was immediately delightful. Esther was so buried in it thatshe gave little thought or care to anything else, and did not know orask what place she took in the esteem of her companions or of herteachers. As the reader may be more curious, one little occurrence thathappened that week shall serve to illustrate her position; didillustrate it, in the consciousness of all the school family, only notof Esther herself. 

It was at dinner one day. There was a long table set, which reachednearly from the front of the house to the back, through two rooms, leaving just comfortable space for the servants to move about aroundit. Dinner was half through. Miss Fairbairn was speaking of somethingin the newspaper of that morning which had interested her, and shethought would interest the girls. 

'I will read it to you, ' she said. 'Miss Gainsborough, may I ask you todo me a favour? Go and fetch me the paper, my dear; it lies on my tablein the schoolroom; the paper, and the book that is with it. '

There went a covert smile round the room, which Esther did not see;indeed, it was too covert to be plain even to the keen eyes of MissFairbairn, and glances were exchanged; and perhaps it was as well forEsther that she did not know how everybody's attention for the momentwas concentrated on her movements. She went and came in happy ignorance. 

Miss Fairbairn received her paper, thanked her, and went on then toread to the girls an elaborate account of a wonderful wedding which hadlately been celebrated in Washington. The bride's dress was detailed, her trousseau described, and the subsequent movements of the bridalparty chronicled. All was listened to with eager attention. 

'What do you think of it, Miss Dyckman?' the lady asked after she hadfinished reading. 

'I think she was a happy girl, Miss Fairbairn. '

'Humph! What do you say, Miss Delavan?'

'Uncommonly happy, I should say, ma'am. '

'Is that your opinion, Miss Essing?'

'Certainly, ma'am. There could be but one opinion, I should think. '

'What could make a girl happy, if all that would not?' asked another. 

'Humph! Miss Gainsborough, you are the next; what are your views on thesubject?'

Esther's mouth opened, and closed. The answer that came first to herlips was sent back. She had a fine feeling that it was not fit for thecompany, a feeling that is expressed in the admonition not to castpearls before swine, though that admonition did not occur to her at thetime. She had been about to appeal to the Bible; but her answer as itwas given referred only to herself. 

'I believe I should not call "happiness" anything that would not last, 'she said. 

There was a moment's silence. What Miss Fairbairn thought was not to beread from her face; in other faces Esther read distaste ordisapprobation. 

'Why, Miss Fairbairn, nothing lasts, if you come to that, ' cried ayoung lady from near the other end of the table. 

'Some things more than others, ' the mistress of the house opined. 

'Not what you call "happiness, " ma'am. '

'That's a very sober view of things to take at your age, Miss Disbrow. '

'Yes, ma'am, ' said the young lady, tittering. 'It is true. '

'Do you think it is true, Miss Jennings?'

There was a little hesitation. Miss Jennings said she did not know. Miss Lawton was appealed to. 

'Is there no happiness that is lasting, Miss Lawton?'

'Well, Miss Fairbairn, what we call happiness. One can't be married butonce, ' the young lady hazarded. 

That called forth a storm of laughter. Laughter well modulated and keptwithin bounds, be it understood; no other was tolerated in MissFairbairn's presence. 

'I have _heard_ of people who had that happiness two or three times, 'the lady said demurely. 'Is there, then, no happiness short of beingmarried?'

'Oh, Miss Fairbairn! you know I do not mean that, but all the thingsyou read to us of: the diamonds, and the beautiful dresses, and thelace, and the presents; and then the travelling, and doing whatever sheliked. '

'Very few people do whatever they like, ' murmured Miss Fairbairn. 

'I mean all that. And that does not last--only for a while. Thediamonds last, of course'--

'But the pleasure of wearing them might not. True. Quite right, MissLawton. But I come back to my question. Is there _no_ happiness onearth that lasts?'

There was silence. 

'We are in a bad way, if that is our case. Miss Gainsborough, what doyou say? I come back to you again. Is there any such thing on earth ashappiness, according to your terms?--something that lasts?'

Esther was in doubt again how to answer. 

'I think there is, ma'am, ' she said, with a look up at her questioner. 

'Pray what is it?'

Did she know? or did she not know? Esther was not certain; was notcertain that her words would find either understanding or sympathy inall that tableful. Nevertheless, the time had come when they must bespoken. Which words? for several Bible sayings were in her mind. 

'"Blessed is every one that feareth the Lord: that walketh in His ways. For thou shalt eat the labour of thine hands: happy shalt them be, andit shall be well with thee. "'

The most profound silence followed this utterance. It had been made ina steady and clear voice, heard well throughout the rooms, and thenthere was silence. Esther fancied she discerned a little sympatheticmoisture in the eyes of Miss Fairbairn, but also that lady at firstsaid nothing. At last one voice in the distance was understood todeclare that its owner 'did not care about eating the labour of herhands. '

'No, my dear, you would surely starve, ' replied Miss Fairbairn. 'Isthat what the words mean, do you think, Miss Gainsborough?'

'I think not, ma'am. '

'What then? won't you explain?'

'There is a reference, ma'am, which I thought explained it. "Say ye tothe righteous that it shall be well with him: for they shall eat thefruit of their doings. " And another word perhaps explains it. "Oh fearthe Lord, ye His saints; for there is no want to them that fear Him. "'

'No want to them, hey?' repeated Miss Fairbairn. 'That sounds very muchlike happiness, I confess. What do you say, Miss Lawton?--Miss Disbrow?People that have no want unsatisfied must be happy, I should say. '

Silence. Then one young lady was heard to suggest that there were nosuch people in the world. 

'The Bible says so, Miss Baines. What can you do against that?'

'Miss Fairbairn, there is an old woman that lives near us in thecountry--very poor; she is an old Christian, --at least so theysay, --and she is _very_ poor. She has lost all her children andgrandchildren; she cannot work any more, and she lives upon charity. That is, if you call it living. I know she often has very little indeedto live upon, and that very poor, and she is quite alone; nobody totake the least care for her, or of her. '

'So you think she _does_ want some things. Miss Gainsborough, what haveyou to say to that?'

'What does _she_ think about it?' Esther asked. 

She looked as she spoke at the young lady who had given the instance, but the latter took no notice, until Miss Fairbairn said, 'Miss Baines, a question was put to you. '

'I am sure I don't know, ' Miss Baines replied. 'They _say_ she is avery happy old woman. '

'You doubt it?'

'I should not be happy in her place, ma'am. I don't see, for my part, how it is possible. And it seems to me certainly she wants a great manythings. '

'What do you think, Miss Gainsborough. '

'I think the Bible must be true, ma'am. '

'That is Faith's answer. '

'And then, the word is, "Blessed is every one that _feareth the Lord;_"it is true of nobody else, I suppose. '

'My dear, is that the answer of Experience?'

'I do not know, ma'am. ' But Esther's smile gave a very convincingaffirmative. 'But the promise is, "No good thing will He withhold fromthem that walk uprightly. "'

'There you have it. "No good thing;" and, "from them that walkuprightly. " Miss Disbrow, when you were getting well of that fever, didyour mother let you eat everything?'

'Oh no, ma'am; not at all. '

'What did she keep from you?'

'Nearly everything I liked, ma'am. '

'Was it cruelty, or kindness?'

'Kindness, of course. What I liked would have killed me. '

'Then she withheld from you "no good thing, " hey? while she kept fromyou nearly everything you liked. '

There was silence all round the table. Then Miss Baines spoke again. 

'But, ma'am, that old woman has not a fever, and she don't get any nicethings to eat. '

'It is quite likely she enjoys her meals more than you do yours. Butgranting she does not, are you the physician to know what is good forher?'

'She does not want any physician, ma'am. '

A laugh ran round the table, and Miss Fairbairn let the subject drop. When dinner was nearly over, however, she remarked:

'You want light for your practising. I will excuse you, MissGainsborough, if you wish to go. '

Esther went, very willingly. Then Miss Fairbairn held one of her littlediscourses, with which now and then she endeavoured to edify her pupils. 

'Young ladies, I am going to ask you to take pattern by MissGainsborough. Did you notice her movements when she went to do thatlittle errand for me?'

Silence. Then murmurs of assent were heard, not very loud, norenthusiastic. Miss Fairbairn did not expect that, nor care. What shewanted was to give her lesson. 

'Did you observe how she moved? She went like a swan'--

'On land' her keen ears heard somebody say under breath. 

'No, not on the land; like a swan on the water; with that smooth, gliding, noiseless movement which is the very way a true lady goes. There was the cat lying directly in her way; Miss Gainsborough wentround her gracefully, without stopping or stumbling. The servant cameright against her with a tray full; Miss Gainsborough stood still andwaited composedly till the obstacle was removed. You could not hear heropen or shut the door; you could not hear her foot on the stairs, andyet she went quick. And when she came back, she did not rustle andbustle with her newspaper, but laid it nicely folded beside me, andwent back to her seat as quietly as she had left it. Young ladies, thatis good breeding in motion. '

CHAPTER XXI. 

_THE COLONEL'S TOAST_. 

It is just possible that the foregoing experiences did not tend toincrease Esther's popularity among her companions. She got forthwiththe name of _favourite_, the giving of which title is the consolatoryexcuse to themselves of those who have done nothing to deserve favour. However, whether she were popular or not was a matter that did notconcern Esther. She was full of the delight of learning, and bent uponmaking the utmost of her new advantages. Study swallowed her up, so tospeak; at least, swallowed up all lesser considerations and attendantcircumstances. Not so far but that Esther got pleasure also from these;she enjoyed the novelty, she enjoyed the society, even she enjoyed thesight of so many in the large family; to the solitary girl, who had allher life lived and worked alone, the stir and breeze and bustle of aboarding-school were like fresh air to the lungs, or fresh soil to theplant. Whether her new companions liked her, she did not so much asquestion; in the sweetness of her own happy spirit she liked _them_, which was the more material consideration. She liked every teacher thathad to do with her; after which, it is needless to add, that MissGainsborough had none but favourers and friends in that part of her newworld. And it was so delicious to be learning; and in such a mood onelearns fast. Esther felt, when she went home at the end of the week, that she was already a different person from the one who had left it onMonday morning. 

Christopher came for her with an old horse and a gig, which was a newsubject of interest. 

'Where did you get them?' she asked, as soon as she had taken her seat, and begun to make her observations. 

'Nowheres, Miss Esther; leastways _I_ didn't. The colonel, he's bought'em of some old chap that wanted to get rid of 'em. '

'Bought? Then they are ours!' exclaimed Esther with delight. 'Well, thegig seems very nice; is it a good horse, Christopher?'

'Well, mum, ' said Mr. Bounder in a tone of very moderate appreciation, 'master says he's the remains of one. The colonel knows, to be sure, but I can't say as I see the remains. I think, maybe, somewheres in thelast century he may have deserved high consideration; at present, he'sgot four legs, to be sure, such as they be, and a head. The head's themost part of him. '

'Obstinate?' said Esther, laughing. 

'Well, mum, he thinks he knows in all circumstances what is best to bedone. I'm only a human, and naturally I thinks otherwise. That makesdifferences of opinion. '

'He seems to go very well. '

'No doubt, mum, ' said Christopher; 'you let him choose his way, andhe'll go uncommon; that he do. '

He went so well, in fact, that the drive was exhilarating; the gig wasvery easy; and Esther's spirits rose. At her age, the mind is justopening to appreciate keenly whatever is presented to it; every new bitof knowledge, every new experience, a new book or a new view, seemed tobe taken up by her senses and her intelligence alike, with a freshclearness of perception, which had in itself something very enjoyable. But this afternoon, how pleasant everything was! Not the weather, however; a grey mist from the sea was sweeping inland, veiling thecountry, and darkening the sky, and carrying with it a penetrating rawchillness which was anything but agreeable. Yet to Esther it was goodweather. She was entered at school; she had had a busy, happy week, andwas going home; there were things at home that she wanted to put inorder; and her father must be glad to have her ministry again. Thenlearning was so delightful, and it was so pleasant to be, at least insome small measure, keeping step with Pitt. No, probably not _that;_certainly not that; Pitt would be far in advance of her. At least, insome things, he would be far in advance of her; in others, Esther saidto herself, he should not. He might have more advantages at Oxford, nodoubt; nevertheless, if he ever came back again to see his old friends, he should find her doing her part and standing up to her full measureof possibilities. Would Pitt come back? Surely he would, Estherthought. But would he, in such a case, make all the journey to New Yorkto look up his old teacher and his old playmate and scholar? Sheanswered this query with as little hesitation as the other. And so, itwill be perceived, Esther's mind was in as brisk motion as her bodyduring the drive out to Chelsea. 

For at that day a wide stretch of country, more or less cultivated, laybetween what is now Abingdon Square and what was then the city. Esther's new home was a little further on still, down near the bank ofthe river; a drive of a mile and a half or two miles from MissFairbairn's school; and the short November day was closing in alreadywhen she got there. 

Mrs. Barker received her almost silently, but with gladness in everyfeature, and with a quantity of careful, tender ministrations, everyone of which had the effect of a caress. 

'How is papa? Has he missed me much?'

'The colonel is quite as usual, mum; and he didn't say to me as hisfeelin's were, but in course he's missed you. The house itself hasmissed you, Miss Esther. '

'Well, I am glad to be home for a bit, Barker, ' said Esther, laughing. 

'Surely, I know it must be fine for you to go to school, mum; but aholiday's a holiday; and I've got a nice pheasant for your supper, MissEsther, and I hope as you'll enjoy it. '

'Thank you, Barker. Oh, anything will be good;' and she ran into thesitting-room to see her father. 

The greetings here were quiet, too; the colonel was never otherwise, inmanner. And then Esther gave a quick look round the room to see if allwere as she wanted it to be. 

'My dear, ' said the colonel, gazing at her, 'I had no idea you were sotall!'

Esther laughed. I seem to have grown, oh, inches, in feeling, thisweek, papa. I don't wonder I look tall. '

'Never "wonder, " my dear, at anything. Are you satisfied with your newposition?'

'Very much, papa. Have you missed me?--badly, I mean?'

'There is no way of missing a person pleasantly, that I know, ' said herfather; 'unless it is a disagreeable person. Yes, I have missed you, Esther; but I am willing to miss you. '

This was not quite satisfactory to Esther's feeling; but her father'swonted way was somewhat dry and self-contained. The fact that this wasan unwonted occasion might have made a difference, she thought; and wasa little disappointed that it did not; but then, as the colonel wentback to his book, she put off further discussions till supper-time, andran away to see to some of the house arrangements which she had uponher heart. In these she was soon gaily busy; finding the workdelightful after the long interval of purely mental action. She haddone a good many things, she felt with pleasure, before she was calledto tea. Then it was with new enjoyment that she found herselfministering to her father again; making his toast just as he liked it, pouring out his tea, and watching over his wants. The colonel seemed totake up things simply where she had left them; and was almost as silentas ever. 

'Who has made your toast while I have been away, papa?' Esther asked, unable to-night to endure this silence. 

'My toast? Oh, Barker, of course. '

'Did she make it right?'

'Right? My dear, I have given up expecting to have servants dosomethings as they ought to be done. Toast is one of the things. Theyare outside of the limitations of the menial mind. '

'What is the reason, papa? Can't they be taught?'

'I don't know, my dear. I never have been able to teach them. Theyalways think toast is done when it is brown, and the browner thebetter, I should say. Also it is beyond their comprehension thatthickness makes a difference. There was an old soldier once I had underme in India; he was my servant; he was the only man I ever saw whocould make a piece of toast. '

'What are some of the other things that cannot be taught, papa?'

'A cup of tea. '

'Does not Barker make your tea good?' asked Esther, in some dismay. 

'She can do many other things, ' said the colonel. 'She is a verycompetent woman. '

'So I thought. What is the matter with the tea, papa--the tea shemakes?'

'I don't know, my dear, what the matter is. It is without fragrance, and without sprightliness, and generally about half as hot as it oughtto be. '

'No good toast and no good tea! Papa, I am afraid you have missed mevery much at meal times?'

'I have missed you at all times--more than I thought possible. But itcannot be helped. '

'Papa, ' said Esther, suddenly very serious, '_can_ it not be helped?'

'No, my dear. How should it?'

'I might stay at home. '

'We have come here that you might go to school. '

'But if it is to your hurt, papa'--

'Not the question, my dear. About me it is of no consequence. Thematter in hand is, that you should grow up to be a perfectwoman--perfect as your mother was; that would have been her wish, andit is mine. To that all other things must give way. I wish you to haveevery information and every accomplishment that it is possible for youin this country to acquire. '

'Is there not as good a chance here as in England, papa?'

'What do you mean by "chance, " my dear? Opportunity? No; there cannotyet be the same advantages here as in an old country, which has beeneducating its sons and its daughters in the most perfect way forhundreds of years. '

Esther pricked up her ears. The box of coins recurred to her memory, and sundry conversations held over it with Pitt Dallas. Whereby she hadcertainly got an impression that it was not so very long sinceEngland's educational provisions and practices, for England's daughtersat least, had been open to great criticism, and displayed great lack ofthe desirable. 'Hundreds of years!' But she offered no contradiction toher father's remark. 

'I would like you to be equal to any Englishwoman in your acquirementsand accomplishments, ' he repeated musingly. 'So far as in New York thatis possible. '

'I will try what I can do, papa. And, after all, it depends more on thegirl than on the school, does it not?'

'Humph! Well, a good deal depends on you, certainly. Did Miss Fairbairnfind you backward in your studies, to begin with?'

'Papa, ' said Esther slowly, 'I do not think she did. '

'Not in anything?'

'In French and music, of course. '

'Of course! But in history?'

'No, papa. '

'Nor in Latin?'

'Oh no, papa. '

'Then you can take your place well with the rest?'

'Perfectly, papa. '

'Do you like it? And does Miss Fairbairn approve of you? Has the weekbeen pleasant?'

'Yes, sir. I like it very much, and I think she likes me--if only youget on well, papa. How have you been all these days?'

'Not very well. I think, not so well as at Seaforth. The air here doesnot agree with me. There is a rawness--I do not know what--a peculiarquality, which I did not find at Seaforth. It affects my breastdisagreeably. '

'But, dear papa!' cried Esther in dismay, 'if this place does not agreewith you, do not let us stay here! Pray do not for me!'

'My dear, I am quite willing to suffer a little for your good. '

'But if is bad for you, papa?'

'What does that matter? I do not expect to live very long in any case;whether a little longer or a little shorter, is most immaterial. I careto live only so far as I can be of service to you, and while you needme, my child. '

'Papa, when should I not need you?' cried Esther, feeling as if herbreath were taken away by this view of things. 

'The children grow up to be independent of the parents, ' said thecolonel, somewhat abstractly. 'It is the way of nature. It must be; forthe old pass away, and the young step forward to fill their places. What I wish is that you should get ready to fill your place well. Thatis what we have come here for. We have taken the step, and we cannot goback. '

'Couldn't we, papa? if New York is not good for you?'

'No, my dear. We have sold our Seaforth place. '

'Mr. Dallas would sell it back again. '

'I shall not ask him. And neither do I desire to have it back, Esther. I have come here on good grounds, and on those grounds I shall stay. How I personally am affected by the change is of little consequence. '

The colonel, having by this time finished his third slice of toast anddrunk up his tea, turned to his book. Esther remained greatly chilledand cast down. Was her advantage to be bought at the cost of shorteningher father's life? Was her rich enjoyment of study and mental growth tobe balanced by suffering and weariness on his part?--every day of hernew life in school to be paid for by such a day's price at home? Esthercould not bear to think it. She sat pondering, chewing the bitter cudof these considerations. She longed to discuss them further, and getrid, if possible, of her father's dismal conclusions; but with him shecould not, and there was no other. When her father had settled anddismissed a subject, she could rarely re-open a discussion upon it. Thecolonel was an old soldier; when he had delivered an opinion, he had ina sort given his orders; to question was almost to be guilty ofinsubordination. He had gone back to his book, and Esther dared not sayanother word; all the more her thoughts burnt within her, and for along time she sat musing, going over a great many things besides thosethey had been talking of. 

'Papa, ' she said, once when the colonel stirred and let his book fallfor a minute, 'do you think Pitt Dallas will come home at all?'

'William Dallas! why should he not come home? His parents will want tosee him. I have some idea they expect him to come over next summer. '

'To _stay_, papa?'

'To stay the vacation. He will go back again, of course, to keep histerms. '

'At Oxford?'

'Yes; and perhaps afterwards in the Temple. '

'The Temple, papa? what is that?'

'A school of law. Do you not know so much, Esther?'

'Is he going to be a lawyer?'

'His father wishes him to study for some profession, and in that he isas usual judicious. The fact that William will have a great deal ofmoney does not affect the matter at all. It is my belief that every manought to have a profession. It makes him more of a man. '

'Do you think Pitt will end by being an Englishman, papa?'

'I can't tell, my dear. That would depend on circumstances, probably. Ishould think it very likely, and very natural. '

'But he _is_ an American. '

'Half. '

The colonel took up his book again. 

'Papa, ' said Esther eagerly, 'do you think Pitt will come to see ushere?'

'Come to see us? If anything brings him to New York, I have no doubt hewill look us up. '

'You do not think he would come all the way on purpose? Papa, he wouldbe very much changed if he did not. '

'Impossible to say, my dear. He is very likely to have changed. ' Andthe colonel went back to his reading. 

'Papa does not care about it, ' thought Esther. 'Oh, can Pitt be so muchchanged as that?'

CHAPTER XXII. 

_A QUESTION_. 

The identically same doubt busied some minds in another quarter, whereMr. And Mrs. Dallas sat expecting their son home. They were not so muchconcerned with it through the winter; the Gainsboroughs had beenhappily got rid of, and were no longer in dangerous proximity; that wasenough for the time. But as the spring came on and the summer drewnigh, the thought would recur to Pitt's father and mother, whetherafter all they were safe. 

'He mentions them in every letter he writes, ' Mrs. Dallas said. She andher husband were sitting as usual in their respective easy chairs oneither side of the fire. Not for that they were infirm, for there wasnothing of that; they were only comfortable. Mrs. Dallas was knittingsome bright wools, just now mechanically, and with a knitted brow; herhusband's brow showed no disturbance. It never did. 

'That's habit, ' he answered to his wife's remark. 

'But habit with Pitt is a tenacious thing. What will he do when hecomes home and finds they are gone?'

'Make himself happy without them, I expect. '

'It wouldn't be like Pitt. '

'You knew Pitt two and a half years ago. He was a boy then; he will bea man now. '

'Do you expect the man will be different from the boy?'

'Generally are. And Pitt has been going through a process. '

'I can see something of that in his letters, ' said the motherthoughtfully. 'Not much. '

'You will see more of it when he comes. What do you say in answer tohis inquiries?'

'About the Gainsboroughs? Nothing. I never allude to them. '

Silence. Mr. Dallas read his paper comfortably. Mrs. Dallas's brow wasstill careful. 

'It would be like him as he used to be, if he were to make the journeyto New York to find them. And if we should seem to oppose him, it mightset his fancy seriously in that direction. There's danger, husband. Pitt is very persistent. '

'Don't see much to tempt him in that direction. '

'Beauty! And Pitt knows he will have money enough; he would not carefor that. '

'I do, ' said Mr. Dallas, without ceasing to read his paper. 

'I would not mind the girl being poor, ' Mrs. Dallas went on, 'for Pitt_will_ have money enough--enough for both; but, Hildebrand, they areincorrigible dissenters, and I do _not_ want Pitt's wife to be of thatpersuasion. '

'I won't have it, either. '

'Then we shall do well to think how we can prevent it. If we could havesomebody here to take up his attention at least'--

'Preoccupy the ground, ' said Mr. Dallas. 'The colonel would say that isgood strategy. '

'I do not mean strategy, ' said Mrs. Dallas. 'I want Pitt to fancy awoman proper for him, in every respect. '

'Exactly. Have you one in your eye? Here in America it is difficult. '

'I was thinking of Betty Frere. '

'Humph! If she could catch him, --she might do. '

'She has no money; but she has family, and beauty. '

'You understand these things better than I do, ' said Mr. Dallas, halfamused, half sharing his wife's anxiety. 'Would she make a comfortabledaughter-in-law for you?'

'That is secondary, ' said Mrs. Dallas, still with a raised brow, knitting her scarlet and blue with out knowing what colour went throughher fingers. Perhaps her husband's tone had implied doubt. 

'If she can catch him, ' Mr. Dallas repeated. 'There is no calculatingon these things. Cupid's arrows fly wild--for the most part. '

'I will ask her to come and spend the summer here, ' Mrs. Dallas wenton. 'There is nothing like propinquity. '

In those days the crossing of the Atlantic was a long business, donesolely by the help or with the hindrance of the winds. And there was notelegraphing, to give the quick notice of a loved one's arrival as soonas he touched the shore. So Mr. And Mrs. Dallas had an anxious time ofwatching and uncertainty, for they could not tell when Pitt might bewith them. It lasted, this time of anxiety, till Seaforth had been inits full summer dress for some weeks; and it was near the end of a fairwarm day in July that he at last came. The table was set for tea, andthe master and mistress of the house were seated in their places oneither side the fireplace, where now instead of a fire there was a hugejar full of hemlock branches. The slant sunbeams were stretching acrossthe village street, making that peaceful alternation of broad light andstill shadows which is so reposeful to the eye that looks upon it. ThenMrs. Dallas's eye, which was not equally reposeful, saw a buggy driveup and stop before the gate, and her worsteds fell from her hands andher lap as she rose. 

'Husband, he is come' she said, with the quietness of intensity; andthe next moment Pitt was there. 

Yes, he had grown to be a man; he was changed; there was the consciousgravity of a man in his look and bearing; the cool collectedness thatbelongs to maturer years; the traces of thought and the lines ofpurpose. It had been all more or less to be seen in her boy before, butnow the mother confessed to herself the growth and increase of everymanly and promising trait in the face and figure she loved. That is, assoon as the first rush of delight had had its due expression, and thefirst broken and scattering words were spoken, and the three sat downto look at each other. The mother watched the broad brow, which waswhiter than it used to be; the fine shoulders, which were evenstraighter and broader than of old; and the father noticed that his sonovertopped him. And Mrs. Dallas's eyes shone with an incipient moisturewhich betrayed a soft mood she had to combat with; for she was not awoman who liked sentimental scenes; while in her husband's grey orbsthere flashed out every now and then a fire of satisfied pride, whichwas touching in one whose face rarely betrayed feeling of any kind. Pitt was just the fellow he had hoped to see him; and Oxford had beenjust the right place to send him to. He said little; it was the othertwo who did most of the talking. The talking itself for some time wasof that disjointed, insignificant character which is all that can getout when minds are so full, and enough when hearts are so happy. Indeed, for all that evening they could not advance much further. Eyessupplemented tongues sufficiently. It was not till a night's sleep andthe light of a new day had brought them in a manner to themselves thatanything less fragmentary could be entered upon. At breakfast allparties seemed to have settled down into a sober consciousness ofsatisfied desire. Then Mr. Dallas asked his son how he liked Oxford?

Pitt exhausted himself in giving both the how and the why. Yet nolonger like a boy. 

'Think you'll end by settling in England, eh?' said his father, withseeming carelessness. 

'I have not thought of it, sir. '

'What's made old Strahan take such a fancy to you? Seems to be aregular love affair. '

'He is a good friend to me, ' Pitt answered seriously. 'He has shown itin many ways. '

'He'll put you in his will, I expect. '

'I think he will do nothing of the kind. He knows I will have enough. '

'Nobody knows it, ' said the older Dallas drily. 'I might lose all _my_money, for anything you can tell. '

The younger man's eyes flashed with a noble sparkle in them. 'What Isay is still true, sir. What is the use of Oxford?'

'Humph!' said his father. 'The use of Oxford is to teach young men offortune to spend their money elegantly. '

'Or to enable young men who have no fortune to do elegantly without it. '

'There is no doing elegantly without money, and plenty of it, ' said theelder man, looking from under lowered eyelids, in a peculiar way hehad, at his son. 'Plenty of it, I tell you. You cannot have too much. '

'Money is a good dog. '

'A good _what?_'

'A good servant, sir, I should say. You may see a case occasionallywhere it has got to be the master. '

'What do you mean by that?'

'A man unable to be anything and spoiled for doing anything worthwhile, because he has so much of it; a man whose property is so largethat he has come to look upon money as the first thing. '

'It is the first thing and the last thing, I can tell you. Without it, a man has to play second fiddle to somebody else all his life. '

'Do you think there is no independence but that of the purse, sir?'

'Beggarly little use in any other kind. In fact, there is not any otherkind, Pitt. What passes for it is just fancy, and struggling to makebelieve. The really independent man is the man who need not ask anybodyelse's leave to do anything. '

Pitt let the question drop, and went on with his breakfast, for whichhe seemed to have a good appetite. 

'Your muffins are as good as ever, mother, ' he remarked. 

Mrs. Dallas, to judge by her face, found nothing in this world sopleasant as to see Pitt eat his breakfast, and nothing in the world soimportant to do as to furnish him with satisfactory material. Yet shewas not a foolish woman, and preserved all the time her somewhatstately presence and manner; it was in little actions and words now andthen that this care for her son's indulgence and delight in it madeitself manifest. It was manifest enough to the two who sat at breakfastwith her; Mr. Dallas observing it with a secret smile, his son with agrateful swelling of the heart, which a glance and a word sometimesconveyed to his mother. Mrs. Dallas's contentment this morning wasabsolute and unqualified. There could be no doubt what Betty Frerewould think, she said to herself. Every quality that ought to grace ayoung man, she thought she saw embodied before her. The broad brow, andthe straight eyebrow, and the firm lips, expressed what was congenialto Mrs. Dallas's soul; a mingling of intelligence and will, welldefined, clear and strong; but also sweet. There was thoughtfulness butno shadow in the fine hazel eyes; no cloud on the brow; and the smilewhen it came was frank and affectionate. His manner pleased Mrs. Dallasinfinitely; it had all the finish of the best breeding, and she wasable to recognise this. 

'What are you going to be, Pitt?' his father broke in upon somelaughing talk that was going on between mother and son. 

'To be, sir? I beg your pardon!'

'After you have done with Oxford, or with your college course. You knowI intend you to study for a profession. Which profession would youchoose?'

Pitt was silent. 

'Have you ever thought about it?'

'Yes, sir. I have thought about it. '

'What conclusion did you come to?'

'To none, yet, ' the young man answered slowly. 'It must depend. '

'On what?

'Partly, --on what conclusion I come to respecting something else, ' Pittwent on in the same manner, which immediately fastened his mother'sattention. 

'Perhaps you will go on and explain yourself, ' said his father. 'It isgood that we should understand one another. '

Yet Pitt was silent. 

'Is it anything private and secret?' his father asked, half laughing, although with a touch of sharp curiosity in his look. 

'Private--not secret, ' Pitt answered thoughtfully, too busy with hisown thoughts to regard his father's manner. 'At least the conclusioncannot be secret. '

'It might do no harm to discuss the subject, ' said his father, stilllightly. 

'I cannot see how it would do any good. It is my own affair. And Ithought it might be better to wait till the conclusion was reached. However, that may not be for some time; and if you wish'--

'We wish to share in whatever is interesting you, Pitt, ' his mothersaid gently. 

'Yes, mother, but at present things are not in any order to please you. You had better wait till I see daylight. '

'Is it a question of marriage?' asked his father suddenly. 

'No, sir. '

'A question of Uncle Strahan's wishes?' suggested Mrs. Dallas. 

'No, mother. ' And then with a little hesitation he went on: 'I havebeen thinking merely what master I would serve. Upon that would depend, in part, what service I would do;--of course. '

'What master? Mars or Minerva, to wit? or possibly Apollo? Or what wasthe god who was supposed to preside over the administration of justice?I forget. '

'No, sir. My question was broader. '

'Broader!'

'It was, briefly, the question whether I would serve God or Mammon. '

'I profess I do not understand you now!' said his father. 

'You are aware, sir, the world is divided on that question; making twoparties. Before going any farther, I had a mind to determine to whichof them I would belong. How can a navigator lay his course, unless heknows his goal?'

'But, my boy, ' said his mother, now anxiously and perplexedly, 'what doyou mean?'

'It amounts to the question, whether I would be a Christian, mother. '

Mr. Dallas slued his chair round, so as to bring his face somewhat outof sight; Mrs. Dallas, obeying the same instinctive impulse, kept hershidden behind the screen of her coffee-urn, for she would not her sonshould see in it the effect of his words. Her answer, however, wasinstantaneous:

'But, my dear, you _are_ a Christian. '

'Am I? Since when, mother?'

'Pitt, you were baptized in infancy, --you were baptized by that goodand excellent Bishop Downing, as good a man, and as holy, as ever wasconsecrated, here or anywhere. He baptized you before you were twomonths old. That made you a Christian, my boy. '

'What sort of a one, mother?'

'Why, my dear, you were taught your catechism. Have you forgotten it?In baptism you were made "a member of Christ, a child of God, and aninheritor of the kingdom of heaven. " You have learned those words, often enough, and said them over. '

'That will do to talk about, mother, ' said Pitt slowly; 'but in whatsense is it true?'

'My dear!--in every sense. How can you ask? It is part of thePrayer-Book. '

'It is not part of my experience. Up to this time, my life andconscience know nothing about it. Mother, the Bible gives certain marksof the people whom it calls "disciples" and "Christians. " I do not findthem in myself. '

Pitt lifted his head and looked at his mother as he spoke; a grave, frank, most manly expression filling his face. Mrs. Dallas met the lookwith one of intense worry and perplexity. 'What do you mean?' she saidhelplessly; while a sudden shove of her husband's chair spoke for _his_mood of mind, in its irritated restlessness. 'Marks?' she repeated. 'Christians are not _marked_ from other people. '

'As I read the Bible, it seems to me they must be. '

'I do not understand you, ' she said shortly. 'I hope you will explainyourself. '

'I owe it to you to answer, ' the young man said thoughtfully; 'it isbetter, perhaps, you should know where I am, that you may at least bepatient with me if I do not respond quite as you would wish to yourexpectations. Mother, I have been studying this matter a great while;but as to the preliminary question, whether I am already what the Bibledescribes Christians to be, I have been under no delusion at all. Themarks are plain enough, and they are not in me. '

'What marks?'

'It is a personal matter, ' Pitt went on a little unwillingly; 'it mustbe fought through somehow in my own mind; but some things are plainenough. Mother, the servants of Christ "follow" Him; it is the test oftheir service; I never did, nor ever thought or cared what the wordsmeant. The children of God are known by the fact that they love Him andkeep his commandments. So the Bible says. I have not loved Him, andhave not asked about His commandments. I have always sought my ownpleasure. The heirs of the kingdom of heaven have chosen that worldinstead of this; and between the two is just the choice I have yet tomake. That is precisely where I am. '

'But, my dear Pitt, ' said Mrs. Dallas, while her husband kept anominous silence, 'you have always led a most blameless life. I thinkyou judge yourself too hardly. You have been a good son, always!' andher eyes filled, partly with affection and partly with chagrin. To whatwas all this tending? 'You have _always_ been a good son, ' she repeated. 

'To you, mother. Yes, I hope so. '

'And, my dear, you were confirmed. What did that mean?'

'It meant nothing, mother, so far as I was concerned. It amounted tonothing. I did not know what I was doing. I did not think of themeaning the words might bear. It was to me a mere form, done becauseyou wished it, and because it was said to be proper; the right thing todo; I attached no weight to it, and lived just the same after asbefore. Except that for a few days I went under a little feeling ofconstraint, I remember, and also carried my head higher with a sense ofadded dignity. '

'And what is your idea of a Christian now, then?' Mrs. Dallas asked, between trouble and indignation. 

'I am merely taking what the Bible says about it, mother. '

'Which every man interprets for himself, ' added Mr. Dallas drily. 

'Where words are so plain, there can hardly be any question ofinterpretation. For instance'--

'Let that be, ' said Mr. Dallas; 'and tell us, if you can, what is youridea of the "choice" you say you have to make. A choice between what?'

'The one thing runs into the other, ' said Pitt; 'but it does notsignify at which end we begin. The question is, I suppose, in short, which world I will live for. '

'Live for both! That is the sensible way. '

'But, if you will pardon me, sir, impracticable. '

'How impracticable?'

'It has been declared so by the highest authority, and it has beenfound so in practice. I see it to be impracticable. '

'_I_ do not. Where's the impracticability?' Mr. Dallas had wheeledround now and was regarding his son attentively, with a face ofsuperior, cold, rather scornful calm. Mr. Dallas's face was rarelyanything else but calm, whatever might be going on beneath the calm. Pitt's face was not exactly so quiet; thought was working in it, andlights and shades sometimes passed over it, which his father carefullystudied. 'Where's the impossibility?' he repeated, as Pitt's answertarried. 

'The impossibility of walking two ways at once. '

'Will you explain yourself? I do not see the application. '

He spoke with clear coldness, perhaps expecting that his son would bechecked or embarrassed by coming against that barrier to enthusiasm, acold, hard intellect. Pitt, however, was quite as devoid of enthusiasmat the moment as his father, and far more sure of his ground, while hisintellect was full as much astir. His steadiness was not shaken, rathergained force, as he went on to speak, though he did not now lift hiseyes, but sat looking down at the white damask which covered thebreakfast table, having pushed his plate and cup away from him. 

'Father and mother, ' he said, 'I have been looking at two oppositegoals. On one side there is--what people usually strive for--honour, pleasure, a high place in the world's regard. If I seek that, I knowwhat I have to do. I suppose it is what you want me to do. I shoulddistinguish myself, if I can; climb the heights of greatness; makemyself a name, and a place, and then live there, as much above the restof the world as I can, and enjoying all the advantages of my position. That is about what I thought I would do when I went to Oxford. It is acareer bounded by this world, and ended when one quits it. You ask whyit is impossible to do this and the other thing too? Just look at it. If I become a servant of Christ, I give up seeking earthly honour; I donot live for my own pleasure; I apply all I have, of talents or meansor influence, to doing the will of a Master whose kingdom is not ofthis world, and whose ways are not liked by the world. I see veryplainly what His commands are, and they bid one be unlike the world andseparate from it. Do you see the impossibility I spoke of?'

'But, my dear, ' said Mrs. Dallas eagerly, 'you exaggerate things. '

'Which things, mother?'

'It is not necessary for you to be unlike the world; that isextravagance. '

Pitt rose, went to the table, where a large family Bible and Book ofCommon Prayer lay, and fetched the Bible to the breakfast-table. Duringwhich procedure Mr. Dallas shoved his chair round again, to gain hisformer position, and Mrs. Dallas passed her hand over her eyes once ortwice, with her a gesture of extreme disturbance. Pitt brought hisbook, opened it on the table before him, and after a little turning ofthe leaves stopped and read the following:

'"If ye were of the world, the world would love his own; but because yeare not of the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, thereforethe world hateth you. "'

'Yes, _at that time_, ' said Mrs. Dallas eagerly, --'at that time. Thenthe heathen made great opposition. All that is past now. '

'Was it only the heathen, mother?'

'Well, the Jews, of course. They were as bad. '

'Why were they? Just for this reason, that they loved the praise of menmore than the praise of God. They chose this world. But the apostleJames, --here it is, --he wrote:

'"Whosoever will be a friend of the world, is the enemy of God. "'

'Wouldn't you then be a friend of the world, Pitt?' his mother askedreprovingly. 

'I should say, ' Mr. Dallas remarked with an amused, indifferenttone, --'I should say that Pitt had been attending a conventicle; onlyat Oxford that is hardly possible. '

The young man made no answer to either speaker; he remained with hishead bent down over the Bible, and a face almost stern in its gravity. Mrs. Dallas presently repeated her question. 

'Pitt, would you not be a friend to the world?'

'That is the question, mother, ' he said, lifting his face to look ather. 'I thought it right to tell you all this, that you may know justwhere I stand. Of course I have thought of the question of aprofession; but this other comes first, and I feel it ought first to bedecided. '

With which utterance the young man rose, put the big Bible in itsplace, and left the room. 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

_A DEBATE_. 

The two who were left sat still for a few moments, without speaking. Mrs. Dallas once again made that gesture of her hand across her brow. 

'You need not disturb yourself, wife, ' said her husband presently. 'Young men must have a turn at being fools, once in a way. It is notmuch in Pitt's way; but, however, it seems his turn has come. There areworse types of the disorder. I would rather have this Puritan scrupleto deal with than some other things. The religious craze passes offeasier than a fancy for drinking or gambling; it is hot while it lasts, but it is easier to cure. '

'But Pitt is so persistent!'

'In other things. You will see it will not be so with this. '

'He's very persistent, ' repeated the mother. 'He always did stick toanything he once resolved upon. '

'He is not resolved upon this yet. Distraction is the best thing, nottalk. Where's Betty Frere? I thought she was coming. '

'She is coming. She will be here in a few days. I cannot imagine whathas set Pitt upon this strange way of thinking. He has got hold of someMethodist or some other dreadful person; but where? It couldn't be atOxford; and I am certain it was never in Uncle Strahan's house; wherecould it be?'

'Methodism began at Oxford, my dear. '

'It is one mercy that the Gainsboroughs are gone. '

'Yes, ' said her husband; 'that was well done. Does he know?'

'I have never told him. He will be asking about them directly. '

'Say as little as you can, and get Betty Frere here. '

Pitt meanwhile had gone to his old room, his work-room, the scene ofmany a pleasant hour, and where those aforetime lessons to EstherGainsborough had been given. He stood and looked about him. All wassevere order and emptiness, telling that the master had been away; histreasures were safe packed up, under lock and key, or stowed away uponcupboard shelves; there was no pleasant litter on tables and floor, alluring to work or play. Was that old life, of work and play whichmixed and mingled, light-hearted and sweet, gone for ever? Pitt stoodin the middle of the floor looking about him, gathering up many abroken thread of association; and then, obeying an impulse which hadbeen on him all the morning, he turned, caught up his hat, and went out. 

He loitered down the village street. It was mid-morning now, the summersun beating down on the wide space and making every big tree shadowgrateful. Great overarching elms, sometimes an oak or a maple, rangedalong in straight course and near neighbourhood, making the villagelook green and bowery, and giving the impression of an easy-goingthrift and habit of pleasant conditions, which perhaps was not untrueto the character of the people. The capital order in which everythingwas kept confirmed the impression. Pitt, however, was not thinking ofthis, though he noticed it; the village was familiar to him from hischildhood, and looked just as it had always done, only that the elmsand maples had grown a little more bowery with every year. He walkedalong, not thinking of that, nor seeing the roses and syringa blossomswhich gave him a sweet breath out of some of the gardens. He was not ina hurry. He was going back in mind to that which furnished the realanswer to his mother's wondering query, --whence Pitt could have got hisnew ideas? It was nobody at Oxford or in London, neither conventiclenor discourse; but a girl's letter. He went on and on, thinking of itand of the writer. What would _she_ say to his disclosures, which hisfather and mother could do nothing with? Would she be in condition togive him the help he knew he must not expect from them? She, a girl?who did not know the world? Yet she was the goal of Pitt's presentthoughts, and her house the point his footsteps were seeking, slowlyand thoughtfully. 

He was not in a hurry. Indeed, he was too absorbedly busy with his owncogitations and questions to give full place to the thought of Estherand the visit he was about to make. Besides, it was not as in the oldtime. He had no image before him now of a forlorn, lonely child, awaiting his coming as the flowers look for the sun. Things were ratherturned about; he thought of Esther as the one in the sunlight, andhimself as in need of illumination. He thought of her as needing nocomfort that he could give; he half hoped to find the way to peacethrough her leading. But yes, she would be glad to see him; she wouldnot have forgotten him nor lost her old affection for her oldplayfellow, though the entire cessation of letters from either her orher father had certainly been inexplicable. Probably it might beexplained by some crankiness of the colonel. Esther would certainly beglad to see him. He quickened his steps to reach the house. 

He hardly knew it when he came to it, the aspect of things was sodifferent from what he remembered. Truly it had been always a quiethouse, with never a rush of company or a crowd of voices; but there hadbeen life; and now?--Pitt stood still at the little gate and looked, with a sudden blank of disappointment. There could be nobody there. Thehouse was shut up and dead. Not a window was open; not a door. In thelittle front garden the flowers had grown up wild and were strugglingwith weeds; the grass of the lawn at the side was rank and unmown; thehoneysuckle vines in places were hanging loose and uncared-for, wavingin the wind in a way that said eloquently, 'Nobody is here. ' There wasnot much wind that summer day, just enough to move the honeysucklesprays. Pitt stood and looked and queried; then yielding to someunconscious impulse, he went in through the neglected flowers to thedeserted verandah, and spent a quarter of an hour in twining andsecuring the loose vines. He was thinking hard all the time. This wasthe place where he remembered sitting with Esther that day when sheasked help of him about getting comfort. He remembered it well; herecalled the girl's subdued manner, and the sorrowful craving in thelarge beautiful eyes. _Now_ Esther had found what she sought, andto-day he was nearly as unable to understand her as he had been to helpher then. He fastened up the honeysuckles, and then he went and satdown on the step of the verandah and took Esther's letter out of hisbreast pocket, and read it over. He had read it many times. He did notcomprehend it; but this he comprehended--that to her at least there wassomething in religion more heartfelt than a form, and more satisfyingthan a profession. To her it was a reality. The letter had set himthinking, and he had been thinking ever since. He had come here thismorning, hoping that in talking with her she might perhaps give himsome more light, and now she had disappeared. Strange that his mothershould not have told him! What could be the explanation of this suddendisappearance? Disaster or death it could not be, for that shecertainly would have told him. 

Sitting there and musing over many things, his own great question everand again, he heard a mower whetting his scythe somewhere in theneighbourhood. Pitt set about searching for the unseen labourer, andpresently saw the man, who was cutting the grass in an adjoining field. Dismissing thought for action, in two minutes he had sprung over thefence and was beside the man; but the mower did not intermit the longsweeps of his scythe, until he heard Pitt's civil 'Good morning. ' Thenhe stopped, straightened himself up, and looked at his visitor--lookedhim all over. 

'Good mornin', ' he replied. 'Guess you're the young squoire, ain't ye?'

If Pitt's appearance had been less supremely neat and faultless, Ithink the honest worker would have offered his hand; but the whitelinen summer suit, the polished boots, the delicate gloves, were toomuch of a contrast with his own dusty and rough exterior. It was nofeeling of inferiority, be it well understood, that moved him to thisbit of self-denial; only a self-respecting feeling of fitness. Hehimself would not have wanted to touch a dusty hand with those gloveson his own. But he spoke his welcome. 

'Glad to see ye hum, squoire. When did ye come?'

'Last night, thank you. Whom am I talking to? I have been so long away, I have forgotten my friends. '

'I guess there's nobody hain't forgotten you, you'll find, ' said theman, wiping his scythe blade with a wisp of grass; needlessly, for hehad just whetted it; but it gave him an opportunity to look at thefigure beside him. 

'More than I deserve, ' said Pitt. 'But I seem not to find some of myold friends. Do you know where is the family that used to live here?'

'Gone away, I guess. '

'I see they have gone away; but where have they gone?'

'Dunno, no more'n the dead, ' said the man, beginning to mow again. 

'You know whom I am speaking of?--Colonel Gainsborough. '

'I know. He's gone--that's all I kin tell ye. '

'Who takes care of the place?'

'The place? If you mean the house, nobody takes keer of it, I guess. There ain't nobody in it. The land hez as good keer as it ever hed. Thesquoire, he sees to that. '

'My father, do you mean?'

'Who else? It belongs to the squoire now, and he takes good keer o' all_he_ sees to. He bought it, ye know, when the cunnel went away, ' saidthe man, stopping work and resting on his scythe to look at Pitt again. 'He'd ha' let it, I guess, ef he could; but you see there ain't nobodythat wants it. The folks in Seaforth all hez their own houses, anddon't want nobody else's. There _is_ folks, they say, as 'd like tolive in two houses to once, _ef_ they could manage it; but I neverheerd o' no one that could. '

'Do you know at all why the colonel went away?'

'Hain't an idee. Never knowed him particular, ye see, and so neverheerd tell. The cunnel he warn't a sociable man by no means, and kep'himself mostly shut up. I think it's a man's loss; but there'sdifferent opinions, I suppose, on that p'int. As on every other! Folksdu say, the cunnel warn't never to hum in Seaforth. Anyway, he ain'tnow. '

With which utterance he went to mowing again, and Pitt, after acourteous 'Good day, ' left him. 

Where could they be gone? And why should they have gone? And how was itthat his mother in her many letters had never said a word about it?Nay, had let him go out this very morning to look for what she knew hewould not find? And his father had bought the ground! There wassomething here to be inquired into. Meanwhile, for the present, he mustdo his thinking without Esther. 

He walked on and on, slowly, under the shade of the great trees, alongthe empty, grassy street. He had plucked one or two shoots from thehoneysuckles, long shoots full of sweetness; and as he went on andthought, they seemed to put in a word now and then. A word of reminder, not distinct nor logical, but with a blended meaning of Esther andsweetness and truth. Not _her_ sweetness and truth, but that which shetestified to, and which an inner voice in Pitt's heart kept declaringto be genuine. That lured him and beckoned him one way; and the otherway sounded voices as if of a thousand sirens. Pleasure, pride, distinction, dominion, applause, achievement, power, and ease. Variousforms of them, various colours, started up before his mind's eye;vaguely discerned, as to individual form, but every one of them, likethe picadors in a bull-fight, shaking its little banner of distractionand allurement. Pitt felt the confusion of them, and at the same timewas more than vaguely conscious on the other side of a certain steadywhite light which attracted towards another goal. He walked on inmeditative musing, slowly and carelessly, not knowing where he wasgoing nor what he passed on the way; till he had walked far. And thenhe suddenly stopped, turned, and set out to go back the road he hadcome, but now with a quick, measured, steady footfall which gave noindication of a vacillating mind or a laboured question. 

He went into the breakfast-room when he got home, which was also thecommon sitting-room and where he found, as he expected, his motheralone. She looked anxious; which was not a usual thing with Mrs. Dallas. 

'Pitt, my dear!--out all this time? Are you not very hot?'

'I do not know, mother; I think not. I have not thought about the heat, I believe. '

He had kept the honeysuckle sprays in his hand all this while, and henow went forward to stick them in the huge jar which occupied thefireplace, and which was full of green branches. Turning when he haddone this, he did not draw up a chair, but threw himself down upon therug at his mother's feet, so that he could lay back his head upon herknees. Presently he put up his two hands behind him and found herhands, which he gently drew down and laid on each side of his head, holding them there in caressing fashion. Caresses were never the orderof the day in this family; rarely exchanged even between mother andson, who yet were devoted faithfully to each other. The action movedMrs. Dallas greatly; she bent down over him and kissed her son's brow, and then loosening one of her hands thrust it fondly among the thickbrown wavy locks of hair that were such a pride to her. She admired himunqualifiedly, with that blissful delight in him which a good mothergives to her son, if his bodily and mental properties will anyway allowof it. Mrs. Dallas's pride in this son had always been satisfied andunalloyed; all the more now was the chagrin she felt at the first jarto this satisfaction. Her face showed both feelings, the pride and thetrouble, but for a time she kept silence. She was burning to discussfurther with him the subject of the morning; devoured with restlesscuriosity as to how it could ever have got such a lodgment in Pitt'smind; at the same time she did not know how to touch it, and was afraidof touching it wrong. Her husband's counsel, _not to talk_, she did notindeed forget; but Mrs. Dallas had her own views of things, and did notalways take her husband's advice. She was not minded to follow it now, but she was uncertain how best to begin. Pitt was busy with his ownthoughts. 

'I have invited somebody to come and make your holiday passpleasantly, ' Mrs. Dallas said at last, beginning far away from theburden of her thoughts. 

'Somebody?--whom?' asked Pitt a little eagerly, but without changinghis attitude. 

'Miss Betty Frere. '

'Who is she, that she should put her hand on my holiday? I do not wantany hands but yours, mother. How often I have wanted them!'

'But Miss Frere _will_ make your time pass more pleasantly, my boy. Miss Frere is one of the most admired women who have appeared inWashington this year. She is a sort of cousin of your father's, too;distant, but enough to make a connection. You will see for yourselfwhat she is. '

'Where did you find her out?'

'In Washington, last winter. '

'And she is coming?'

'She said she would come. I asked her to come and help me make the timepass pleasantly for you. '

'Which means, that I must help you make the time pass pleasantly forher. '

'That will be easy. '

'I don't know; and _you_ do not know. When is she coming?'

'In a few days, I expect her. '

'Young, of course. Well, mother, I really do not want anybody but you;but we'll do the best we can. '

'She is handsome, and quick, and has excellent manners. She would havemade a good match last winter, at once, --if she had not been poor. '

'Are men such cads as that on this side the water too?'

'_Cads_, my dear!'

'I call that being cads. Don't you?'

'My boy, everybody cannot afford to marry a poor wife. '

'Anybody that has two hands can. Or a head. '

'It brings trouble, Pitt. '

'Does not the other thing bring trouble? It would with me! If I knew awoman had married me for money, or if I knew I had married _her_ formoney, there would be no peace in my house. '

Mrs. Dallas laughed a little. 'You will have no need to do the latterthing, ' she said. 

'Mother, nobody has any need to do it. '

'You, at any rate, can please yourself. Only'--

'Only what?' said Pitt, now laughing in his turn, and twisting his headround to look up into her face. 'Go on, mother. '

'I am sure your father would never object to a girl because she waspoor, if you liked her. But there are other things'--

'Well, what other things?'

'Pitt, a woman has great influence over her husband, if he loves her, and that you will be sure to do to any woman whom you make your wife. Ishould not like to have you marry out of your own Church. '

Pitt's head went round, and he laughed again. 

'In good time!' he said. 'I assure you, mother, you are in no dangeryet. '

'I thought this morning, ' said his mother, hesitating, --'I was afraid, from what you said, that some Methodist, or some other Dissenter, mighthave got hold of you. '

Pitt was silent. The word struck him, and jarred a little. Was hismother not grazing the truth? And a vague notion rose in his mind, without actually taking shape, which just now he had not time to attendto, but which cast a shadow, like a young cloud. He was silent, and hismother after a little pause went on. 

'Methodists and Dissenters are not much in Mr. Strahan's way, I amsure; and you would hardly be troubled by them at Oxford. How was it, Pitt? Where did you get these new notions?'

'Do they sound like Dissent, mother?'

'I do not know what they sound like. Not like you. I want to know whatthey mean, and how you came by them?'

He did not immediately answer. 

'I have been thinking on this subject a good while, ' he saidslowly, --'a good while. You know, Mr. Strahan is a great antiquary, andvery full of knowledge about London. He has taken pleasure in goingabout with me, and instructing me, and he is capital company; but atlast I learned enough to go by myself sometimes, without him; and Iused to ramble about through the places where he had taken me, toreview and examine and ponder things at my leisure. I grew very fond ofLondon. It is like an immense illustrated book of history. 

'One day I was wandering in one of the busy parts of the city, andturned aside out of the roar and the bustle into a little chapel, lyingclose to the roar but separate from it. I had been there before, andknew there were some fine marbles in the place; one especially, that Iwanted to see again. I was alone that day, and could take my time; andI went in. It is the tomb of some old dignitary who lived severalcenturies ago. I do not know what he was in life; but in death, as thiseffigy represents him, it is something beautiful to look upon. I forgetat this minute the name of the sculptor; his work I shall never forget. It is wonderfully fine. The gravity, and the sweetness, and theineffable repose of the figure, are beyond praise. I stood looking, studying, thinking, I cannot tell for how long--or rather feeling thanthinking, at the moment. When I left the chapel and came out again intothe glare and the rush and the confusion, then I began to think, mother. I went off to another quiet place, by the bank of the river, and sat down and thought. I can hardly tell you how. The image of thatinfinite repose I carried with me, and the rush of human life filledthe streets I had just come through behind me, and I looked at thecontrast of things. There, for ages already, that quiet; here, for aday or two, this driving and struggling. Even suppose it be successfulstruggling, what does it amount to?'

'It amounts to a good deal while you live, ' said Mrs. Dallas. 

'And after?'--

'And after too. A man's name, if he has struggled successfully, is heldin remembrance--in honour. '

'What is that to him after he is gone?'

'My dear, you would not advocate a lazy life?--a life without effort?'

'No, mother. The question is, what shall the effort be for?'

Mrs. Dallas was in the greatest perplexity how to carry on thisconversation. She looked down on the figure before her, --Pitt was stillsitting at her feet, holding her two hands on either side of his head;and she could admire at her leisure the well-knit, energetic frame, every line of which showed power and life, and every motion of whichindicated also the life and vigour of the spirit moving it. He was thevery man to fight the battle of life with distinguished success--shehad looked forward to his doing it, counted upon it, built her prideupon it; what did he mean now? Was all that power and energy andability to be thrown away? Would he decline to fill the place in theworld which she had hoped to see him fill, and which he could so wellfill? Young people do have foolish fancies, and they pass over; but afancy of this sort, just at Pitt's age, might be fatal. She was glad itwas _herself_ and not his father who was his confidant, for Pitt, shewell knew, was one neither to be bullied nor cajoled. But what shouldshe say to him?

'My dear, I think it is duty, ' she ventured at last. 'Everybody must beput here to do something. '

'What is he put here to do, mamma? That is the very question. '

Pitt was not excited, he showed no heat; he spoke in the quiet, calmtones of a person long familiar with the thoughts to which he gaveutterance; indeed, alarmingly suggestive that he had made up his mindabout them. 

'Pitt, why do you not speak to a clergyman? He could set you rightbetter than I can. '

'I have, mamma. '

'To what clergyman?'

'To Dr. Calcott of Oxford, and to Dr. Plympton, the rector of thechurch to which Uncle Strahan goes. '

'What did they say?'

'Dr. Calcott said I had been studying too hard, and wanted a littledistraction; he thought I was morbid, and warned me against possiblelistening to Methodists. Said I was a good fellow, only it was amistake to try to be _too_ good; the consequence would be a break-down. Whether physical or moral, he did not say; I was left to apprehendboth. '

'That is very much as I think myself, only not the fear of break-downs. I see no signs of that in you, my boy. What did the other, Dr. --whomdid you say?--what did he tell you?'

'Dr. Plympton. He said he did not understand what I would be at. '

'I agree with him too, ' said Mrs. Dallas, laughing a little. Pitt didnot laugh. 

'I quoted some words to him out of the Bible, and he said he did notknow what they meant. '

'I should think he ought to know. '

'So I thought. But he said it was for the Church to decide what theymeant. '

Mrs. Dallas was greatly at a loss, and growing more and more uneasy. Pitt went on in such a quiet, meditative way, not asking help of her, and, she fancied, not intending to ask it of anybody. Suddenly, however, he lifted his head and turned himself far enough round toenable him to look in her face. 

'Mother, ' said he, 'what do you think those words mean in one of thepsalms, --"Thou hast made me exceeding glad with thy countenance"?'

'Are they in the Psalms? I do not know. '

'You have read them a thousand times! In the psalter translation thewording is a little different, but it comes to the same thing. '

'I never knew what they meant, my boy. There are a great many things inthe Bible that we cannot understand. '

'But is this one of them? "Exceeding glad--_with thy countenance_. "David knew what he meant. '

'The Psalmist was inspired. Of course he understood a great many thingswhich we do not. '

'We ought to understand some things that he did not, I should think. But this is a bit of personal experience--not abstruse teaching. Davidwas "exceeding glad"--and what made him glad? that I want to know. '

Pitt's thoughts were busy with the innocent letter he had oncereceived, in which a young and unlearned girl had given precisely thesame testimony as the inspired royal singer. Precisely the same. Andsurely what Esther had found, another could find, and he might find. But while he was musing, Mrs. Dallas grew more and more uneasy. Sheknew better than to try the force of persuasion upon her son. It wouldnot avail; and Mrs. Dallas was a proud woman, too proud to ask whatwould not be granted, or to resist forcefully what she might not resistsuccessfully. She never withstood her husband's plans, or asked him tochange them, except in cases when she knew her opposition could be madeeffective; so it did not at all follow that she was pleased where shemade no effort to hinder. It was the same in the case of her son, though rarely proved until now. In the consciousness of her want ofpower she was tempted to be a little vexed. 

'My dear, ' she said, 'what you say sounds to me very like Methodisttalk! They say the Methodists are spreading dreadfully. '

Pitt was silent, and then made a departure. 

'How often I have wanted just the touch of these hands!' he said, giving those he held a little squeeze. 'Mother, there is nothing in allthe world like them. '

CHAPTER XXIV. 

_DISAPPOINTMENT_. 

It was not till the little family were seated at the dinner-table, thatPitt alluded to the object of his morning ramble. 

'I went to see Colonel Gainsborough this morning, ' he began; 'and to myastonishment found the house shut up. What has become of him?'

'Gone away, ' said his father shortly. 

'Yes, that is plain; but where is he gone to?'

'New York. '

'New York! What took him away?'

'I believe a desire to put his daughter at school. A very sensibledesire. '

'To New York!' Pitt repeated. 'Why did you never mention it, mamma?'

'It never occurred to me to mention it. I did not suppose that thematter was of any great interest to you. '

Mrs. Dallas had said just a word too much. Her last sentence set Pittto thinking. 

'How long have they been gone?' he asked, after a short pause. 

'Not long, ' said Mr. Dallas carelessly. 'A few months, I believe. '

'A man told me you had bought the place?'

'Yes; it suited me to have it. The land is good, what there is of it. '

'But the house stands empty. What will you do with it?'

'Let it--as soon as anybody wants it. '

'Not much prospect of that, is there?'

'Not just now, ' Mr. Dallas said drily. 

There was a little pause again, and then Pitt asked, --

'Have you Colonel Gainsborough's address, sir?'

'No. '

'I suppose they have it at the post office. '

'They have not. Colonel Gainsborough was to have sent me his address, when he knew himself what it would be, but he has never done so. '

'Is he living in the city, or out of it. '

'I have explained to you why I am unable to answer that question. '

'Why do you want to know, Pitt?' his mother imprudently asked. 

'Because I have got to look them up, mother; and knowing whereaboutsthey are would be rather a help, you see. '

'You have not got to look them up!' said his father gruffly. 'Whatbusiness is it of yours? If they were here, it would be all very wellfor you to pay your respects to the colonel; it would be due; but as itis, there is no obligation. '

'No obligation of civility. There is another, however. '

'What, then?'

'Of friendship, sir. '

'Nonsense. Friendship ought to keep you at home. There is no friendshiplike that of a man's father and mother. Do you know what a piece oftime it would take for you to go to New York to look up a man who livesyou do not know where?--what a piece of your vacation?'

'More than I like to think of, ' said Pitt; 'but it will have to bedone. '

'It will take you two days to get there, and two more days to get back, merely for the journey; and how many do you want to spend in New York?'

'Must have two or three, at least. It will swallow up a week. '

'Out of your little vacation!' said his mother reproachfully. She wasangry and hurt, as near tears as she often came; but Mrs. Dallas wasnot wont to show her discomfiture in that way. 

'Yes, mother; I am very sorry. '

'Why do you care about seeing them?--care so much, I mean, ' his fatherinquired, with a keen side-glance at his son. 

'I have made a promise, sir. I am bound to keep it. '

'What promise?' both parents demanded at once. 

'To look after the daughter, in case of the father's death. '

'But he is not dead. He is well enough; as likely to live as I am. '

'How can I be sure of that? You have not heard from him for months, yousay. '

'I should have heard, if anything had happened to him. '

'That is not certain, either, ' said Pitt, thinking that Esther'sapplying to his father and mother in case of distress was more thandoubtful. 

'How can you look after the daughter in the event of her father'sdeath? _You_ are not the person to do it, ' said his mother. 

'I am the person who have promised to do it, ' said Pitt quietly. 'Nevermind, mother; you see I must go, and the sooner the better. I will takethe stage to-morrow morning. '

'You might wait and try first what a letter might do, ' suggested hisfather. 

'Yes, sir; but you remember Colonel Gainsborough had very little to dowith the post office. He never received letters, and he had ceasedtaking the London _Times_. My letter might lie weeks unclaimed. I mustgo myself. '

And he went, and stayed a week away. It was a busy week; at least thedays in the city were busily filled. Pitt inquired at the post office;but, as he more than half expected, nobody knew anything of ColonelGainsborough's address. One official had an impression he had heard thename; that was all. Pitt beleaguered the post office, that is, he satdown before it, figuratively, for really he sat down in it, and letnobody go out or come in without his knowledge. It availed nothing. Either Christopher did not at all make his appearance at the postoffice during those days, or he came at some moment when Pitt was goneto get a bit of luncheon; if he came, a stupid clerk did not heed him, or a busy clerk overlooked him; all that is certain is, that Pitt sawand heard nothing which led to the object of his quest. He madeinquiries elsewhere, wherever he could think it might be useful; butthe end was, he heard nothing. He stayed three days; he could stay nolonger, for his holiday was very exactly and narrowly measured out, andhe felt it not right to take any more of it from his father and mother. 

The rest of the time they had him wholly to themselves, for Miss Frerewas hindered by some domestic event from keeping her promise to Mrs. Dallas. She did not come. Pitt was glad of it; and, seeing they werenow free from the danger of Esther, his father and mother were glad ofit too. The days were untroubled by either fear or anxiety, while theirson made the sunshine of the house for them; and when he went away heleft them without a wish concerning him, but that they were going too. For it was to be another two years before he would come again. 

The record of those same summer months in the house on the bank of theHudson was somewhat different. Esther had her vacation too, which gaveher opportunity to finish everything in the arrangements at home forwhich time had hitherto been lacking. The girl went softly round thehouse, putting a touch of grace and prettiness upon every room. Itexcited Mrs. Barker's honest admiration. Here it was a curtain; thereit was a set of toilet furniture; in another place a fresh chintzcover; in a fourth, a rug that matched the carpet and hid an ugly darnin it. Esther made all these things and did all these things herself;they cost her father nothing, or next to nothing, and they did not evenask for Mrs. Barker's time, and they were little things, but the effectof them was not so. They gave the house that finished, comfortable, home-like air, which nothing does give but the graceful touch of awoman's fingers. Mrs. Barker admired; the colonel did not see what wasdone; but Esther did not work for admiration. She was satisfying thedemand of her own nature, which in all things she had to do with calledfor finish, fitness, and grace; her fingers were charmed fingers, because the soul that governed them had itself such a charm, and workedby its own standard, as a honey bee makes her cell. Indeed, the simileof the honey bee would fit in more points than one; for the cell of thelittle winged worker is not fuller of sweetness than the girl made allher own particular domicile. If the whole truth must be told, however, there was another thought stirring in her, as she hung her curtains andlaid her rugs; a half recognised thought, which gave a zest to everyadditional touch of comfort or prettiness which she bestowed on thehouse. She thought Pitt would be there, and she wanted the impressionmade upon him to be the pleasantest possible. He would surely be there;he was coming home; he would never let the vacation go by withouttrying to find his old friends. It was a constant spring of pleasure toEsther, that secret hope. She said nothing about it; her father, sheknew, did not care so much for Pitt Dallas as she did; but privatelyshe counted the days and measured the time, and went into countlesscalculations for which she possessed no sufficient data. She knew that, yet she could not help calculating. The whole summer was sweetened andenlivened by these calculations, although indeed they were a littlelike some of those sweets which bite the tongue. 

But the summer went by, as we know, and nothing was seen of theexpected visitor. September came, and Esther almost counted the hours, waking up in the morning with a beat of the heart, thinking, to-day hemay come! and lying down at night with a despairing sense that the timewas slipping away, and her only consolation that there was some yetleft. She said nothing about it; she watched the days of the vacationall out, and went to school again towards the end of the month with aheart very disappointed, and troubled besides by that feeling ofunknown and therefore unreachable hindrances, which is so tormenting. Something the matter, and you do not know what and therefore you cannotact to mend matters. Esther was sadly disappointed. Three years now, and she had grown and he had changed, --must have changed, --and if theold friendship were at all to be preserved, the friends ought to seeeach other before the gap grew too wide, and before too many thingsrushed in to fill it which might work separation and not union. Esther's feelings were of the most innocent and childlike, but verywarm. Pitt had been very good to her; he had been like an elderbrother, and in that light she remembered him and wished for him. Thefact that she was a child no longer did not change all this. Esther hadlived alone with her father, and kept her simplicity. 

Going to school might have damaged the simplicity, but somehow it didnot. Several reasons prevented. For one thing, she made no intimatefriends. She was kind to everybody, nobody was taken into herconfidence. Her nature was apart from theirs; one of those rare and fewwhose fate it is for the most part to stand alone in the world; toofine for the coarseness, too delicate for the rudeness, too noble forthe pettiness of those around them, even though they be not more coarseor rude or small-minded than the generality of mankind. Sympathy isbroken, and full communion impossible. It is the penalty of eminence toput its possessor apart. I have seen a lily stand so in a bed of otherflowers; a perfect specimen; in form and colouring and grace ofcarriage distinguished by a faultless beauty; carrying its elegant heada little bent, modest, but yet lofty above all the rest of the flowerbed. Not with the loftiness of inches, however, for it was of lowerstature than many around it; the elevation of which I speak was moraland spiritual. And so it was alone. The rest of the flowers were moreor less fellows; this one in its apart elegance owned no socialcommunion with them. Esther was a little like that among her schoolfriends; and though invariably gracious and pleasant in her manners, she was instinctively felt to be different from the rest. Only Estherwas a white lily; the one I tried to describe, or did not try todescribe, was a red one. 

Besides this element of separateness, Esther was very much absorbed inher work. Not seeking, like most of the others, to pass a goodexamination, but studying in the love of learning, and with a far-offideal of attainment in her mind with which she hoped one day to meetPitt, and satisfy if not equal him. I think she hardly knew this motiveat work; however, it _was_ at work, and a powerful motive too. 

And lastly, Esther was a 'favourite. ' No help for it; she was certainlya favourite, the girls pronounced, and some of them had the candour toadd that they did not see how she could help it, or how Miss Fairbairncould help it either. 

'Girls, she has every right to be a favourite, ' one of them set forth. 

'Nobody has a right to be a favourite!' was the counter cry. 

'But think, she never does anything wrong. '

'Stupid!'

'Well, she never breaks rules, does she?'

'No. '

'And she always has her lessons perfect as perfect can be. '

'So do some other people. '

'And her drawings are capital. '

'That's her nature; she has a talent for drawing; she cannot help it. She just _cannot help_ it, Sarah Simpson. That's no credit. '

'Then she is the best Bible scholar in the house, except Miss Fairbairnherself. '

'Ah! There you've got it. That's just it. She is one of MissFairbairn's kind. But everybody can't be like that!' cried theobjector. 'I, for instance. I don't care so much for the Bible, yousee; and _you_ don't if you'll tell the truth; and most of us don't. It's an awful bore, that's what it is, all this eternal Bible work! andI don't think it's fair. It isn't what _I_ came here for, I know. Myfather didn't think he was sending me to a Sunday school. '

'Miss Fairbairn takes care you should learn something else besidesBible, Belle Linders, to do her justice. '

'Well, she's like all the rest, she has favourites, and EstherGainsborough is one of 'em, and there ought to be no favourites. I tellyou, she puts me out, that's what she does. If I am sent out of theroom on an errand, I am sure to hit my foot against something, justbecause _she_ never stumbles; and the door falls out of my hand andmakes a noise, just because I am thinking how it behaves for her. Shejust puts me out, I give you my word. It confuses me in my recitations, to know that _she_ has the answer ready, if I miss; and as for drawing, it's no use to try, because she will be sure to do it better. Thereought to be no such thing as favourites!'

There was some laughter at this harangue, but no contradiction of itsstatements. Perhaps Esther was more highly gifted than any of herfellows; beyond question she worked harder. She had motives thatwrought upon none of them; the idea of equalling or at least ofsatisfying Pitt, and the feeling that her father was sacrificing agreat deal for her sake, and that she must do her very utmost by way ofhonouring and rewarding his kindness. Besides still another and loftierfeeling, that she was the Lord's servant, and that less than the verybest she could do was not service good enough for him. 

'Papa, ' she said one evening in October, 'don't you think Pitt musthave come and gone before now?'

'William Dallas? If he has come, he is gone, certainly. '

'Papa, do you think he _can_ have come?'

'Why not?'

'Because he has not been to see us. '

'My dear, that is nothing; there is no special reason why he shouldcome to see us. '

'Oh, papa!' cried Esther, dismayed. 

'My dear, you have put too much water in my tea; I wish you would thinkwhat you are about. '

Now Esther _had_ thought what she was about, and the tea was as nearlyas possible just as usual. 

'Shall I mend it, papa?'

'You cannot mend it. Tea must be made right at first, if it is ever tobe right. And if it is _not_ right, it is not fit to be drunk. '

'I am very sorry, papa. I will try and have it perfect next time. '

It was plain her father did not share her anxiety about Pitt; he carednothing about the matter, whether he came or no. He did not think ofit. And Esther had been thinking of it every day for months, and manytimes a day. She was hurt, and it made her feel alone. Esther had thatfeeling rather often, for a girl of her age and sound health in everyrespect, bodily and mental. The feeling was quite in accordance withthe facts of the case; only many girls at seventeen would not havefound it out. She was in school and in the midst of numbers for fiveand a half days in the week; yet even there, as has been explained, shewas in a degree solitary; and both in school and at home Esther knewthe fact. At home the loneliness was intensified. Colonel Gainsboroughwas always busy with his books; even at meal times he hardly came outof them; and never, either at Seaforth or here, had he made himself thecompanion of his daughter. He desired to know how she stood in herschool, and kept himself informed of what she was doing; what she mightbe _feeling_ he never inquired. It was all right, he thought;everything was going right, except that he was such an invalid and soleft to himself. If asked by _whom_ he was left to himself, he wouldhave said, by his family and his country and the world generally. Hisfamily and his country might probably have charged that the neglect wasmutual, and the world at large could hardly be blamed for not taking upthe old soldier whom it did not know, and making much of him. The carewhich was failing from all three he got from his daughter in fullmeasure, but she got little from him. It was not strange that herthoughts went fondly to Pitt, who _had_ taken care of her and helpedher and been good to her. Was it all over? and no more such kindlyministry and delightful sympathy to be ever hoped for any more? HadPitt forgotten her? It gave Esther pain, that nobody guessed, to beobliged to moot this question; and it busied her a good deal. Sometimesher thoughts went longingly back beyond Pitt Dallas to another facethat had always been loving to her; soft eyes and a tender hand thatwere ever sure to bring sympathy and help. She could not much bear tothink of it. _That_ was all gone, and could not be called back again;was her one other earthly friend gone too? Pitt had been so good toher! and such a delightful teacher and helper and confidant. Shethought it strange that her father did not miss him; but after the onegreat loss of his life, Colonel Gainsborough missed nobody any more. 

CHAPTER XXV. 

_A HEAD OF LETTUCE_. 

One afternoon in the end of October, Esther, who had just come homefrom school was laid hold of by Mrs. Barker with a face of gravecalculation. 

'Miss Esther, will ye approve that I send Christopher over to thatmarket woman's to get a head o' lettuce for the colonel's supper?There's nought in the house but a bit o' cold green tongue, savin', ofcourse, the morrow's dinner. I thought he might fancy a salad. '

'Tongue?' said Esther. 'Haven't you a quail, or a sweetbread, orsomething of that sort?'

'I haven't it, Miss Esther; and that's the truth. '

'Forgotten?' said Esther, smiling. 

'Mum, I couldn't forget the likes o' that, ' Barker said solemnly. 'Which I mean, as I haven't that to own up to. No, mum, I didn'tforget. '

'What's the matter, then? some carelessness of Christopher's. Yes, havea salad; that will do very well. '

'Then, mum, ' said Barker still more constrainedly, 'could you perhapslet me have a sixpence? I don't like to send and ask a stranger likethat to wait for what's no more'n twopence at home. '

'Wait?' repeated Esther. 'Didn't papa give you money for thehousekeeping this week?'

'Miss Esther, he did; but--I haven't a cent. '

'Why? He did not give you as much as usual?'

The housekeeper hesitated, with a troubled face. 

'Miss Esther, he did give me as much as usual, --I would say, as much ashe uses to give me nowadays; but that ain't the old sum, and it ain'tpossible to do the same things wi' it. ' And Mrs. Barker lookedanxiously and doubtfully at her young mistress. 'I wouldn't like totell ye, mum; but in course ye must know, or ye'd maybe be doubtful o'_me_. '

'Of course I should know!' repeated Esther. 'Papa must have forgotten. I will see about it. Give me a basket, Barker, and I will go over tothe garden myself and get a head of lettuce, --now, before I take mythings off. I would like to go. '

Seeing that she spoke truth, Mrs. Barker's scruples gave way. Shefurnished the basket, and Esther set forth. There was but a field ortwo to cross, intervening between her own ground and the slopes wherethe beds of the market garden lay trim and neat in the sun. Or, rather, to-day, in the warm, hazy, soft October light; the sun's rays could notrightly get through the haze. It was one of the delicious times ofOctober weather, which the unlearned are wont to call Indian summer, but which is not that, and differs from it essentially. The glory ofthe Indian summer is wholly ethereal; it belongs to the light and theair; and is a striking image and eloquent testimony of how far spiritcan overmaster matter. The earth is brown, the trees are bare; thedrapery and the colours of summer are all gone; and then comes theIndian summer, and makes one forget that the foregoing summer had itsglories at all, so much greater is the glory now. There is no sense ofbareness any longer, and no missing of gay tints, nor of the song ofbirds, nor of anything else in which June revelled and August showedits rich maturity; only the light and the air, filling the world withsuch unearthly loveliness that the looker-on holds his breath, and thesplendour of June is forgotten. This October day was not after such afashion; it was steeped in colour. Trees near at hand showed yellow andpurple and red; the distant Jersey shore was a strip of warm, sunburnttints, merged into one; over the river lay a sunny haze that was, as itwere, threaded with gold; as if the sun had gone to sleep there and wasin a dream; and mosses, and bushes, and lingering asters andgolden-rod, on rocks or at the edges of the fields near at hand, gavethe eye a welcome wherever it turned. Not a breath of air was stirring;the landscape rested under a spell of peace. 

Esther walked slowly, every step was so full of pleasure. The stepswere few, however, and her pleasure was mingled with an odd questioningin her mind, what all this about money could mean? A little footpathworn in the grass led her over the intervening fields to Mrs. Blumenfeld's garden. Christopher must have worn that path, going andcoming; for the family had been supplied through the summer with milkfrom the dairy of the gardener's wife. Mrs. Blumenfeld was out amongher beds of vegetables, Esther saw as she drew near; she climbed overthe fence, and in a few minutes was beside her. 

'Wall, ef you ain't what I call a stranger!' said the womangood-humouredly. 'I don't see you no more'n the angels, for all you'reso near!'

'I am going to school, Mrs. Blumenfeld; and that keeps me away fromhome almost all the week. How do you do?'

'Dear me, I dursn't be anything but well, ' said the gardener's widow. 'Ef I ain't at both ends o' everything, there ain't no middle to 'em. There ain't a soul to be trusted, 'thout it's yourself. It's kind o'tedious. I get to the wrong end o' my patience once in a while. Jestlook at them rospberry canes! and I set a man only yesterday to tie 'emup. They ain't done nohow!'

'But your garden always looks beautiful. '

'Kin you see it from your windows? I want to know!'

'Not very much of it; but it always looks so bright and trim. It doesnow. '

'Wall, you see, ' said Mrs. Blumenfeld, 'a garden ain't nothin' ef itain't in order. I do despise shiftless ways! Now jes' see themrospberry canes!'

'What's the matter with them?'

'I don't suppose you'd know ef I showed you, ' said the good woman, checking herself with a half laugh; 'and there ain't no need, as Iknow, why I should bother you with my bothers. But it's human natur', ain't it?'

'Is _what_ human nature?'

'Jes' that same. Or don't you never want to tell no one your troubles?Maybe ye don't hev none?' she added, with an inquiring look intoEsther's face. 'Young folks!--the time for trouble hain't come yet. '

'Oh yes, ' said Esther. 'I have known what trouble is. '

'Hev ye?' said the woman with another inquisitive look into the fairface. 'Mebbe. There is folks that don't show what they goes through. Iguess I'm one o' that sort myself. '

'Are you?' said Esther, smiling. 'Certainly, to look at you, I nevershould think your life had been very crooked or very rough. You alwaysseem bright and peaceful. '

It was true. Mrs. Blumenfeld had a quiet steady way with her, and bothface and voice partook of the same calm; though energy and activitywere at the same time as plainly manifested in every word and movement. Esther looked at her now, as she went among her beds, stooping here andthere to remove a weed or pull off a decayed leaf, talking and usingher eyes at the same time. Her yellow hair was combed smooth and flatat both sides of her head and knotted up firmly in a tight littlebusiness knot behind. She wore a faded print dress and a shawl, alsofaded, wrapped round her, and tied by the ends at the back; but bothshawl and gown were clean and whole, and gave her a thoroughlyrespectable appearance. At Esther's last remark she raised herself upand stood a moment silent. 

'Wall, ' she said, 'that's as fur as you kin see. It's ben both crooked_and_ rough. I mayn't look it, --where's the use? And I don't talk ofit, for I've nobody to talk to; but, as I said, human natur' 'd liketo, ef it had a chance. I hain't a soul in the world to speak to; andsometimes I feel as ef I'd give all I've got in the world to talk. Then, mostly, I go into the garden and rout out the weeds. I tell youthey has to fly, those times!--But I believe folks was made to hevcompany. '

'Have you no children?'

'Five of 'em, over there, ' the woman said, pointing away, Esther couldonly guess where, as it was not to the house. She was sorry she hadasked, and stood silent. 

'Five of 'em, ' Mrs. Blumenfeld repeated slowly. 'I had 'em, --and Ihaven't 'em. And now, there is times when the world seems to me thatsolitary that I'm a'most scared at myself. '

Esther stood still, with mute sympathy, afraid to speak. 

'I s'pose, to you now, the world is all full o' friends?' the otherwent on more lightly, turning from her own troubles, as it were. 

'No, ' said Esther gently; 'not at all. I am very much alone, and alwayshave been. '

'Mebbe you like it?'

'No, I do not like it. I sometimes wish very much for one or twofriends who are not here. '

There came a sigh from the bosom of the other woman, unwonted, andtale-telling, and heavy. 

'My marriage warn't happy, ' she said, lower than her usual tone. 'I kinmanage the garden alone; and I'd jes' as lieve. Two minds about a thingmakes unpeace; and I set a great deal by peace. But it's awful lonely, life is, now and then!'

'It is not that to me, ' said Esther sympathizingly; she was eager tospeak, and yet doubtful just what to say. She fell back upon whatperhaps is the safest of all, her own experience. 'Life _used_ to belike that to me--at one time, ' she went on after a little pause. 'I wasvery lonely and sad, and didn't know how I could live without comfort. And then I got it; and as I got it, I think so may you. '

The woman looked at her, not in the least understanding what she wouldbe at, yet fascinated by the sympathy--which she read plainlyenough--and held by the beauty. By something besides beauty, too, whichshe saw without being able to fathom it. For in Esther's eyes there wasthe intense look of love and the fire of joy, and on her lips theloveliest lines of tenderness were trembling. Mrs. Blumenfeld gazed ather, but would almost as soon have addressed an angel, if one had stoodbeside her with wings that proclaimed his heavenly descent. 

'I'll tell you how I got comfort, ' Esther went on, keeping carefullyaway from anything that might seem like preaching. 'I was, as I tellyou, dark and miserable and hopeless. Then I came to know the LordJesus; and it was just as if the sun had risen and filled all my lifewith sunlight. '

The woman did not remove her eyes from Esther's face. 'I want to know!'she said at last. 'I've heerd tell o' sich things;--but I never see noone afore that hed the knowledge of 'em, like you seem to hev. I'veheerd parson talk. '

'This is not parson talk. '

'I see 'tain't. But what is it then? You see, I'm as stupid as a bumblebee; I don't understand nothin' without it's druv into me--unless it'smy garden. Ef you ask me about cabbages, or early corn, I kin tell you. But I don't know no more'n the dead what you are talkin' of. '

Esther's eyes filled with tender tears. 'I want you to know, ' she said. 'I wish you could know!'

'How am I goin' to?'

'Do what I did. I prayed the Lord Jesus to let me know Him; I prayedand prayed; and at last He came, and gave me what I asked for. And now, I tell you, my life is all sunlight, because He is in it. Don't youknow, the Bible calls Him the Sun of righteousness! You only want tosee Him. '

'See Him!' echoed the woman. 'There's only one sun I kin see; andthat's the one that rises over in the east there and sets where he isgoin' to set now, --over the Jersey shore, across the river. '

'But when this other Sun rises in the heart, He never sets any more;and we have nothing to do with darkness any more, when once we knowHim. '

'Know Him?' Mrs. Blumenfeld again repeated Esther's words. 'Why, you'respeaking of God, ain't you? You kin know a human critter like yourself;but how kin you know Him?'

'I cannot tell, ' said Esther; 'but He will come into your heart andmake you know Him. And when once you know Him, then, Mrs. Blumenfeld, you'll not be alone any more, and life will not be dark any more; andyou will just grow happier and happier from day to day. And then comesheaven. '

Mrs. Blumenfeld still gazed at her. 

'I never heerd no sich talk in all my life!' she said. 'An' that's theway you live now?'

Esther nodded. 

'An' all you did was to ask for it?'

'Yes. But of course I studied the Bible, to find out what the Lord saysof Himself, and to find out what He tells me to do and to be. For ofcourse I must do His will, if I want Him to hear my prayers. You seethat. '

'I expect that means a good deal, don't it?'

'Yes. '

'Mebbe somethin' I wouldn't like to do. '

'You will like to do it, when once you know Him, ' Esther said eagerly. 'That makes all the difference. You know, we always love to pleaseanybody that we love. '

The gardener's wife had become very thoughtful. She went along hergarden bed, stooping here to strip a decayed leaf from a cabbage, andthere to pick up a dry bean that had fallen out of its pod, or to pullout a little weed from among her lettuces. 

'I'm much obliged to you, ' she said suddenly. 

'You see, ' said Esther, 'it is as free to you as to me. And whyshouldn't we be happy if we can?'

'But there's those commandments! that's what skeers me. You see, I'm akind o' self-willed woman. '

'It is nothing but joy, when once you know Him. '

'But you say I must _begin_ with doin' what's set down?'

'Certainly; as far as you know; or the Lord will not hear our prayers. '

'Wouldn't it do _after?_' said Mrs. Blumenfeld, raising herself up, andagain looking Esther in the face. There was an odd mixture in theexpression of her own, half serious, half keenly comic. 

'It is not the Lord's way, ' said Esther gravely. 'Seek Him and obeyHim, and you shall know. But if you cannot trust the Lord's word for somuch, there is no doing anything. Without faith it is impossible toplease Him. '

'I don't suppose you come here jes' fur to tell me all this, ' said Mrs. Blumenfeld, after again a pause, 'but I'm real obleeged to ye. What'sto go in that basket?'

'I brought it to see if you could let us have a head of lettuce. I seeyou have some. '

'Yes; and crisp, and cool, and nice they be--just right. Wall, I guesswe kin. See here, that basket won't hold no more'n a bite for a bird;mayn't I get you a bigger one?'

As Esther refused this, Mrs. Blumenfeld looked out her prettiest headof lettuce, skillfully detached it from the soil, and insinuated itinto the little basket. But to the enquiry, how much was to pay, Mrs. Blumenfeld returned a slight shake of the head. 

'I should like to see myself takin' a cent from you! Jes' you sendover--or come! that's better--whenever you'd like a leaf o' salad, oranythin' else; and if it's here, you shall hev it, and glad. '

'You are very kind!'

'Wall, no; I don't think that's my character. They'll all tell you I'mhonest. Wall, good-bye. An' come agin!' she cried after Esther. 'It'smore 'n likely I'll want some more talkin' to. '

Esther went home slowly and musing. The beauty around her, which shehad but half noticed at first coming out, now filled her with a greatdelight. Or, rather, her heart was so full of gladness that it flowedover upon all surrounding things. Sunny haze, and sweet smells of dryleaves and moss, and a mass of all rich neutral tints in browns andpurples, just touched here and there for a painter's eye with a spot ofclear colour, a bit of gold, or a flare of flame--it all seemed to workits way into Esther's heart and make it swell with pleasure. She stoodstill to look across the river, which lay smooth like a misty mirror, and gave only a rich, soft, indeterminate reflection of the othershore. But the thoughts in Esther's mind were clear and distinct. Lonely? Had she ever been lonely? What folly! How could any one belonely who had the knowledge of Christ and His presence? Whatsufficient delight it was to know Him, and to love Him, and to bealways with Him, and always doing His will! If poor Mrs. Blumenfeldonly knew!

CHAPTER XXVI. 

_WAYS AND MEANS_. 

Esther walked slowly home, delivered her basket to Barker, and went toher father. After the usual kiss and inquiry about how the week hadbeen, he relapsed into his book; and she had to wait for a time to talkof anything else. Esther sat down with a piece of fancy work, and heldher tongue till tea-time. The house was as still as if nobody lived init. The colonel occasionally turned a leaf; now and then a puff of gasor a sudden jet of flame in the Liverpool coal fire gave a sort ofsilent sound, rebuking the humanity that lived there. No noise washeard from below stairs; the middle-aged and well-trained servants didtheir work with the regularity and almost with the smoothness ofmachines. It occurred to Esther anew that her life was excessivelyquiet; and a thought of Pitt, and how good it would have been to seehim, arose again, as it had risen so many times. And then came thethoughts of the afternoon. With Christ, --was not that enough? Doing Hiswill and having it--could she want anything more? Esther smiled toherself. She wanted nothing more. 

Barker came in with the tea-kettle, and the cold tongue and the saladmade the supper-table look very comfortable. She made the tea, and thecolonel put down his book. 

'Do you never get tired of reading, papa?'

'Yes, my dear. One gets tired of everything!'

This was said with a discouraging half breath of a sigh. 

'Then you might talk a little, for a change, papa. '

'Humph! Whom should I talk to?'

'Me, papa, for want of somebody else. '

This suggestion fell dead. The colonel took his toast and tried thesalad. 

'Is it good, papa?' Esther asked, in despair at the silence. 

'Yes, my dear, it is good. Vegetable salads are a little cold at thistime of year. '

'Papa, we were driven to it. Barker had not money enough this week toget you a partridge. And she says it has happened several times latelythat you have forgotten to give her the usual amount for the week'shousekeeping. '

'Then she says wrong. '

'She told me, several times she has not had enough, sir. '

'In that she may be right. '

Esther paused, questioning what this might mean. She must know. 

'Papa, do you mean you gave her insufficient money and knew it at thetime?'

'I knew it at the time. '

There was another interval, of greater length. Esther felt a littlechill creeping over her. Yet she must come to an understanding with herfather; that was quite indispensable. 

'Papa, do you mean that it was inadvertence? Or was it necessity?'

'How could it be inadvertence, when I tell you I knew what I did?'

'But, papa'-- Esther's breath almost failed her. 'Papa, we are livingjust as we always have lived?'

'Are we?'--somewhat drily. 

'There is my schooling, of course'--

'And rent, and a horse to keep, and a different scale of market pricesfrom that which we had in Seaforth. Everything costs more here. '

'There was the money for the sale of the place, ' said Esther vaguely. 

'That was not a great deal, after all. It was a fair price, perhaps, but less than the house and ground were worth. The interest of thatdoes not cover the greater outlay here. '

This was very dismayful, all the more because Colonel Gainsborough didnot come out frankly with the whole truth. Esther was left to guessit, --to fear it, --to fancy it more than it was, perhaps. She felt thatshe could not have things left in this in indeterminate way. 

'Papa, I think it would be good that I should know just what thedifference is; so that I might know how to bring in our expenses withinthe necessary limits. '

'I have not cyphered it out in figures. I cannot tell you precisely howmuch my income is smaller than it used to be. '

'Can you tell me how much we ought to spend in a week, papa?--and thenwe will spend no more. '

'Barker will know when I give it to her. '

The colonel had finished his tea and toast, which this evening hecertainly did not enjoy; and went back to his book and his sofa. Though, indeed, he had not left his sofa, he went back to a recliningposition, and Esther moved the table away from him. She was bewildered. She forgot to ring for Barker; she sat thinking how to bring theexpenses of the family within narrower limits. Possible thingsalternated with impossible in her mind. She mused a good while. 

'Papa, ' she said, breaking the silence at last, 'do you think the airsuits you here?'

'No, I do not. I have no cause. '

'You were better at Seaforth?'

'Decidedly. My chest always feels here a certain oppression. I supposethere is too much sea air. '

'Was not the sea quite as near them at Seaforth, and salt air quite asmuch at hand?' Esther thought. However, as she did not put entire faithin the truth of her father's conclusions, it was no use to question hispremises. 

'Papa, ' she said suddenly, 'suppose we go back to Seaforth?'

'Suppose nonsense!'

'No, sir; but I do not mean it as nonsense. I have had one year'sschooling--that will be invaluable to me; now with books I can go on bymyself. I can, indeed, papa, and will. You shall not need to be ashamedof me. '

'You are talking foolishly, Esther. '

'I do not mean it foolishly, papa. If we have not the means to livehere, and if the Seaforth air is so much better for you, then there isnothing to keep us here but my schooling; and that, as I tell you, Ican manage without. And I can manage right well, papa; I have got sofar that I can go on alone now. I am seventeen; I am not a child anylonger. '

There was a few minutes' silence, but probably that fact, that Estherwas a child no longer, impelled the colonel to show her a little moreconsideration. 

'Where would you go?' he asked, a trifle drily. 

'Surely we could find a place, papa. Couldn't you, perhaps, buy backthe old house--the dear old house!--as Mr. Dallas took it toaccommodate you? I guess he would give it up again. '

'My dear, do not say "guess" in that very provincial fashion! I shallnot ask Mr. Dallas to play at buying and selling in such a way. Itwould be trifling with him. I should be ashamed to do it. Besides, Ihave no intention of going back to Sea forth till your education isended; and by that time--if I live to see that time--I shall have solittle of life left that it will not matter where I spend it. '

Esther did not know how to go on. 

'Papa, could we not do without Buonaparte? I could get to school someother way?'

'How?'

Esther pondered. 'Could I not arrange to go in Mrs. Blumenfeld'swaggon, when it goes in Monday morning?'

'Who is Mrs. Blumenfeld?'

'Why, papa, she is the woman that has the market garden over here. Youknow. '

'Do I understand you aright?' said the colonel, laying his book downfor the moment and looking over at his daughter. 'Are you proposing togo into town with the cabbages?'

'Papa, I do not mind. I would not mind at all, if it would be a reliefto you. Mrs. Blumenfeld's waggon is very neat. '

'My dear, I am surprised at you!'

'Papa, I would do _anything_, rather than give you trouble. And, afterall, I should be just as much myself, if I did go with the cabbages. '

'We will say no more about it, if you please, ' said the colonel, takingup his book again. 

'One moment, papa! one word more. Papa, I am so afraid of doingsomething I ought not. Can you not give me a hint, what sort ofproportion our expenditures ought to bear to our old ways?'

'There is the rent, and the keeping of the horse, to be made good. Those are additions to our expenses; and there are no additions to myincome. You know now as much as I can tell you. '

The discussion was ended, and left Esther chilled and depressed. Thefact itself could be borne, she thought, if it were looked square inthe face, and met in the right spirit. As it was, she felt involved ina mesh of uncertainty. The rent, --she knew how much that was, --no suchgreat matter; how much Buonaparte's keep amounted to she had no idea. She would find out. But how to save even a very few hundred dollars, even one or two hundred, by retrenchment of the daily expenses, Estherdid not see. Better, she thought, make some great change, cut off somelarger item of the household living, and so cover the deficit at once, than spare a partridge here and a pound of meat there. That was a kindof petty and vexing care which revolted her. Far better dispense withBuonaparte at once, and go into town with the cabbages. It will be seenthat Esther as yet was not possessed of that which we call knowledge ofthe world. It did not occur to her that the neighbourhood of thecabbages would hurt her, though it might hurt her fastidious taste. Itwould not hurt _her_, Esther thought; and what did the rest matter?Anything but this pinching and sparing penny by penny. But if she droveinto town with the cabbages, that would only dispose of Buonaparte; theother item--the rent--would remain unaccounted for. How should that bemade up?

Esther pondered, brooded, tired herself with thinking. She could nottalk to Barker about it, and there was no one else. Once more she felta little lonely and a good deal helpless, though energies were strongwithin her to act, if she had known how to act. She mounted the stairsto her room with an unusual slow step, and shut her door, but she hadbrought her trouble in with her. Esther went to her window to look out, as we all are so apt to do when some trouble seems too big for thehouse to hold. There is a vague counsel-taking with nature, to whichone is impelled at such times; or is it sympathy-seeking? The sweetOctober afternoon had passed into as sweet an evening, the hazystillness was unchanged, and through the haze the silver rays of a halfmoon high in the heavens came with the tenderest touch and the mostgracious softness upon all earthly things. There was a vapourousglitter on the water of the broad river, a dewy or hazy veil on theland; the scene could not be imagined more witching fair or moreremoved from any sort of discordance. Esther stood looking, and herheart calmed down. She had been feeling distressed under the questionof ways and means; now it occurred to her, 'Take no thought for themorrow, what ye shall eat or what ye shall drink; your Father knoweththat ye have need of all these things. ' And as the words came, Esthershook off the trouble they condemn; shook it off her shoulders, as itwere, and left it lying. Still she felt alone, she wished for PittDallas, or for _somebody;_ she had no one but her father in all theworld, nor the hope of any one. And happy as she really was, yet thehuman instinct would stir in Esther--the instinct that longs forintercourse, sympathy, affection; somebody to talk to, to counsel with, to share in her joys and sorrows and experiences generally. It is aperfectly natural and justifiable desire; stronger, perhaps, in theyoung than in the old, for the old know better how much and how littlesociety amounts to, and are not apt to have such violent longings ingeneral for anything. But also to the old, loving companionship isinexpressibly precious; the best thing by far that this world containsor this life knows. And Esther longed for it now, even till tears roseand dimmed her sight, and made all the moonshiny landscape swim andmelt and be lost in the watery veil. But then, as the veil cleared andthe moonlight came into view again, came also other words into Esther'smind, --'Be content with such things as ye have; for He hath said, Iwill never leave thee nor forsake thee. '

She cleared away her tears and smiled to herself, in happy assuranceand wonder that she should have forgotten. And with that, other wordsstill came to her; words that had never seemed so exceeding sweetbefore. 

'None of them that trust in Him shall be desolate. '--That is a surepromise. 'Fear not, Abraham; _I_ am thy shield, and thine exceedinggreat reward. '--Probably, when this word was given, the father of thefaithful was labouring under the very same temptation, to think himselfalone and lonely. And the answer to his fears must be sufficient, or Hewho spoke it would never have spoken it to him just at that time. 

Esther stood a while at her window, thinking over these things, with arest and comfort of heart indescribable; and finally laid herself downto rest with the last shadow gone from her spirit. 

It could not be, however, but that the question returned the next day, what was to be done? Expenses must not outrun incomings; that was afixed principle in Esther's mind, resting as well on honour as honesty. Evidently, when the latter do not cover the former, one of two thingsmust be done; expenses must be lessened, or income increased. How tomanage the first, Esther had failed to find; and she hated the idea, besides, of a penny-ha'penny economy. Could their incomings be addedto? By teaching! It flashed into Esther's mind with a disagreeableillumination. Yes, that she could do, that she must do, if her fatherwould not go back to Seaforth. There was no other way. He could notearn money; she must. If they continued to live in or near New York, itmust be on her part as a teacher in a school. The first thought of itwas not pleasant. Esther was tempted to wish they had never leftSeaforth, if the end of it was to be this. But after the first start ofrevulsion she gathered herself together. It would put an end to alltheir difficulties. It would be honourable work, and good work; and, after all, _work_ in some sort is what everybody should have; nobody isput here to be idle. Perhaps this pressure of circumstances was onpurpose to push her into the way that was meant for her; the way inwhich it was the Lord's pleasure she should serve Him and the world. And having got this view of it, Esther's last reluctance was gone. For, you see, what was the Lord's pleasure was also hers. 

Her heart grew quite light again. She saw what she had to do. But forthe first, the thing was, to go as far in her learning as her fatherdesired her to go. She must finish her own schooling. And if Esther hadstudied hard before, she studied harder now; applied herself with allthe power of her will to do her utmost in every line. It was not avague thought of satisfying Pitt Dallas that moved her now; but a verydefinite purpose to take care of her father, and a ready joy to do thewill of Him whom Esther loved even better than her father. 

The thought of Pitt Dallas, indeed, went into abeyance. Esther hadsomething else to do. And the summer had passed and he had not come;that hope was over; and two years more must go by, according to theplan which Esther knew, before he would come again. Before that time, who could tell? Perhaps he would have forgotten them entirely. 

It happened one day, putting some drawers in order, that Esther took upan old book and carelessly opened it. Its leaves fell apart at a placewhere there lay a dry flower. It was the sprig of red Cheiranthus; notfaded; still with its velvety petals rich tinted, and still givingforth the faint sweet fragrance which belongs to the flower. It gaveEsther a thrill. It was the remaining fragment of Pitt's Christmasbouquet, which she had loved and cherished to the last leaf as long asshe could. She remembered all about it. Her father had made her burnall the rest; this blossom only had escaped, without her knowledge atthe time. The sight of it went to her heart. She stood still by herchest of drawers with the open book in her hand, gazing at thewallflower in its persistent beauty. All came back to her: Seaforth, her childish days, Pitt and her love for him, and his goodness to her;the sorrow and the joy of that old time; and more and more the dryflower struck her heart. Why had her father wanted her to burn theothers? why had she kept this? And what was the use of keeping it now?When anything, be it a flower, be it a memory, which has been fresh andsweet, loses altogether its beauty and its savour, what is the good ofstill keeping it to look at? Truly the flower had not lost eitherbeauty or savour; but the memory that belonged to it? what had becomeof that? Pitt let himself no more be heard from; why should this littleplace-keeper be allowed to remain any longer? Would it not be wiser togive it up, and let the wallflower go the way of its former companions?Esther half thought so; almost made the motion to throw it in the fire;but yet she could not. She could not quite do it. Maybe there was anexplanation; perhaps Pitt would come next time, when another two yearshad rolled away, and tell them all about it. At any rate, she wouldwait. 

She shut up the book again carefully, and put it safely away. 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

_ONIONS_. 

It seemed very inexplicable to Esther that Pitt was never heard from. Not a scrap of a letter had they had from him since they came to NewYork. Mr. Dallas, the elder, had written once or twice, mostly onbusiness, and said nothing about his son. That was all. Mrs. Dallasnever wrote. Esther would have been yet more bewildered if she hadknown that the lady had been in New York two or three times, and notmerely passing through, but staying to do shopping. Happily she had nosuspicion of this. 

One day, late in the autumn, Christopher Bounder went over to Mrs. Blumenfeld's garden. It lay in pretty fall order, trim and clean;bushes pruned, canes tied up, vines laid down, leaves raked off; allthe work done, up to the very day. Christopher bestowed an approvingglance around him as he went among the beds; it was all right andship-shape. Nobody was visible at the moment; and he passed on roundthe house to the rear, from whence he heard a great racket made by thevoices of poultry. And there they were; as soon as he turned the cornerhe saw them: a large flock of hens and chickens, geese, ducks andturkeys, all wobbling and squabbling. In the midst of them stood thegardener's widow, with her hands in the pockets of a great canvasapron; or rather, with her hands in and out, for from the pockets, which were something enormous, she was fetching and distributinghandfulls of oats and corn to her feathered beneficiaries. Christopherdrew near, as near as he could, for the turkeys, and Mrs. Blumenfeldgave him a nod. 

'Good morning, mum!'

'Good day to ye. '

'Them's a fine lot o' turkeys!' Christopher really had a good deal ofeducation, and even knew some Latin; nevertheless, in common life, theinstincts of his early habits prevailed, and he said 'Them' bypreference. 

'Ain't they!' rejoined Mrs. Blumenfeld. 'They had ought to be, forthey've given me plague enough. Every spring I think it's the lastturkeys I'll raise; and every winter, jes' as regular, I think it 'udbe well to set more turkey eggs next year than I did this'n. You see, agood fat roast turkey is what you can't beat--not in this country. '

'Nor can't equal in England, without you go to the game covers for it. They're for the market, I s'pose?'

'Wall, I calkilate to send some on 'em. I do kill a turkey once in awhile for myself, but la, how long do ye think it takes me to eat up aturkey? I get sick of it afore I'm done. '

'You want company, ' suggested Mr. Bounder. 

But to this the lady made no answer at all. She finished scattering hergrain, and then turned to her visitor, ready for business. Christophercould not but look at her with great approbation. She was dressed muchas Esther had seen her a few weeks before: a warm shawl wrapped andtied around the upper part of her person, bareheaded, hair in neat andtight order, and her hands in her capacious pockets. 

'Now, I kin attend to ye, ' she said, leaving the chickens and geese, which for the present were quiet, picking up their breakfast. But Mr. Bounder did not go immediately to business. 

'That's a capital notion of an apron!' he said admiringly. 

'Ain't it!' she answered. 'Oh, I'm great on notions. I believe insavin' yourself all the trouble you kin, provided you don't lose notime by it. There is folks, you know, that air soft-headed enough tothink they kin git rid o' trouble by losin' their time. I ain't o' thatsort. '

'I should say, you have none o' that sort o' people about you. '

'Wall, I don't--not ef I kin help it. Anyhow, ef I get 'em I contriveto lose 'em agin. But what was you wantin'?'

'I came to see if you could let us have our winter's onions? Whiteonions, you know. It's all the sort we can do with, up at the house. '

'Onions!' said Mrs. Blumenfeld. 'Why hain't you riz your own onions, Iwant to know? You've got a garden. '

'That is true, mum, ' said Christopher; 'but all the onions as was in itis gone. '

'Then you didn't plant enough. '

'And that's true too, ' said Christopher; 'but I can't say as I takesany blame to myself for it. '

'Sakes alive, man! ain't you the gardener?'

'At your service, mum. '

'Wall, then, why, when you were about it, why didn't you sow your seedsaccordin' to your needs?'

'I sowed all the seed I had. '

'All you had!' cried the little woman. 'That sounds kind o' shiftless;and I don't take you for that sort of a man neither, Mr. Bounder. '

'Much obleeged for your good opinion, mum. '

'Then why didn't you git more onion seed, du tell, when you knowed youhadn't enough?'

'As I said, mum, I am much obleeged for your good opinion, which I hopeI deserve. There is reasons which must determine a man, upon occasion, to do what you would not approve--unless you also knowed the reasons. '

This sounded oracular. The two stood and looked at one another. Christopher explained himself no further; however, Mrs. Blumenfeld'sunderstanding appeared to improve. She looked first inquisitive, andthen intelligent. 

'That comes kind o' hard upon me, at the end, ' she said with a somewhathumorous expression. 'You see, I've made a vow-- You believe in vows, Mr. Bounder?'

'I do, mum, --of the right sort. '

'I don't make no other. Wall, I've made a vow to myself, you see. Lookhere; what do you call that saint o' your'n? up to your house. '

'I don't follow you, mum, ' said Christopher, a good deal mystified. 

'You know you've got a saint there, I s'pose. What's her name? that'swhat I want to know. '

'Do you mean Miss Esther?'

'Ah! that's it. I never heerd of a Saint Esther. There was an Esther inthe Bible--I'll tell you! she was a Queen Esther; and that fits. Ain'tshe a kind o' a queen! But she's t'other thing too. Look here, Mr. Bounder; be you all saints up to your house?'

'Well, no, mum, not exactly; that's not altogether the description I'dgive of some of us, if I was stating my opinion. '

'Don't you think you had ought to be that?'

'Perhaps we ought, ' said Christopher, with wondering slow admission. 

'I kin tell you. There ain't no question about it. Folks had ought tolive up to their privileges; an' you've got a pattern there right aforeyour eyes. I hev no opinion of you, ef you ain't all better'n commonfolks. I'd be, I know, ef I lived a bit where she was. '

'It's different with a young lady, ' Christopher began. 

'Why is it different?' said the woman sharply. 'You and me, we've gotas good right to be saints as she has, or anybody. I tell you I've madea vow. _I_ ain't no saint, but I'm agoin' to sell her no onions. '

'Mum!' said Christopher, astounded. 

'Nor nothin' else, ' Mrs. Blumenfeld went on. 'How many d'ye want?'

Mr. Bounder's wits were not quick enough to follow these sharp Yankeeturns. Like the ships his countrymen build, he could not come about soquick. It is curious how the qualities of people's minds get into theirshipbuilding and other handicraft. It was not till Mrs. Blumenfeld hadrepeated her question that he was able to answer it. 

'I suppose, mum, a half a bushel wouldn't be no more'n enough to gothrough with. '

'Wall, I've got some, ' the gardener's widow went on; 'the right sort;white, and as soft as cream, and as sweet as onions kin be. I'll sendyou up a bag of 'em. '

'But then I must be allowed to pay for 'em, ' said Christopher. 

'I tell you, I won't sell her nothin'--neither onions nor nothin' else. '

'Then, mum, --it's very handsome of you, mum; that I must say, and won'tdeny--but in that case I am afraid Miss Esther would prefer that Ishould get the onions somewheres else. '

'Jes' you hold your tongue about it, an' I'll send up the sass; and efyour Queen Esther says anything, you tell her it's all paid for. Whatelse do you want that's my way?'

While she spoke, Mrs. Blumenfeld was carefully detaching a root ofcelery from the rich loose soil which enveloped it, and shaking thewhite stalks free from their encumbrance, Mr. Bounder the while lookingon approvingly, both at the celery, which was beautifully long andwhite and delicate, and at the condition of things generally on theground, all of which his eye took in; although he was too much of amagnate in his own line to express the approval he felt. 

'There!' said Mrs. Blumenfeld, eyeing her celery stalks; 'kin you beatthat where you come from?'

'It's very fair, ' said Christopher--'very fair. But England can beatthe world, mum, in gardening and that. I suppose you can't expect it ofa new country like this. '

'Can't expect what? to beat the world? You jes' wait a bit, till yousee. You jes' only wait a bit. '

'What do you think of England and America going into partnership?'asked Mr. Bounder, bending to pick up a refuse stem that Mrs. Blumenfeld had rejected. 'Think we couldn't be a match for most thingsu-nited?'

'I find myself a match for most things, as it is, ' returned the ladypromptly. 

'But you must want help sometimes?' said Christopher, with a sharp andsomewhat sly glance at her. 

'When I do, I git it, --or I do without it. '

'That's when you can't get the right kind. '

'Jes' so. '

'It ain't for a man properly to say what he can do or what he can't do;words is but breath, they say; and those as know a man can give apretty good guess what he's good for; but, however, when he's speakin'to them as don't know him, perhaps it ain't no more but fair that heshould be allowed to speak for himself. Now if I say that accordin' tothe best o' my knowledge and belief, what I offer you _is_ the rightkind o' help, you won't think it's brag or bluster, I hope?'

'Why shouldn't I?' said the little woman. But Christopher thought thetone of the words was not discouraging. 'They does allays practisefence, ' he thought to himself. 

'Well, mum, if you hev ever been up to our place in the summer-time, you may hev seen our garden; and to a lady o' your experience I needn'tto say no more. '

'Wall, ' said Mrs. Blumenfeld, by way of conceding so much, 'I'll allowColonel Gainsborough has a pretty fair gardener, ef he _hes_ somefurrin notions. '

'I'll bring them furrin notions to your help, mum, ' said Mr. Boundereagerly. 'I know my business as well as any man on this side or thatside either. It's no boastin' to say that. '

'Sounds somethin' like it. But what'll the colonel do without you, orthe colonel's garden? that's what I can't make out. Hev you and he heda falling out?' And the speaker raised herself up straight and lookedfull at her visitor. 

'There's nothin' like that possible!' said Mr. Bounder solemnly. 'Thecolonel ain't agoin' to do without me, my woman. No more can't I dowith out the colonel, I may say. I've lived in the family now thistwenty year; and as long as I can grow spinach they ain't agoin' to eatno other--without it's yours, mum, ' Christopher added, with a change oftone; 'or yours and mine. You see, the grounds is so near, that goin'over to one ain't forsakin' the other; and the colonel, he hasn'treally space and place for a man that can do what I can do. '

'An' what is it you propose?'

'That you should take me, mum, for your head man. '

The two were standing now, quite still, looking into one another'seyes; a little sly audacity in those of Christopher, while a smileplayed about his lips that was both knowing and conciliating. Mrs. Blumenfeld eyed him gravely, with the calm air of one who was quite hismatch. Christopher could tell nothing from her face. 

'I s'pose, ' she said, 'you'll want ridiculous wages?'

'By no means, mum!' said Christopher, waving his hand. 'There never wasnothin' ridiculous about _you_. I'll punch anybody's head that says it. '

Mrs. Blumenfeld shook the last remnant of soil from the celery roots, and handed the bunch to Christopher. 

'There, ' she said; 'you may take them along with you--you'll want 'emfor dinner. An' I'll send up the onions. An' the rest I'll think about. Good day to ye!'

Christopher went home well content. 

CHAPTER XXVIII. 

_STRAWBERRIES_. 

The winter passed, Esther hardly knew how. For her it was in a depth ofstudy; so absorbing that she only now and then and by minutes gave herattention to anything else. Or perhaps I should say, her thoughts; forcertainly the colonel never lacked his ordinary care, which she gavehim morning and evening, and indeed all day, when she was at home, witha tender punctuality which proved the utmost attention. But even whileministering to him, Esther's head was apt to be running on problems ofgeometry and ages of history and constructions of language. She was soutterly engrossed with her work that she gave little heed to anythingelse. She did notice that Pitt Dallas still sent them no reminders ofhis existence; it sometimes occurred to her that the housekeeping inthe hands of Mrs. Barker was becoming more and more careful; but theonly way she saw to remedy that was the way she was pursuing; and shewent only the harder at her constructions and translations anddemonstrations. The colonel lived _his_ life without any apparentchange. 

And so went weeks and months: winter passed and spring carne; springran its course, and the school year at last was at an end. Esther camehome for the long vacation. And then one day, Mrs. Barker confided toher reluctantly that the difficulties of her position were increasing. 

'You ask me, why don't I get more strawberries, Miss Esther. My dear, Ican't do it. '

'Cannot get strawberries? But they are in great plenty now, and cheap. '

'Yes, mum, but there's so many other things, Miss Esther. ' Thehousekeeper looked distressed. Esther was startled, and hesitated. 

'You mean you have not money, Barker? Papa does not give you enough?'

'He gives me the proper sum, Miss Esther, I'm certain; but I can't makeit do all it should do, to have things right and comfortable. '

'Do you have less than you used at the beginning of winter?'

'Yes, mum. I didn't want to trouble you, Miss Esther, for to be sureyou can't do nothin' to help it; but it's just growin' slimmer andslimmer. '

'Never mind; I think I know how to mend matters by and by; if we canonly get along for a little further. We must have some things, and myfather likes fruit, you can get strawberries from Mrs. Blumenfeld downhere, can you not?'

'No, mum, ' said the housekeeper, looking embarrassed. 'She won't sellus nothin', that woman won't. '

'Will not sell us anything? I thought she was so kind. What is thematter? Is there not a good understanding between her and us?'

'There's too good an understanding, mum, and that's the truth. We don'twant no favours from the likes o' her; and now Christopher'--

'What of Christopher?'

'Hain't he said nothin' to the colonel?'

'To papa? No. About what?'

'He's gone and made an ass o' himself, has Christopher, ' said thehousekeeper, colouring with displeasure. 

'Why? How? What has he done?'

'He hain't done nothin' yet, mum, but he's bound he will, do thefoolishest thing a man o' his years can do. An' he wants me to stan' byand see him! I do lose my patience whiles where I can't find it. As ifChristopher hadn't enough to think of without that! Men is all justcreatures without the power o' thought and foresight. '

'Thought?--why, that is precisely what is supposed to be theirdistinguishing privilege, ' said Esther, a little inclined to laugh. 'And Christopher was always very foresighted. '

'He ain't now, then, ' muttered his sister. 

'What is he doing?'

'Miss Esther, that yellow-haired woman has got holt o' him. '

This was said with a certain solemnity, so that Esther was very muchbewildered, and most incoherent visions flew past her brain. She waiteddumbly for more. 

'She has, mum, ' the housekeeper repeated; 'and Christopher ain't ababby no more, but he's took--that's what he is. I wish, MissEsther--as if that would do any good!--that we'd stayed in Seaforth, where we was. I'm that provoked, I don't rightly know myself. Christopher ain't a babby no more; but it seems that don't keep a manfrom bein' wuss'n a fool. '

'Do you mean'--

'Yes 'm, that's what he has done; just that; and I might as well talkto my spoons. I've knowed it a while, but I was purely ashamed to tellyou about it. I allays gave Christopher the respect belongin' to a mano' sense, if he warn't in high places. '

'But what has he done?'

'Didn't I tell you, Miss Esther? That yellow-haired woman has got holtof him. '

'Yellow-haired woman?'

'Yes, mum, --the gardener woman down here. '

'Is Christopher going to take service with _her?_'

'He don't call it that, mum. He speaks gay about bein' his own master. I reckon he'll find two ain't as easy to manage as one! She knows whatshe's about, that woman does, or my name ain't Sarah Barker. '

'Do you mean, ' cried Esther, --'do you mean that he is going to _marry_her?'

'That's what I've been tellin' you, mum, all along. He's goin' to manyher, that he is; and for as old as he is, that should know better. '

'Oh, but Christopher is not _old;_ that is nothing; he is young enough. I did not think, though, he would have left us. '

'An' that, mum, is just what he's above all sure and certain he won'tdo. I tell him, a man can't walk two ways to once; nor he can't servetwo masters, even if one of 'em is himself, which that yellow-hairedwoman won't let come about. No, mum, he's certain sure he'll neverleave the colonel, mum; that ain't his meaning. '

Esther went silently away, thinking many things. She was more amusedthan anything else, with the lightheartedness of youth; yet sherecognised the fact that this change might introduce other changes. Atany rate, it furnished an occasion for discussing several things withher father. As usual, when she wanted a serious talk with the colonel, she waited till the time when his attention would be turned from hisbook to his cup of tea. 

'Papa, ' she began, after the second cup was on its way, 'have you heardanything lately of Christopher's plans?'

'Christopher's plans? I did not know he had any plans, ' said thecolonel drily. 

'He has, papa, ' said Esther, divided between a desire to laugh and afeeling that after all there was something serious about the matter. 'Papa, Christopher has fallen in love. '

'Fallen in _what?_' shouted the colonel. 

'Papa! please take it softly. Yes, papa, really; Christopher is goingto be married. '

'He has not asked my consent. '

'No, sir, but you know--Christopher is of age, ' said Esther, unable tomaintain a gravity in any way corresponding to that on her father'sface. 

'Don't talk folly! What do you mean?'

'He has arranged to marry Mrs. Blumenfeld, the woman who keeps themarket garden over here. He does not mean to leave us, papa; the placesare so near, you know. He thinks, I believe, he can manage both. '

'He is a fool!'

'Barker is very angry with him. But that does not help anything. '

'He is an ass!' repeated the colonel hotly. 'Well, that settles onequestion. '

'What question, papa?

'We have done with Christopher. I want no half service. I suppose hethinks he will make more money; and I am quite willing he should try. '

Esther could see that her father was much more seriously annoyed thanhe chose to show; his tone indicated a very unusual amount ofdisturbance. He turned from the table and took up his book. 

'But, papa, how can we do without Christopher?'

There was no answer to this. 

'I suppose he really has a great deal of time to spare; our gardenground is so little, you know. He does not mean to leave us at all. '

'_I_ mean he shall!'

Esther sat silent and pondered. There were other things she wished tospeak about; was not this a good occasion? But she hesitated long howto be gin. The colonel was not very deep in his book, she could see; hewas too much annoyed. 

'Papa, ' she said slowly after a while, 'are our circumstances anybetter than they were?'

'Circumstances? what do you mean?'

'Money, papa; have we any more money than we had when we talked aboutit last fall?'

'Where is it to come from?' said the colonel in the same short, dryfashion. It was the fashion in which he was wont to treat unwelcomesubjects, and always drove Esther away from a theme, unless it were toopressing to be avoided. 

'Papa, you know I do not know where any of our money comes from, exceptthe interest on the price of the sale at Seaforth. '

'I do not know where any _more_ is to come from. '

'Then, papa, don't you think it would be good to let my schooling stophere?'

'No. '

'Papa, I want to make a very serious proposition to you. Do not laughat me' (the colonel looked like anything but laughing), 'but listen tome patiently. You know we _cannot_ go on permanently as we have donethis year, paying out more than we took in?'

'That is my affair. '

'But it is for my sake, papa, and so it comes home to me. Now this ismy proposal. I have really had schooling enough. Let me give lessons. '

'Let you do _what?_'

'Lessons, papa; let me give lessons. I have not spoken to MissFairbairn, but I am almost sure she would be glad of me; one of herteachers is going away. I could give lessons in Latin and French andEnglish and drawing, and still have time to study; and I think it wouldmake up perhaps all the deficiency in our income. '

The colonel looked at her. 'You have not spoken of this scheme toanybody else?'

'No, sir; of course not. '

'Then, do not speak of it. '

'You do not approve of it, papa?'

'No. My purpose in giving you an education was not that you might be agoverness. '

'But, papa, it would not hurt me to be a governess for a while; itwould do me no sort of hurt; and it would help our finances. There isanother thing I could teach--mathematics. '

'I have settled that question, ' said the colonel, going back to hisbook. 

'Papa, ' said the girl after a pause, 'may I give lessons enough to payfor the lessons that are given me?'

'No. '

'But, papa, it troubles me very much, the thought that we are livingbeyond our means; and on my account. ' And Esther now looked troubled. 

'Leave all that to me. '

Well, it was all very well to say, 'Leave that to me;' but Esther had astrong impression that matters of this sort, so left, would not meetvery thorough attention. There was an interval here of some length, during which she was pondering and trying to get up her courage to goon. 

'Papa, '--she broke the silence doubtfully, --'I do not want to disturbyou, but I must speak a little more. Perhaps you can explain; I want tounderstand things better. Papa, do you know Barker has still less moneynow to do the marketing with than she had last year?'

'Well, what do you want explained?' The tone was dry and notencouraging. 

'Papa, she cannot get the things you want. '

'Do I complain?'

'No, sir, certainly; but--is this necessary?'

'Is what necessary?'

'Papa, she tells me she cannot get you the fruit you ought to have; youare stinted in strawberries, and she has not money to buy raspberries. '

'Call Barker. '

The call was not necessary, for the housekeeper at this moment appearedto take away the tea-things. 

'Mrs. Barker, ' said the colonel, 'you will understand that I do notwish any fruit purchased for my table. Not until further orders. '

The housekeeper glanced at Esther, and answered with her decorous, 'Certainly, sir;' and with that, for the time, the discussion was ended. 

CHAPTER XXIX. 

_HAY AND OATS_. 

But it is in the nature of this particular subject that the discussionof it is apt to recur. Esther kept silence for some time, possessingherself in patience as well as she could. Nothing more was said aboutChristopher by anybody, and things went their old train, minus peaches, to be sure, and also minus pears and plums and nuts and apples, articles which Esther at least missed, whether her father did or not. Then fish began to be missing. 

'I thought, Miss Esther, dear, ' said Mrs. Barker when this failure inthe _menu_ was mentioned to her, --'I thought maybe the colonel wouldn'tmind if he had a good soup, and the fish ain't so nourishin', they say, as the meat of the land creatures. Is it because they drinks so muchwater, Miss Esther?'

'But I think papa does not like to go without his fish. '

'Then he must have it, mum, to be sure; but I'm sure I don't justrightly know how to procure it. It must be done, however. '

The housekeeper's face looked doubtful, notwithstanding her words ofassurance, and a vague fear seized her young mistress. 

'Do not get anything you have not money to pay for, at any rate!' shesaid impressively. 

'Well, mum, and there it is!' cried the housekeeper. 'There is thingsas cannot be dispensed with, in no gentleman's house. I thought maybefish needn't be counted among them things, but now it seems it must. Imay as well confess, Miss Esther; that last barrel o' flour ain't beenpaid for yet. '

'Not paid for!' cried Esther in horror. 'How came that?'

'Well, mum, just that I hadn't the money. And bread must be had. '

'Not if it cannot be paid for! I would rather starve, if it comes tothat. You might have got a lesser quantity. '

'No, mum, ' replied the housekeeper; 'you have to have the whole barrelin the end; and if you get it by bits you pay every time for theprivilege. No, mum, that ain't no economy. It's one o' the things whichkills poor people; they has to pay for havin' every quart of onionsmeasured out to 'em. I'm afeard Christopher hain't had no money for hishay and his oats that he's got latterly. '

'Hay and oats!' cried Esther. 'Would he get them without orders andmeans?'

'I s'pose he thinks he has his orders from natur'. The horse can't belet to go without his victuals, mum. And means Christopher hadn't, more'n a quarter enough. What was he to do?'

Esther stood silent and pale, making no demonstration, but the moreprofoundly moved and dismayed. 

'An' what's harder on _my_ stomach than all the rest, ' the housekeeperwent on, 'is that woman sendin' us milk. '

'That woman? Mrs. Blumenfeld?'

'Which it _was_ her name, mum. '

'_Was!_ You do not mean-- Is Christopher really married?'

'He says that, mum, and I suppose he knows. He's back and forth, anddon't live nowheres, as I tells him. And the milk comes plentiful, andto be sure the colonel likes his glass of a mornin'; and curds, andblancmange, and the like, I see he's no objection to; but thinks I tomyself, if he knowed, it wouldn't go down quite so easy. '

'If he knew what? Don't you pay for it?'

'I'd pay that, Miss Esther, if I paid nothin' else; but Christopher'sbeyond my management and won't hear of no money, nor his wife neither, he says. It's uncommon impudence, mum, that's what I think it is. Sether up! to give us milk, and onions, and celery; and she would sendapples, only I dursn't put 'em on the table, being forbidden, and so Itells Christopher. '

Esther was penetrated through and through with several feelings whilethe housekeeper spoke; touched with the kindness manifested, butterribly humbled that it should be needed, and that it should beaccepted. This must not go on; but, in the meantime, there was anotherthing that needed mending. 

'Have you been to see your new sister, Barker?'

'Me? That yellow-haired woman? No, mum; and have no desire. '

'It would be right to go, and to be very kind to her. '

'She's that independent, mum, she don't want no kindness. She's got herman, and I wish her joy. '

'I am sure you may, ' said Esther, half laughing. 'Christopher willcertainly make her a good husband. Hasn't he been a good brother?'

'Miss Esther, ' said the housekeeper solemnly, 'the things is different. It's my belief there ain't half a dozen men on the face o' the earththat is fit to have wives, and one o' the half dozen I never see yet. Christopher's a good brother, mum, as you say; as good as you'll find, maybe, --I've nought against him as sich; but then, I ain't his wife, and that makes all the differ. There's no tellin' what men don't expecto' their wives, when once they've got 'em. '

'Expectations ought to be mutual, I should think, ' said Esther, amused. 'But it would be the right thing for you to go and see Mrs. Bounder atany rate, and to be very good to her; and you know, Barker, you alwayslike to do what is right. '

There was a sweet persuasiveness in the tone of the last words, whichat least silenced Mrs. Barker; and Esther went away to think what sheshould say to her father. The time had come to speak in earnest, andshe must not let herself be silenced. Getting into debt on one hand, and receiving charity on the other! Esther's pulses made a boundwhenever she thought of it. She must not put it _so_ to ColonelGainsborough. How should she put it? She knelt down and prayed forwisdom, and then she went to the parlour. It was one Saturday afternoonin the winter; school business in full course, and Esther's head andhands very much taken up with her studies. The question of ways andmeans had been crowded out of her very memory for weeks past; it camewith so much the sharper incisiveness now. She went in where her fatherwas reading, poked the fire, brushed up the hearth, finally faced thebusiness in hand. 

'Papa, are you particularly busy? Might I interrupt you?'

'You _have_ interrupted me, ' said the colonel, letting his hand withthe book sink to his side, and turning his face towards the speaker. But he said it with a smile, and looked with pleased attention for whatwas coming. His fair, graceful, dignified daughter was a constantsource of pride and satisfaction to him, though he gave little accountof the fact to himself, and made scarce any demonstration of it to her. He saw that she was fair beyond most women, and that she had thatrefined grace of carriage and manner which he valued as belonging tothe highest breeding. There was never anything careless about Esther'sappearance, or hasty about her movements, or anything that was notsweet as balm in her words and looks. As she stood there now beforehim, serious and purposeful, her head, which was set well back on hershoulders, carried so daintily, and the beautiful eyes intent withgrave meaning amid their softness, Colonel Gainsborough's heart swelledin his bosom, for the delight he had in her. 

'What is it?' he asked. 'What do you want to say to me? All goes wellat school?'

'Oh yes, papa, as well as possible. It isn't that. But I am in a greatpuzzle about things at home. '

'Ah! What things?'

'Papa, we want more money, or we need to make less expenditure. I mustconsult you as to the which and the how. '

The colonel's face darkened. 'I see no necessity, ' he answered. 

'But I do, papa. I see it so clearly that I am forced to disturb you. Iam very sorry, but I must. I am sure the time has come for us to takesome decided measures. We cannot go on as we are going now. '

'I should like to ask, why not?'

'Because, papa--because the outlay and the income do not meet. '

'It seems to me that is rather my affair, ' said the colonel coolly. 

'Yes, papa, ' said Esther, with a certain eagerness, 'I like it to beyour affair--only tell me what I ought to do. '

'Tell you what you ought to do about what?'

'How to pay as we go, papa, ' she answered in a lower tone. 

'It is very simple, ' the colonel said, with some impatience. 'Let yourexpenses be regulated by your means. In other words, do not getanything you have not the money for. '

'I should like to follow that rule, papa; but'--

'Then follow it, ' said the colonel, going back to his book, as if thesubject were dismissed. 

'But, papa, there are some things one _must_ have. '

'Very well. Get those things. That is precisely what I mean. '

'Papa, flour is one of them. '

'Yes. Very well. What then?'

'Our last barrel of flour is not paid for. '

'Not paid for! Why not?'

'Barker could not, papa. '

'Barker should not have got it, then. I allow no debts. '

'But, papa, we must have bread, you know. That is one of the thingsthat one cannot do with out. What should she do?' Esther said gently. 

'She could go to the baker's, I suppose, and get a loaf for the time. '

'But, papa, the bread costs twice as much that way; or one third more, if not twice as much. I do not know the exact proportion; but I know itis very greatly more expensive so. '

The colonel was well enough acquainted with details of the commissarydepartment to know it also. He was for a moment silenced. 

'And, papa, Buonaparte, too, must eat; and his oats and hay are notpaid for. ' It went sharp to Esther's heart to say the words, for sheknew how keenly they would go to her father's heart; but she wasstanding in the breach, and must fight her fight. The colonel flew outin hot displeasure; sometimes, as we all know, the readiest disguise ofpain. 

'Who dared to get hay and oats in my name and leave it unpaid for?'

'Christopher had not the money, papa; and the horse must eat. '

'Not without my order!' said the colonel. 'I will send Christopherabout his own business. He should have come to me. '

There was a little pause here. The whole discussion was exceedinglypainful to Esther; yet it must be gone through, and it must be broughtto some practical conclusion. While she hesitated, the colonel beganagain. 

'Did you not tell me that the fellow had some ridiculous foolery withthe market woman over here?'

'I did not put it just so, papa, I think, ' said Esther, smiling inspite of her pain. 'Yes, he is married to her. '

'Married!' cried the colonel. '_Married_, do you say? Has he had theimpudence to do that?'

'Why not, sir? Why not Christopher as well as another man?'

'Because he is my servant, and had no permission from me to get marriedwhile he was in my service. He did not _ask_ permission. '

'I suppose he dared not, papa. You know you are rather terrible whenyou are displeased. But I think it is a good thing for us that he ismarried. Mrs. Blumenfeld is a good woman, and Christopher is disposedof, whatever we do. '

'Disposed of!' said the colonel. 'Yes! I have done with him. I want nomore of him. '

'Then, papa, ' said Esther, sinking down on her knees beside her father, and affectionately laying one hand on his knee, 'don't you see thismakes things easy for us? I have a proposition. Will you listen to it?'

'A proposition! Say on. '

'It is evident that we must take some step to bring our receipts andexpenses into harmony. Your going without fruit and fish will not doit, papa; and I do not like that way of saving, besides. I had rathermake one large change--cut off one or two large things--than amultitude of small ones. It is easier, and pleasanter. Now, so long aswe live in this house we are obliged to keep a horse; and so long as wehave a horse we must have Christopher, or some other man; and so longas we keep a horse and a man we _must_ make this large outlay, that wecannot afford. Papa, I propose we move into the city. '

'Move! Where?' asked the colonel, with a very unedified expression. 

'We could find a house in the city somewhere, papa, from which I couldwalk to Miss Fairbairn's. That could not be difficult. '

'Who is to find the house?'

'Could not you, papa? Buonaparte would take you all over; the drivingwould not do you any harm. '

'I have no idea where to begin, ' said the colonel, rubbing his head inuneasy perplexity. 

'I will find out that, papa. I will speak to Miss Fairbairn; she is agreat woman of business. She will tell me. '

The colonel still rubbed his head thoughtfully. Esther kept herposition, in readiness for some new objection. The next words, however, surprised her. 

'I have sometimes thought, '--the colonel's fingers were all the whilegoing through and through his hair; the action indicating, as suchactions do, the mental movement and condition, 'I have sometimesthought lately that perhaps I was doing you a wrong in keeping youhere. '

'_Here_, papa?--in New York?'

'No. In America. '

'In America! Why, sir?'

'Your family, my family, are all on the other side. You would havefriends if you were there, --you would have opportunities, --you wouldnot be alone. And in case I am called away, you would be in good hands. I do not know that I have the right to keep you here. '

'Papa, I like to be where you like to be. Do not think of that. Why didwe come away from England in the first place?'

The colonel was silent, with a gloomy brow. 

'It was nothing better than a family quarrel, ' he said. 

'About what? Do you mind telling me, papa?'

'No, child; you ought to know. It was a quarrel on the subject ofreligion. '

'How, sir?'

'Our family have been Independents from all time. But my father marrieda second wife, belonging to the Church of England. She won him over toher way of thinking. I was the only child of the first marriage; andwhen I came home from India I found a houseful of younger brothers andsisters, all belonging, of course, to the Establishment, and my fatherwith them. I was a kind of outlaw. The advancement of the family wasthought to depend very much on the stand I would take, as after myfather's death I would be the head of the family. At least mystepmother made that a handle for her schemes; and she drove them sosuccessfully that at last my father declared he would disinherit me ifI refused to join him. '

'In being a Church of England man?'

'Yes. '

'But, papa, that was very unjust!'

'So I thought. But the injustice was done. '

'And you disinherited?'

'Yes. '

'Oh, papa! Just because you followed your own conscience!'

'Just because I held to the traditions of the family. We had _always_been Independents--fought with Cromwell and suffered under the Stuarts. I was not going to turn my back on a glorious record like that for anypossible advantages of place and favour. '

'What advantages, papa? I do not understand. You spoke of that before. '

'Yes, ' said the colonel a little bitterly, 'in that particular mystepmother was right. You little know the social disabilities underwhich those lie in England who do not belong to the Established Church. For policy, nobody should be a Dissenter. '

'Dissenter?' echoed Esther, the word awaking a long train of oldassociations; and for a moment her thoughts wandered back to them. 

'Yes, ' the colonel went on; 'my father bade me follow him; but withmore than equal right I called on him to follow a long line ofancestors. Rather hundreds than one!'

'Papa, in such a matter surely conscience is the only thing to follow, 'said Esther softly. 'You do not think a man ought to be eitherIndependent or Church of England, just because his fathers have set himthe example?'

'You do not think example and inheritance are anything?' said thecolonel. 

'I think they are everything, for the right;--most precious!--but theycannot decide the right. _That_ a man must do for himself, must he not?'

'Republican doctrine!' said the colonel bitterly. 'I suppose, after Iam gone, you will become a Church of England woman, just to prove toyourself and others that you are not influenced by me!'

'Papa, ' said Esther, half laughing, 'I do not think that is at alllikely; and I am sure you do not. And so that was the reason you cameaway?'

'I could not stay there, ' said the colonel, 'and see my young brotherin my place, and his mother ruling where your mother should by righthave ruled. They did not love me either, --why should they?--and I feltmore a stranger there than anywhere else. So I took the little propertythat came to me from my mother, to which my father in his will had madea small addition, and left England and home for ever. '

There was a pause of some length. 

'Who is left there now, of the family?' Esther asked. 

'I have not heard. '

'Do they never write to you?'

'Never. '

'Nor you to them, papa?'

'No. Since I came away there has been no intercourse whatever betweenour families. '

'Oh, papa!'

'I am inclined to regret it now, for your sake. '

'I am not thinking of that. But, papa, it must be sixteen or seventeenyears now; isn't it?'

'Something like so much. '

'Oh, papa, do write to them! do write to them, and make it up. Do notlet the quarrel last any longer. '

'Write to them and make it up?' said the colonel, rubbing his headagain. In all his life Esther had hardly ever seen him do it before. 'They have forgotten me long ago; and I suppose they are all grown outof my remembrance. But it might be better for you if we went home. '

'Never mind that, papa; that is not what I am thinking of. Why, whocould be better off than I am? But write and make it all up, papa; do!It isn't good for families to live so in hostility. Do what you can tomake it up. '

The colonel sat silent, rubbing the hair of his head in every possibledirection, while Esther's fancy for a while busied itself with imagesof an unknown crowd of relations that seemed to flit before her. Howstrange it would be to have aunts and cousins; young and old familyfriends, such as other girls had; instead of being so entirely setapart by herself, as it were. It was fascinating, the mere idea. Notthat Esther felt her loneliness now; she was busy and healthy andhappy; yet this sudden vision made her realise that she _was_ alone. How strange and how pleasant it would be to have a crowd of friends, ofone's own blood and name! She mused a little while over this picture, and then came back to the practical present. 

'Meanwhile, papa, what do you think of my plan? About getting a housein the city, and giving up Buonaparte and his oats? Don't you think itwould be comfortable?'

The colonel considered the subject now in a quieter mood, discussed ita little further, and finally agreed to drive into town and see what hecould find in the way of a house. 

CHAPTER XXX. 

_A HOUSE_. 

Yet the colonel did not go. Days passed, and he did not go. Estherventured some gentle reminders, which had no effect. And the winter wasgone and the spring was come, before he made the first expedition tothe city in search of a house. Once started on his quest, it is truethe colonel carried it on vigorously, and made many journeys for it;but they were all in vain. Rents in the city were found to be so muchhigher than rents in the country as fully to neutralize the advantagehoped for in a smaller household and the dismissal of the horse. Not adwelling could be found where this would not be true. The search wasfinally given up; and things in the little family went on as they hadbeen going for some time past. 

Esther at last, under stress of necessity, made fresh representationsto her father, and besought leave to give lessons. They were runninginto debt, with no means of paying. It went sorely against the grainwith the colonel to give his consent; pride and tenderness bothrebelled; he hesitated long, but circumstances were too much for him. He yielded at last, not with a groan, but with many groans. 

'I came here to take care of you, ' he said; 'and _this_ is the end ofit!'

'Don't take it so, papa, ' cried Esther. 'I like to do it. It is not ahardship. '

'_It_ is a hardship, ' he retorted; 'and you will find it so. I find itso now. '

'Even so, papa, ' said the girl, with infinite sweetness; 'suppose it bea hardship, the Lord has given it to me; and so long as I am sure it issomething He has given, I want no better. Indeed, papa, you know I_could have_ no better. '

'I know nothing of the kind. You are talking folly. '

'No, papa, if you please. Just remember, --look here, papa, --here arethe words. Listen: "The Lord God is a sun and shield; the Lord willgive grace and glory; _no good thing will he withhold from them thatwalk uprightly_. "'

'Do you mean to tell me, ' said the colonel angrily, 'that--well, thatall the things that you have not just now, and ought to have, are notgood things?'

'Not good for me, or at least not the _best_, or I should have them. '

This answer was with a smile so absolutely shadowless, that the colonelfound nothing to answer but a groan, which was made up of pain andpride and pleasure in inscrutable proportions. 

The next step was to speak to Miss Fairbairn. That wise woman showed nosurprise, and did not distress Esther with any sympathy; she took it asthe most natural thing in the world that her favourite pupil shouldwish to become a teacher; and promised her utmost help. In her ownschool there was now no longer any opening; that chance was gone; butshe gave Esther a recommendation in person to the principal of anotherestablishment, where in consequence Miss Gainsborough found readyacceptance. 

And now indeed she felt herself a stranger, and found herself alone. This was a different thing from her first entering school as a pupil. And Esther began also presently to perceive that her father had notbeen entirely wrong in his estimate of a teacher's position andexperiences. It is not a path of roses that such a one has to tread;and even the love she may bear to those she teaches, and even thegenuine love of teaching them, do not avail to make it so. Woe to theteacher who has not those two alleviations and helps to fall back upon!Esther soon found both; and yet she gave her father credit for havingknown more about the matter than she did. She was truly alone now; thechildren loved her, but scattered away from her as soon as their taskswere done; her fellow-teachers she scarcely saw--they were busy andjaded; and with the world outside of school she had nothing to do. Shehad never had much to do with it; yet at Miss Fairbairn's she hadsometimes a little taste of society that was of high order, and all inthe house had been at least well known to her and she to them, even ifno particular congeniality had drawn them together. She had lost allthat now. And it sometimes came over Esther in those days the thoughtof her English aunts and cousins, as a vision of strange pleasantness. To have plenty of friends and relations, of one's own blood, andtherefore inalienable; well-bred and refined and cultivated (whereby Iam afraid Esther's fancy made them a multiplication of PittDallas), --it looked very alluring! She went bravely about her work, anddid it beautifully, and was very contented in it, and relieved to beearning money; yet these visions now and again would come over hermind, bringing a kind of distant sunshiny glow with them, differentfrom the light that fell on that particular bit of life's pathway shewas treading just then. They came and went; what came and did not gowas Esther's consciousness that she was earning only a little money, and that with that little she could not clear off all the debts thathad accrued and were constantly accruing. When she had paid thebutcher, the grocer's bill presented itself, and when she had aftersome delay got rid of that, then came the need for a fresh supply ofcoal. Esther spent nothing on her own dress that she could help, buther father's was another matter, and tailors' charges she found wereheavy. She went bravely on; she was young and full of spirit, and shewas a Christian and full of confidence; nevertheless she did begin tofeel the worry of these petty, gnawing, money cares, which have brokenthe heart of so many a woman before her. Moreover, another thingdemanded consideration. It was necessary, now that she had no longer ahome with Miss Fairbairn, that she should go into town and come backevery day, and, furthermore, as she was giving lessons in a school, nocircumstance of weather or anything else must hinder her beingabsolutely punctual. Yet Esther foresaw that as the winter came onagain it would be very difficult sometimes to maintain thispunctuality; and it became clear to her that it would be almostindispensable for them to move into town. If only a house could befound!

Meantime Christopher went and came about the house, cultivated thegarden and took care of the horse and drove Esther to school, all justas usual; his whilome master never having as yet said one word to himon the subject of his marriage and consequent departure. Whether hiswages were paid him, Esther was anxiously doubtful; but she dared notask. I say 'whilome' master, for there is no doubt that Mr. Bounder inthese days felt that nobody was his master but himself. He did all hisduties faithfully, but then he took leave to cross the little fieldwhich lay between his old home and his new, and to disappear for wholespaces of time from the view of the colonel's family. 

It was one evening in November. Mrs. Barker was just sitting down toher tea, and Christopher was preparing himself to leave her. I shouldremark that Mrs. Barker had called on the former Mrs. Blumenfeld, andestablished civil relations between the houses. 

'Won't you stay, Christopher?' asked his sister. 

'No, thank ye. I've got a little woman over there, who's expecting me. '

'Does she set as good a table for you as I used to do? in those dayswhen I could?' the housekeeper added, with a sigh. 

'Well, she ain't just up to some o' your arts, ' said Christopher, witha contented face, in which his blue eye twinkled with a little slyness;'but I'll tell you what, she can cook a dish o' pot-pie that you can'tbeat, nor nobody else; and her rye bread is just uncommon!'

'Rye bread!' said the housekeeper, with an utterance of disdain. 

'I'll bring a loaf over, ' said Christopher, nodding his head; 'and youcan give some to Miss Esther if you like. Good-night!'

He made few steps of it through the dark cold evening to the house thathad become his home. The room that received him might have pleased amore difficult man. It was as clean as hands could make it; bright withcleanliness, lighted and warmed with a glowing fire, and hopeful with amost savoury scent of supper. The mistress of the house was busy abouther hearth, looking neat and comfortable enough to match her room. AsChristopher came in she lit a candle that stood on the supper-table. Christopher hugged himself at this instance of his wife's thrift, andsat down. 

'You've got something that smells uncommon good there!' said heapprovingly. 

'I allays du think a hot supper's comfortable at the end o' a coldday, ' returned the new Mrs. Bounder. 'I don't care what I du as long'sI'm busy with all the world all the day long; I kin take a piece and abite and go on, but when it comes night, and I hev time to think I'mtired, then I like a good hot something or other. '

'What have you got there?' said Christopher, peering over at the dishon the hearth which Mrs. Bounder was filling from a pot before thefire. She laughed. 

'You wouldn't be any wiser ef I told you. It's a little o' everything. Give me a good garden, and I kin live as well as I want to, and cost noone more'n a few shillin's, neither. 'Tain't difficult, ef you knowhow. Now see what you say to that. '

She dished up her supper, put a plate of green pickles on the table, filled up her tea-pot, and cut some slices from a beautiful brown loaf, which must have rivalled the rye, though it was not that colour. Christopher sat down, said grace reverently, and attacked the viands, while the mistress poured him out a cup of tea. 

'Christopher, ' she said, as she handed it to him, 'I'd jes' like to askyou something. '

'What is it?'

'I'd like to know jes' why you go through that performance?'

'Performance?' echoed Christopher. 'What are you talkin' about?'

'I mean, that bit of a prayer you think it is right to make wheneveryou're goin' to put your fork to your mouth. '

'Oh! I couldn't imagine what you were driving at. Why do I do it?'

'I'd like to know, ef you think you kin tell. '

'Respectable folk always does it. '

'Hm! I don' know about that. So it's for respectability you keep it up?'

'No, ' said Christopher, a little embarrassed how to answer. 'It'sproper. Don't you know the Bible bids us give thanks?'

'Wall, hev you set out to du all the rest o' the things the Bible bidsyou du?--that's jes' what I'm comin' to. '

A surly man would not perhaps have answered at all, resenting thiscatechizing; but Christopher was not surly, and not at all offended. Hewas perplexed a little; looked at his wife in some sly wonder at her, but answered not. 

'Ef I began, I'd go through. I wouldn't make no half way with it;that's all I was goin' to say, ' his wife went on, with a grave facethat showed she was not jesting. 

'It's saying a good deal!' remarked Christopher, still looking at her. 

'It's sayin' a good deal, to make the first prayer; but ef I made thefirst one, I'd make all the rest. I don't abide no half work in _my_garden, Christopher; that's what I was thinkin'; and I don't believeHim you pray to likes it no better. '

Christopher was utterly unprepared to go on with this subject; andfinally gave up trying, and attended to his supper. After a littlewhile his wife struck a new theme. She was not a trained rhetorician;but when she had said what she had to say she was always contented tostop. 

'How are things going up your way to-day?' she asked. 

'My way is down here, I'm happy to say. '

'Wall, up to the colonel's, then. What's the news?'

'Ain't no sort o' news. Never is. They're always at the old things. Thecolonel he lies on his sofy, and Miss Esther she goes and comes. Theywant to get a house in town, now she's goin' so regular, only theycan't find one to fit. '

'Kin't find a house? I thought there was houses enough in all New York. '

'Houses enough, but they all is set up so high in their rents, you see. '

'Is that the trouble?'

'That is exactly the trouble; and Miss Esther, I can see, she doesn'tknow just what to do. '

'They ain't gittin' along well, Christopher?'

'Well, there is no doubt they ain't! I should say they was gettin' onuncommon bad. Don't seem as if they could any way pay up all theirbills at once. They pay this man, and then run up a new score with someother man. Miss Esther, she tries all she knows; but there ain't no oneto help her. '

'They git this house cheaper than they'd git any one in town, I guess. They'd best stay where they be. '

'Yes, but you see, Miss Esther has to go and come every day now; she'steachin' in a school, that's what she is, ' said Christopher, lettinghis voice drop as if he were speaking of some desecration. 'That's whatshe is; and so she has to be there regular, rain or shine makes nodifference. An' if they was in town, you see, they wouldn't want thehorse, nor me. '

'_You_ don't cost 'em nothin'!' returned Mrs. Bounder. 

'No; but they don't know that; and _if_ they knowed it, you see, there'd be the devil to pay. '

'I wouldn't give myself bad names, ef I was you, ' remarked Mrs. Bounderquietly. 'Christopher'--

'What then?'

'I'm jes' thinkin''--

'What are you thinkin' about?'

'Jes' you wait till I know myself, and I'll tell ye. '

Christopher was silent, watching from time to time his spouse, whoseemed to be going on with her supper in orderly fashion. Mr. Bounderwas not misled by this, and watched curiously. He had acquired in a fewmonths a large respect for his wife. Her very unadorned attire, and herpeculiar way of knotting up her hair, did not hinder that he had agreat and growing value for her. Christopher would have liked hercertainly to dress better and to put on a cap; nevertheless, and odd asit may seem, he was learning to be proud of his very independent wife, and even boasted to his sister that she was a 'character. ' Now hewaited for what was to come next. 

'I guess I was a fool, ' began Mrs. Bounder at last. 'But it came intomy head, ef they're in such a fix as you say, whether maybe theywouldn't take up with my house. I guess, hardly likely. '

'_Your_ house?' inquired Christopher, in astonishment. But his wifecalmly nodded. 

'_Your_ house!' repeated Christopher. 'Which one?'

'Wall, not this one, I guess, ' said his wife quietly. 'But I've got onein town. '

'A house in town! Why, I never heard of it before. '

'No, 'cause it's been standin' empty for a spell back, doin' nothin'. Ef there had been rent comin' in, I guess you'd have heard of it. Butthe last folks went out; and I hadn't found no one that suited me tolet hev it. '

'Would it do for the colonel and Miss Esther?'

'That's jes' what I don' know, Christopher. It would du as fur's therent goes; an' it's all right and tight. It won't let the rain in on'em; I've kep' it in order. '

'I should like to see what you don't keep in order!' said Christopheradmiringly. 

'Wall, I guess it's my imagination. For, come to think of it, it ain'tjes' sich a house as your folks are accustomed to. '

'The thing is, ' said Christopher gravely, 'they can't have just whatthey're accustomed to. Leastways I'm afeard they can't. I'll just speakto Miss Esther about it. '

'Wall, you kin du that. 'Twon't du no harm. I allays think, whenanybody's grown poor he'd best take in his belt a little. '

CHAPTER XXXI. 

_MAJOR STREET_. 

According to the conclusion thus arrived at, Christopher took theopportunity of speaking to Esther the very next time he was driving herin from school. Esther immediately pricked up her ears, and demanded toknow where the house was situated. Christopher told her. It was astreet she was not acquainted with. 

'Do you know how to find the place, Christopher?'

'Oh, yes, Miss Esther; I can find the place, to be sure; but I'm afraidmy little woman has made a mistake. '

'What is the rent?'

Christopher named the rent. It was less than what they were paying forthe house they at present occupied; and Esther at once orderedChristopher to turn about and drive her to the spot. 

It was certainly not a fashionable quarter, not even near Broadway orState Street; nevertheless it was respectable, inhabited by decentpeople. The house itself was a small wooden one. Now it is true that atthat day New York was a very different place from what it is atpresent; and a wooden house, and even a small wooden house, did notmean then what it means now; an abode of Irish washerwomen, or ofsomething still less distinguished. Yet Esther startled a little at thethought of bringing her father and herself to inhabit it. Christopherhad the key; and he fastened Buonaparte, and let Esther in, and wentall over the house with her. It was in order, truly, as its owner hadsaid; even clean; and nothing was off the hinges or wanting paint orneeding plaster. 'Right and tight' it was, and susceptible of beingmade an abode of comfort; yet it was a very humble dwelling, comparatively, and in an insignificant neighbourhood; and Estherhesitated. Was it pride? she asked herself. Why did she hesitate? Yetshe lingered over the place, doubting and questioning and almostdeciding it would not do. Then Christopher, I cannot tell whetherconsciously or otherwise, threw in a makeweight that fell in the scalethat was threatening to rise. 

'If you please, Miss Esther, would you speak to the master about theblacksmith's bill? I don't hardly never see the colonel, these days. '

Esther faced round upon him. The word 'bill' always came to her nowlike a sort of stab. She repeated his words. 'The blacksmith's bill?'

'Yes, mum; that is, Creasy, the blacksmith; just on the edge o' thetown. It's been runnin' along, 'cause I never could get sight o' thecolonel to speak to him about it. '

'Bill for what?'

'Shoes, mum. '

'_Shoes?_' repeated Esther. 'The blacksmith? What do you mean?'

'Shoes for Buonaparty, mum. He does kick off his shoes as fast as anyhorse ever I see; and they does wear, mum, on the stones. '

'How much is the bill?'

'Well, mum, ' said Christopher uneasily, 'it's been runnin' along--andit's astonishin' how things does mount up. It's quite a good bit, mum;it's nigh on to fifty dollars. '

It took away Esther's breath. She turned away, that Christopher mightnot see her face, and began to look at the house as if a sudden newlight had fallen upon it. Small and mean, and unfit for ColonelGainsborough and his daughter, --that had been her judgment concerningit five minutes before; but now it suddenly presented itself as arefuge from distress. If they took it, the relief to their financeswould be immediate and effectual. There was a little bit of struggle inEsther's mind; to give up their present home for this would involve aloss of all the prettiness in which she had found such refreshment;there would be here no river and no opposite shore, and no pleasantcountry around with grass and trees and a flower garden. There would beno garden at all, and no view, except of a very humdrum little street, built up and inhabited by mechanics and tradespeople of a humble grade. But then--no debt! And Esther remembered that in her daily prayer fordaily bread she had also asked to be enabled to 'owe no man anything. 'Was here the answer? And if this were the Lord's way for supplying hernecessities, should she refuse to accept it and to be thankful for it?

'It is getting late, ' was Esther's conclusion as she turned away. 'Wehad better get home, Christopher; but I think we will take the house. Imust speak to papa; but I think we will take it. You may tell Mrs. Bounder so, with my thanks. '

It cost a little trouble, yet not much, to talk the colonel over. Hedid not go to see the house, and Esther did not press that he should;he took her report of it, which was an unvarnished one, and submittedhimself to what seemed the inevitable. But his daughter knew that hertask would have been harder if the colonel's imagination had had theassistance of his eyesight. She was sure that the move must be made, and if it were once effected she was almost sure she could make herfather comfortable. To combat his objections beforehand might have beena more difficult matter. Esther found Mrs. Barker's dismay quite enoughto deal with. Indeed, the good woman was at first overwhelmed; and satdown, the first time she was taken to the house, in a sort of despair, with a face wan in its anxiety. 

'What's the matter, Barker?' Esther said cheerily. 'You and I will soonput this in nice order, with Christopher's help; and then, when we havegot it fitted up, we shall be as comfortable as ever; you will see. '

'Oh dear Miss Esther!' the housekeeper ejaculated; 'that ever I shouldsee this day! The like of you and my master!'

'What then?' said Esther, smiling. 'Barker, shall we not take what theLord gives us, and be thankful? I am. '

'There ain't no use for Christopher here, as I see, ' Mrs. Barker wenton. 

'No, and he will not be here. Do you see now how happy it is that hehas got a home of his own?--which you were disposed to think sounfortunate. '

'I haven't changed my mind, mum, ' said the housekeeper. 'How's yourhorse goin' to be kep', without Christopher?'

'I am not going to keep the horse. Here I shall not need him. '

'The drives you took was very good for you, mum. '

'I will take walks instead. Don't you be troubled. Dear Barker, do younot think our dear Lord knows what is good for us? and do you not thinkwhat He chooses is the best? I do. '

Esther's face was very unshadowed, but the housekeeper's, on thecontrary, seemed to darken more and more. She stood in the middle ofthe floor, in one of the small rooms, and surveyed the prospect, alternately within and without the windows. 

'Miss Esther, dear, ' she began again, as if irrepressibly, 'you'reyoung, and you don't know how queer the world is. There's many folksthat won't believe you are what you be, if they see you are livin' in aplace like this. '

Did not Esther know that? and was it not one of the whispers in hermind which she found it hardest to combat? She had begun already totouch the world on that side on which Barker declared it was 'queer. 'She went, it is true, hardly at all into society; scarce ever left thenarrow track of her school routine; yet even there once or twice achance encounter had obliged her to recognise the fact that in takingthe post of a teacher she had stepped off the level of her formerassociates. It had hurt her a little and disappointed her. Nobody, indeed, had tried to be patronizing; that was nearly impossible towardsanybody whose head was set on her shoulders in the manner of MissGainsborough's; but she felt the slighting regard in which low-bredpeople held her on account of her work and position. And so large aportion of the world is deficient in breeding, that to a young personat least the desire of self-assertion comes as a very natural andtolerably strong temptation. Esther had felt it, and trodden it underfoot, and yet Mrs. Barker's words made her wince. How could anybodyreasonably suppose that a gentleman would choose such a house and sucha street to live in?

'Never mind, Barker, ' she said cheerfully, after a pause. 'What we haveto do is the right thing; and then let all the rest go. '

'Has the colonel seen it, Miss Esther?'

'No, and I do not mean he shall, till we have got it so nice for himthat he will feel comfortable. '

The work of moving and getting settled began without delay. Mrs. Barkerspent all the afternoons at the new house; and thither came Esther alsoevery day as soon as school was out at three o'clock. The girl workedvery hard in these times; for after her long morning in school she gavethe rest of the daylight hours to arranging and establishing furniture, hanging draperies, putting up hooks, and the like; and after that shewent home to make her father's tea, and give him as much cheery talk asshe could command. In the business of moving, however, she foundunexpected assistance. 

When Christopher told his wife of the decision about the house, theanswering remark, made approvingly, was, 'That's a spunky little girl!'

'What do you mean?' said Christopher, not approving such an irreverentexpression. 

'She's got stuff in her. I like that sort. '

'But that house ain't really a place for her, you know. '

'That's what I'm lookin' at, ' returned Mrs. Bounder, with a broad smileat him. 'She ain't scared by no nonsense from duin' what she's got todu. Don't you be scared neither; houses don't make the folks that livein 'em. But what I'm thinkin' of is, they'll want lots o' help to gitalong with their movin'. Christopher, do you know there's a big boxwaggin in the barn?'

'I know it. '

'Wall, that'll carry their things fust-rate, ef you kin tackle up yourfine-steppin' French emperor there with our Dolly. Will he draw indouble harness?'

'Will he! Well, I'll try to persuade him. '

'An' you needn't to let on anything about it. They ain't obleeged toknow where the waggin comes from. '

'You're as clever a woman as any I know!' said Mr. Bounder, with asmile of complacency. 'Sally up there can't beat you; and _she's_ asmart woman, too. '

A few minutes were given to the business of the supper table, and thenMrs. Bounder asked, --

'What are they goin' to du with the French emperor?'

'Buonaparte?' (Christopher called it 'Buonaparty. ') 'Well, they'll haveto get rid of him somehow. I suppose that job'll come on me. '

'I was thinkin'. Our Dolly's gittin' old'--

'Buonaparty was old some time ago, ' returned Christopher, with a slytwinkle of his eyes as he looked at his wife. 

'There's work in him yet, ain't there?'

'Lots!'

'Then two old ones would be as good as one young one, and better, forthey'd draw the double waggin. What'll they ask for him?'

'It'll be what I can get, I'm thinking. '

'What did you pay for him?'

Christopher named the sum the colonel had given. It was not a highfigure; however, he knew, and she knew, that a common draught horse fortheir garden work could be had for something less. Mrs. Boundermeditated a little, and finally concluded, --

'It won't break us. '

'Save me lots o' trouble, ' said Christopher; 'if you don't mind payingso much. '

'If _you_ don't mind, Christopher, ' his wife returned, with a grin. 'I've got the money here in the house; you might hand it over to MissEsther to-morrow; I'll bet you she'll know what to du with it. '

Christopher nodded. 'She'll be uncommon glad of it, to be sure! Thereain't much cash come into her hands for a good bit. And I see sometimesshe's been real worrited. '

So Esther's path was smoothed in more ways than one, and even in moreways than I have indicated. For Mrs. Bounder went over and insinuatedherself (with some difficulty) so far into Mrs. Barker's good gracesthat she was allowed to give her help in the multifarious business andcares of the moving. She was capital help. Mrs. Barker soon found thatany packing intrusted to her was sure to be safely done; and the littlewoman's wits were of the first order, always at hand, cool, keen, andcomprehensive. She followed, or rather went with the waggon to thehouse in Major Street; helped unpack, helped put down carpets, helpedclear away litter and arrange things in order; and further still, sheconstantly brought something with her for the bodily refreshment andcomfort of Esther and the housekeeper. Her delicious rye bread came, loaf after loaf, sweet butter, eggs, and at last some golden honey. There was no hindering her; and her presence and ministry grew to be agreat assistance and pleasure also to Esther. Esther tried to tell hersomething of this. 'You cannot think how your kindness has helped me, 'she said, with a look which told more than her words. 

'Don't!' said Mrs. Bounder, when this had happened a second time. 'Iwas readin' in the Bible the other day--you set me readin' the Bible, Miss Esther--where it says somethin' about a good woman "ministerin' tothe saints. " I ain't no saint myself, and I guess it'll never be saidof me; but I suppose the next thing to _bein'_ a saint is ministerin'to the saints, and I'd like to du that anyhow, ef I only knowed how. '

'You have been kind ever since I knew you, ' said Esther. 'I am glad toknow our Christopher has got such a good wife. '

Mrs. Bounder laughed a little slyly, as she retorted, 'Ain't therenothin' to be glad of on my side tu?'

'Indeed, yes!' answered Esther. 'Christopher is as true and faithful asit is possible to be; and as to business-- But you do not need that Ishould tell you what Christopher is, ' she broke off, laughing. 

There was a pleasant look in the little woman's eyes as she stood upfor a moment and faced Esther. 

'I guess I took him most of all because he be longed to you!' she said. 

CHAPTER XXXII. 

_MOVING_. 

Esther made to herself a pleasure of getting the little dwelling inorder. With two such helpers as she had, the work went on bravely, andChristopher got in coal and chopped wood enough to last all winter. Theready money from the sale of Buonaparte had given her the means forthat and for some other things. She was intent upon making the new homelook so homelike that her father should be in some measure consoled forthe shock which she knew its exterior would give him. The colonel likedno fire so well as one of his native 'sea-coal. ' The house had openfireplaces only. So Esther had some neat grates put in the two lowerrooms and in her father's sleeping chamber. They had plenty of carpets, and the two little parlours were soon looking quite habitable. 

'We will keep the back one for a dining-room, ' she said to Mrs. Barker;'that will be convenient for you, being nearest the kitchen stairs, andthis will be for papa's study. But it has a bare look yet. I must makesome curtains and put up, to hide the view of that dreadful street. '

'That'll cost money, mum, ' observed the housekeeper. 'Wouldn't some o'them old ones at home be passable, if they was made over a bit?'

'The colour would not fit here. No, that would not do. I'll get somechintz that is dark and bright at once. I have money. Oh, we are goingto be rich now, Barker; and you shall not be stinted in your marketingany more. And this is going to be very nice, _inside_. '

To the outside Esther could not get accustomed. It gave her a kind ofprick of dismay every time she saw it anew. What would her father saywhen _he_ saw it? Yet she had done right and wisely; of that she had nodoubt at all; it was very unreasonable that, her judgment beingsatisfied, her feeling should rebel. Yet it did rebel. When did everone of her family live in such a place before? They had come downsurely very far, to make it possible. Only in the matter of money, tobe sure; but then, money has to do largely with the outward appearanceone makes, and upon the appearance depends much of the effect uponone's fellow-creatures. The whisper would come back in Esther's mind:Who will believe you are what you are, if they see you coming out ofsuch a house? And what then? she answered the whisper. If the Lord hasgiven us this place to dwell in, that and all other effects andconsequences of it are part of His will in the matter. What if we areto be overlooked and looked down upon? what have I to do with it? whatmatters it? Let pride be quiet, and faith be very thankful. Here areall my difficulties set aside, and no danger of not paying our debtsany more. 

She reasoned so, and fought against pride, if pride it were, which tookthe other side. She _would_ be thankful; and she was. Nevertheless, acomparison would arise now and then with the former times, and withtheir state at Seaforth; and further back still, with the beauties andglories of the old manor house in England. Sometimes Esther felt astrange wave of regret come over her at the thought of the gay circleof relations she did not know, who were warm in the shelter ofprosperity and the cheer of numbers. She knew herself in a bettershelter, yes, and in a better cheer; and yet sometimes, as I said, anodd feeling of loss and descent would come over her as she enteredMajor Street Esther was working hard these days, which no doubt hadsomething to do with this. She rushed from her morning duties to theschool; then at three o'clock rushed to Major Street; and from there, when it grew too dark to work, drove home to minister to her father. Probably her times of discouragement were times when she was a littletired. The thought was very far from her usually. In her healthy andhappy youth, busy life, and mental and spiritual growth and thrift, Esther's wants seemed to be all satisfied; and so long as things rantheir ordinary course, she felt no deficiency. But there are conditionsin which one is warm so long as one does not move, while the first stirof change brings a chill over one. And so sometimes now, as Estherentered Major Street or set her face towards it, she would think of herfar-off circle of Gainsborough cousins, with a half wish that herfather could have borne with them a little more patiently; and once ortwice the thought came too, that the Dallases never let themselves beheard from any more. Not even Pitt. She would not have thought it ofhim, but he was away in a foreign country, and it must be that he hadforgotten them. His father and mother were near, and could not forget;was not the old house there before them always to remind them? But theywere rich and prosperous and abounding in everything; they had no needof the lonely two who had gone out of their sight and who did needthem. It was the way of the world; so the world said. Esther wonderedif that were really true, and also wondered now and then if MajorStreet were to be henceforth not only the sphere but the limit of herexistence. She never gave such thoughts harbour; they came and theywent; and she remained the cheerful, brave, busy girl she had long been. 

The small house at last looked homelike. On the front room Esther hadput a warm, dark-looking carpet; the chintz curtains were up and inharmony with the carpet; and the colonel's lounge was new covered withthe same stuff. The old furniture had been arranged so as to give thatpleasant cosy air to the room which is such a welcome to the personentering it, making the impression of comfort and good taste and of thehabit of good living; not good living in matters of the table, but inthose other matters which concern the mind's nourishment and socialwell-being. Everything was right and in order, and Esther surveyed herwork with much content. 

'It looks _very_ nice, ' she said to her good friend the housekeeper. 

'It do, mum, ' Mrs. Barker answered, with a reservation. 'But I'mthinkin', Miss Esther, I can't stop thinkin', whatever'll the colonelsay when he sees the outside. '

'He shall see the inside first. I have arranged that. And, Barker, wemust have a capital supper ready for him. We can afford it now. Have apheasant, Barker; there is nothing he likes better; and some of thatbeautiful honey Mrs. Bounder has brought us; I never saw such richhoney, I think. And I have good hope papa will be pleased, and put upwith things, as I do. '

'Your papa remembers Gainsborough Manor, mum, and that's what youdon't. '

'What then! Mrs. Barker, do you really think the Lord does _not_ knowwhat is good for us? That is sheer unbelief. Take what He gives, and bethankful. Barker, why do you suppose the angels came to the sepulchreso, as they did the morning of the resurrection?'

'Mum!' said Mrs. Barker, quite taken aback by this sudden change ofsubject. But Esther went on in a pleasant, pleased tone of interest. 

'I was reading the last chapter of Matthew this morning, and it set meto thinking. You know a number of them, the angels, came, and were seenabout the sepulchre; and I suppose there was just a crowd of themcoming and going that morning. What for, do you suppose?'

'Miss Esther!' said the housekeeper open-mouthed, 'I'm sure I can'tsay. '

'Why, they came _to see the place_, Barker; just for that. They knewwhat had been done, and they just came in crowds, as soon as Jesus hadleft the sepulchre--perhaps before--to look at the spot where thatwonder of all wonders had been. But it never occurred to me before howlike it was to the way we human creatures feel and do. _That_ was whatthey came for; and don't you remember what one of them, with hislightning face and his robes of whiteness, sitting on the stone, saidto the women? He told them to do what he had been doing. "_Come see theplace_. " It brought the angels nearer to me than ever they had seemedto be before. '

Mrs. Barker stood there spellbound, silenced. To be sure, if MissEsther's head was so busy with the angels, she was in a sort lifted upabove the small matters or accidents of common earthly life. And asmuch as the words the girl's face awed her too, its expression was soconsonant with them. 

'Now, Barker, Christopher may bring up some coal and make a fire beforehe drives back for papa. In both rooms, Barker. And-- Hark! what isthat?'

A long-drawn, musical cry was sounding a little distance off, slowlycoming nearer as it was repeated. A cry that New York never hears now, but that used to come through the streets in the evening with asonorous, half melancholy intonation, pleasant to hear. 

'Oys----ters!----Oys----ters! Here's your fresh oys----ters!'

'That's just what we want, Barker. Get Christopher to stop the man. '

Esther had arranged that her father's room and belongings at homeshould not be disturbed until the very day when he himself should makethe transfer from the one house to the other. So until that morningeven the colonel's sofa had not been moved. Now it was brought over andplaced in position between the fireplace and the window, where theoccupant would have plenty of light and warmth. The new chintz coverhad been put on it; the table was placed properly, and the books whichthe colonel liked to have at hand lay in their usual position. In theback room the table was set for supper. The rooms communicated, thoughindeed not by folding doors; still the eye could go through and catchthe glow of the fire, and see the neat green drugget on the floor andthe pleasant array on the supper table. 

'It looks _very_ nice, Barker!' Esther could not help saying again. 

'It certainly do, mum, ' was the answer, in which, nevertheless, Estherheard the aforementioned mental reservation. If her father liked it!Yes, that could not be known till he came; and she drew a breath ofpatient anxiety. It was too dark for him to take the effect of anythingoutside; she had arranged that. One thing at a time, she thought. Thehouse to-day; Major Street to-morrow. 

She met him in the hall when he came, giving him a kiss and a welcome;helped him to take off his greatcoat, and conducted him into the smallapartment so carefully made ready for him. It offered as much tastefulcomfort as it was possible for a room of its inches to do. Estherwaited anxiously for the effect. The colonel warmed his hands at theblaze, and took his seat on the sofa, eyeing things suspiciously. 

'What sort of a place is this we have come to?' were his first words. 

'Don't you think it is a comfortable place, papa? This chimney drawsbeautifully, and the coal is excellent. It is really a very nice littlehouse, papa. I think it will be comfortable. '

'Not very large, ' said the colonel, taking with his eye the measure ofthe room. 

'No, papa; and none the worse for that. Room enough for you, and roomenough for me; and quite room enough for Barker, who has to take careof it all. I like the house very much. '

'What sort of a street is it?'

Must that question come up to-night! Esther hesitated. 

'I thought, sir, the street was of less importance to us than the home. It is _very_ comfortable; and the rent is so moderate that we can payour way and be at ease. Papa, I would not like the finest house in theworld, if I had to run in debt to live in it. '

'What is the name of the street?'

'Major Street'

'Whereabouts is it? In the darkness I could not see where we weregoing. '

'Papa, it is in the east part of the city, not very far from the river. Fulton Market is not very far off either, which is convenient. '

'Who lives here?' asked the colonel, with a gathering frown on his brow. 

'I know none of the people; nor even their names. '

'Of course not! but you know, I suppose, what sort of people they are?'

'They are plain people, papa; they are not of our class. They seem tobe decent people. '

'Decent? What do you mean by decent?'

'Papa, I mean not disorderly people; not disreputable. And is not thatenough for us, papa? Oh, papa, does it matter what the people are, solong as our house is nice and pretty and warm, and the low rent justrelieves us from all our difficulties? Papa, do be pleased with it! Ithink it is the very best thing we could have done. '

'Esther, there are certain things that one owes to oneself. '

'Yes, sir; but must we not pay our debts to other people first?'

'Debts? We were not in debt to anybody!'

'Yes, papa, to more than one; and I saw no way out of the difficultytill I heard of this house. And I am so relieved now--you cannot thinkwith what a relief;--if only _you_ are pleased, dear papa. '

He must know so much of the truth, Esther said to herself with rapidcalculation. The colonel did not look pleased, it must be confessed. All the prettiness and pleasantness on which Esther had counted toproduce a favourable impression seemed to fail of its effect; indeed, seemed not to be seen. The colonel leaned his head on his hand anduttered something very like a groan. 

'So this is what we have come to!' he said. 'You do not know what youhave done, Esther. '

Esther said nothing to that. Her throat seemed to be choked. She lookedat her beautiful little fire, and had some trouble to keep tears fromstarting. 

'My dear, you did it for the best, I do not doubt, ' her father addedpresently. 'I only regret that I was not consulted before anirrevocable step was taken. '

Esther could find nothing to answer. 

'It is quite true that a man remains himself, whatever he does that isnot morally wrong; it is true that our real dignity is not changed;nevertheless, people pass in the world not for what they are, but forwhat they seem to be. '

'Oh, papa, do you think that!' Esther cried. But the colonel went on, not heeding her. 

'So, if you take to making shoes, it will be supposed that you are nobetter than a cobbler; and if you choose your abode among washerwomen, you will be credited with tastes and associations that fit you for yoursurroundings. Have we _that_ sort of a neighbourhood?' he askedsuddenly. 

'I do not know, papa, ' Esther said meekly. The colonel fairly groanedagain. It was getting to be more than she could stand. 

'Papa, ' she said gently, 'we have done the best we knew, --at least Ihave; and the necessity is not one of our own making. Let us take whatthe Lord gives. I think He has given us a great deal. And I wouldrather, for my part, that people thought anything of us, rather thanthat we should miss our own good opinion. I do not know just what theinhabitants are, round about here; but the street is at least clean anddecent, and within our own walls we need not think about it. Inside itis _very_ comfortable, papa. '

The colonel was silent now, not, however, seeming to see the comfort. There was a little interval, during which Esther struggled for calmnessand a clear voice. When she spoke, her voice was very clear. 

'Barker has tea ready, papa, I see. I hope that will be as good asever, and better, for we have got something you like. Shall we go in?It is in the other room. '

'Why is it not here, as usual, in my room? I do not see any reason forthe change. '

'It saves the mess of crumbs on the floor in this room. And then itsaves Barker a good deal of trouble to have the table there. '

'Why should Barker be saved trouble here more than where we have comefrom? I do not understand. '

'We had Christopher there, papa. Here Barker has no one to helpher--except what I can do. '

'It must be the same thing, to have tea in one room or in another, Ishould think. '

Esther could have represented that the other room was just at the headof the kitchen stairs, while to serve the tea on the colonel's tablewould cost a good many more steps. But she had no heart for any furtherrepresentations. With her own hands, and with her own feet, which wereby this time wearily tired, she patiently went back and forth betweenthe two rooms, bringing plates and cups and knives and forks, andtea-tray, and bread and butter and honey and partridge, and salt andpepper, from the one table to the other, which, by the way, had firstto be cleared of its own load of books and writing materials. Estherdeposited these on the floor and on chairs, and arranged the table fortea, and pushed it into the position her father was accustomed to like. The tea-kettle she left on its trivet before the grate in the otherroom; and now made journeys uncounted between that room and this, totake and fetch the tea-pot. Talk languished meanwhile, for the spiritof talk was gone from Esther, and the colonel, in spite of hisdiscomfiture, developed a remarkably good appetite. When he had done, Esther carried everything back again. 

'Why do you do that? Where is Barker?' her father demanded at last. 

'Barker has been exceedingly busy all day, putting down carpets andarranging her storeroom. I am sure she is tired. '

'I suppose you are tired too, are you not?'

'Yes, papa. '

He said no more, however, and Esther finished her work, and then satdown on a cushion at the corner of the fireplace, in one of those moodsbelonging to tired mind and body, in which one does not seem at themoment to care any longer about anything. The lively, blazing coal fireshone on a warm, cosy little room, and on two somewhat despondentfigures. For his supper had not brightened the colonel up a bit. He satbrooding. Perhaps his thoughts took the road that Esther's had oftenfollowed lately, for he suddenly came out with a name now rarely spokenbetween them. 

'It is a long while that we have heard nothing from the Dallases!'

'Yes, ' Esther said apathetically. 

'Mr. Dallas used to write to me now and then. '

'They are busy with their own concerns, and we are out of sight; whyshould they remember us?'

'They used to be good neighbours, in Seaforth. '

'Pitt. Papa, I do not think his father and mother were ever speciallyfond of us. '

'Pitt never writes to me now, ' the colonel went on, after a pause. 

'He is busy with _his_ concerns. He has forgotten us too. I suppose hehas plenty of other things to think of. Oh, I have given up Pitt longago. '

The colonel brooded over his thoughts a while, then raised his head andlooked again over the small room. 

'My dear, it would have been better to stay where we were, ' he saidregretfully. 

Esther could not bear to pain him by again reminding him that theirmeans would not allow it; and as her father lay back upon the sofa andclosed his eyes, she went away into the other room and sat down at thecorner of that fire, where the partition wall screened her from view. For she wanted to let her head drop on her knees and be still; and afew tears that she could not help came hot to her eyes. She had workedso hard to get everything in nice order for her father; she had sohoped to see him pleased and contented; and now he was so illogicallydiscontented! Truly he could tell her nothing she did not already knowabout the disadvantages of their new position; and they all rushed uponEsther's mind at this minute with renewed force. The pleasant countryand the shining river were gone; she would no longer see the lights onthe Jersey shore when she got up in the morning; the air would not comesweet and fresh to her windows; there would be no singing of birds orfragrance of flowers around her, even in summer; she would have onlythe streets and the street cries and noises, and dust, and unsweetbreath. The house would do inside; but outside, what a change! Andthough Esther was not very old in the world, nor very worldly-wise forher years, she knew--if not as well as her father, yet she knew--thatin Major Street she was pretty nearly cut off from all socialintercourse with her kind. Her school experience and observation hadtaught her so much. She knew that her occupation as a teacher in aschool was enough of itself to put her out of the way of invitations, and that an abode in Major Street pretty well finished the matter. Esther had not been a favourite among her school companions in the bestof times; she was of too uncommon a beauty, perhaps; perhaps she wastoo different from them in other respects. Pleasant as she always was, she was nevertheless separate from her fellows by a great separation ofnature; and that is a thing not only felt on both sides, but neverforgiven by the inferiors. Miss Gainsborough, daughter of a rich andinfluential retired officer, would, however, have been sought eagerlyand welcomed universally; Miss Gainsborough, the school teacher, daughter of an unknown somebody who lived in Major Street, was anothermatter; hardly a desirable acquaintance. For what should she be desired?

Esther had not been without a certain dim perception of all this; andit came to her with special disagreeableness just then, when everythought came that could make her dissatisfied with herself and with herlot. Why had her father ever come away from England, where friends andrelations could not have failed? Why had he left Seaforth, where atleast they were living like themselves, and where they would not havedropped out of the knowledge of Pitt Dallas? The feeling of lonelinesscrept again over Esther, and a feeling of having to fight her way as itwere single-handed. Was this little house, and Major Street, henceforthto be the scene and sphere of her life and labours? How could she everwork up out of it into anything better?

Esther was tired, and felt blue, which was the reason why all thesethoughts and others chased through her mind; and more than one tearrolled down and dropped on her stuff gown. Then she gathered herselfup. How had she come to Major Street and to school teaching? Not by herown will or fault. Therefore it was part of the training assigned forher by a wisdom that is perfect, and a love that never forgets. AndEsther began to be ashamed of herself. What did she mean by saying, 'The Lord is my Shepherd, ' if she could not trust Him to take care ofHis sheep? And now, how had she been helped out of her difficulties, enabled to pay her debts, brought to a home where she could live and beclear of the world; yes, and live pleasantly too? And as for beingalone-- Esther rose with a smile. 'Can I not trust the Lord for thattoo?' she thought. 'If it is His will I should be alone, then that isthe very best thing for me; and perhaps He will come nearer than if Ihad other distractions to take my eyes in another direction. '

Barker came in to remove the tea-things, and Esther met her with asmile, the brightness of which much cheered the good woman. 

'Was the pheasant good, mum?' she asked in a whisper. 

'Capital, Barker, and the honey. And papa made a very good supper. AndI am so thankful, Barker! for the house is very nice, and we are moved. '

CHAPTER XXXIII. 

_BETTY_. 

It was summer again, and on the broad grassy street of Seaforth thesunshine poured in its full power. The place lay silent under the heatof mid-day; not a breath stirred the leaves of the big elms, and nopassing wheels stirred the dust of the roadway, which was ready to riseat any provocation. It was very dry, and very hot. Yet at Seaforththose two facts, though proclaimed from everybody's mouth, must beunderstood with a qualification. The heat and the dryness were not aselsewhere. So near the sea as the town was, a continual freshness camefrom thence in vapours and cool airs, and mitigated what in otherplaces was found oppressive. However, the Seaforth people said it wasoppressive too; and things are so relative in the affairs of life thatI do not know if they were more contented than their neighbours. Buteverybody said the heat was fine for the hay; and as most of theinhabitants had more or less of that crop to get in, they criticisedthe weather only at times when they were thinking of it in some otherconnection. 

At Mrs. Dallas's there was no criticism of anything. In the largecomfortable rooms, where windows were all open, and blinds temperingthe too ardent light, and cool mats on the floors, and chintz furniturelooked light and summery, there was an atmosphere of pure enjoyment andexpectation, for Pitt was coming home again, and his mother was lookingfor him with every day. She was sitting now awaiting him; no one couldtell at what hour he might arrive; and his mother's face was beautifulwith hope. She was her old self; not changed at all by the four or fiveyears of Pitt's absence; as handsome and as young and as stately asever. She made no demonstration now; did not worry either herself orothers with questions and speculations and hopes and fears respectingher son's coming; yet you could see on her fine face, if you wereclever at reading faces, the lines of pride and joy, and now and then aquiver of tenderness. It was seen by one who was sitting with her, whose interest and curiosity it involuntarily moved. 

This second person was a younger lady. Indeed a _young_ lady, not bycomparison, but absolutely. A very attractive person too. She had anexceedingly good figure, which the trying dress of those times showedin its full beauty. Woe to the lady then whose shoulders were notstraight, or the lines of her figure not flowing, or the proportions ofit not satisfactory. Every ungracefulness must have shown its fulldeformity, with no possibility of disguise; every angle must have beenaggravated, and every untoward movement made doubly fatal. But thedress only set off and developed the beauty that could bear it. And thelady sitting with Mrs. Dallas neither feared nor had need to fearcriticism. Something of that fact appeared in her graceful posture andin the brow of habitual superiority, and in the look of the eyes thatwere now and then lifted from her work to her companion. The eyes werebeautiful, and they were also queenly; at least their calm fearlessnesswas not due to absence of self-consciousness. She was a pretty pictureto see. The low-cut dress and fearfully short waist revealed a whiteskin and a finely-moulded bust and shoulders. The very scant andclinging robe was of fine white muslin, with a narrow dainty border ofembroidery at the bottom; and a scarf of the same was thrown round hershoulders. The round white arms were bare, the little tufty whitesleeves making a pretty break between them and the soft shoulders; andthe little hands were busy with a strip of embroidery, which looked asif it might be destined for the ornamentation of another similar dress. The lady's face was delicate, intelligent, and attractive, rather thanbeautiful; her eyes, however, as I said, were fine; and over her headand upon her neck curled ringlets of black, lustrous hair. 

'You think he will be here to-day?' she said, breaking the familiarsilence that had reigned for a while. She had caught one of Mrs. Dallas's glances towards the window. 

'He may be here any day. It is impossible to tell. He would come beforehis letter. '

'You are very fond of him, I can see. What made you send him away fromyou? England is so far off!'

Mrs. Dallas hesitated; put up the end of her knitting-needle under hercap, and gently moved it up and down in meditative fashion. 

'We wanted him to be an Englishman, Betty. '

'Why, Mrs. Dallas? Is he not going to live in America?'

'Probably. '

'Then why make an Englishman of him? That will make him discontentedwith things here. '

'I hope not. He was not changed enough for that when he was here last. Pitt does not change. '

'He must be an extraordinary character!' said the young lady, with aglance at Pitt's mother. 'Dear Mrs. Dallas, how am I to understandthat?'

'Pitt does not change, ' repeated the other. 

'But one _ought_ to change. That is a dreadful sort of people, that goon straight over the heads of circumstances, just because they laid outthe road there before the circumstances arose. I have seen such people. They tread down everything in their way. '

'Pitt does not change, ' Mrs. Dallas said again. Her companion thoughtshe said it with a certain satisfied confidence. And perhaps it wastrue; but the moment after Mrs. Dallas remembered that if theproposition were universal it might be inconvenient. 

'At least he is hard to change, ' she went on; 'therefore his father andI wished him to be educated in the old country, and to form his notionsaccording to the standard of things there. I think a republic is verydemoralizing. '

'Is the standard of morals lower here?' inquired the younger lady, demurely. 

'I am not speaking of _morals_, in the usual sense. Of course, that--But there is a little too much freedom here. And besides, --I wantedPitt to be a true Church of England man. '

'Isn't he that?'

'Oh yes, I have no doubt he is now; but he had formed some associationsI was afraid of. With my son's peculiar character, I thought theremight be danger. I rely on you, Betty, ' said Mrs. Dallas, smiling, 'toremove the last vestige. '

The young lady gave a glance of quick, keen curiosity andunderstanding, in which sparkled a little amusement. 'What can I do?'she asked demurely. 

'Bewitch him, as you do everybody. '

'Bewitch him, and hand him over to you!' she remarked. 

'No, ' said Mrs. Dallas; 'not necessarily. You must see him, before youcan know what you would like to do with him. '

'Do I understand, then? He is supposed to be in some danger of lapsingfrom the true faith'--

'Oh, no, my dear! I did not say that. I meant only, if he had stayed inAmerica. It seems to me there is a general loosening of all bonds here. Boys and girls do their own way. '

'Was it only the general spirit of the air, Mrs. Dallas, or was it aparticular influence, that you feared?'

'Well--both, ' said Mrs. Dallas, again applying her knitting-needleunder her cap. 

The younger lady was silent a few minutes; going on with her embroidery. 

'This is getting to be very interesting, ' she remarked. 

'It is very interesting to me, ' replied the mother, with a thoughtfullook. 'For, as I told you, Pitt is a very fast friend, and persistentin all his likings and dislikings. Here he had none but the company ofdissenters; and I did not want him to get _in_ with people of thatpersuasion. '

'Is there much society about here? I fancied not. '

'No society, for him. Country people--farmers--people of that stamp. Nothing else. '

'I should have thought, dear Mrs. Dallas, that _you_ would have beenquite a sufficient counteraction to temptation from such a source?'

Mrs. Dallas hesitated. 'Boys will be boys, ' she said. 

'But he is not a boy now?'

'He is twenty-four. '

'Not a boy, certainly. But do you know, that is an age when men arevery hard to manage? It is easier earlier, or later. '

'Not difficult to you at any time, ' said the other flatteringly. 

The conversation dropped there; at least there came an interval ofquiet working on the young lady's part, and of rather listless knittingon the part of the mother, whose eyes went wistfully to the windowwithout seeing anything. And this lasted till a step was heard at thefront door. Mrs. Dallas let fall her needles and her yarn and rosehurriedly, crying out, 'That is not Mr. Dallas!' and so speaking, rushed into the hall. 

There was a little bustle, a smothered word or two, and then asignificant silence; which lasted long enough to let the watcher leftbehind in the drawing-room conclude on the very deep relationssubsisting between mother and son. Steps were heard moving at length, but they moved and stopped; there was lingering, and slow progress; andwords were spoken, broken questions from Mrs. Dallas and briefresponses in a stronger voice that was low-pitched and pleasant. Thefigures appeared in the doorway at last, but even there lingered still. The mother and son were looking into one another's faces and speakingthose absorbed little utterances of first meeting which areinsignificant enough, if they were not weighted with such a burden offeeling. Miss Betty, sitting at her embroidery, cast successive rapidglances of curiosity and interest at the new-comer. His voice hadalready made her pulses quicken a little, for the tone of it touchedher fancy. The first glance showed him tall and straight; the secondcaught a smile which was both merry and sweet; a third saw that thelevel brows expressed character; and then the two people turned theirfaces towards her and came into the room, and Mrs. Dallas presented herson. 

The young lady rose and made a reverence, according to the more statelyand more elegant fashion of the day. The gentleman's obeisance wasprofound in its demonstration of respect. Immediately after, however, he turned to his mother again; a look of affectionate joy shining uponher out of his eyes and smile. 

'Two years!' she was exclaiming. 'Pitt, how you have changed!'

'Have I? I think not much. '

'No, in one way not much. I see you are your old self. But two yearshave made you older. '

'So they should. '

'Somehow I had not expected it, ' said the mother, passing her handacross her eyes with a gesture a little as if there were tears in them. 'I thought I should see _my_ boy again--and he is gone. '

'Not at all!' said Pitt, laughing. 'Mistaken, mother. There is all ofhim here that there ever was. The difference is, that now there issomething more. '

'What?' she asked. 

'A little more experience--a little more knowledge--let us hope, alittle more wisdom. '

'There is more than that, ' said the mother, looking at him fondly. 

'What?'

'It is the difference I might have looked for, ' she said, 'only, somehow, I had not looked for it. ' And the swift passage of her handacross her eyes gave again the same testimony of a few minutes before. Her son rose hereupon and proposed to withdraw to his room; and as hismother accompanied him, Miss Betty noticed how his arm was thrown roundher and he was bending to her and talking to her as they went. MissBetty stitched away busily, thoughts keeping time with her needle, forsome time thereafter. Yet she did not quite know what she was thinkingof. There was a little stir in her mind, which was so unaccustomed thatit was delightful; it was also vague, and its provoking elements werenot clearly discernible. The young lady was conscious of a certainpleasant thrill in the view of the task to which she had been invited. It promised her possible difficulty, for even in the few short minutesjust passed she had gained an inkling that Mrs. Dallas's words might betrue, and Pitt not precisely a man that you could turn over yourfinger. It threatened her possible danger, which she did not admit;nevertheless the stinging sense of it made itself felt and pricked thepleasure into livelier existence. This was something out of theordinary. This was a man not just cut after the common work-a-daypattern. Miss Betty recalled involuntarily one trait after another thathad fastened on her memory. Eyes of bright intelligence and hiddenpower, a very frank smile, and especially with all that, the greattenderness which had been shown in every word and look to his mother. The good breeding and ease of manner Miss Betty had seen before; thisother trait was something new; and perhaps she was conscious of alittle pull it gave at her heartstrings. This was not the manner shehad seen at home, where her father had treated her mother as a sort ofqueen-consort certainly, --co-regent of the house; but where they hadlived upon terms of mutual diplomatic respect; and her brothers, ifthey cared much for anybody but Number One, gave small proof of thefact. What a brother this man would be! what a--something else! MissBetty sheered off a little from just this idea; not that she was averseto it, or that she had not often entertained it; indeed, she hadentertained it not two hours ago about Pitt himself; but the presenceof the man and the recognition of what was in him had stirred in her akindred delicacy which was innate, as in every true woman, although herway of life and some of her associates had not fostered it. Betty Frerewas a true woman, originally; alas, she was also now a woman of theworld; also, she was poor, and to make a good marriage she had knownfor some years was very desirable for her. What a very good marriagethis would be! Poor girl, she could not help the thought now, and shemust not be judged hardly for it. It was in the air she breathed, andthat all her associates breathed. Betty had not been in a hurry to getmarried, having small doubt of her power to do it in any case thatpleased her; now, somehow, she was suddenly confronted by a doubt ofher power. 

I am pulling out the threads of what was to Betty only a web of veryconfused pattern; _she_ did not try to unravel it. Her consciousness ofjust two things was clear: the pleasant stimulus of the task set beforeher, and a little sharp premonition of its danger. She dismissed that. She could perform the task and detach Pitt from any imaginary ties thathis mother was afraid of, without herself thereby becoming entangled. It would be a game of uncommon interest and entertainment, and a pieceof benevolence too. But Betty's pulses, as I said, were quickened alittle. 

CHAPTER XXXIV. 

_HOLIDAYS_. 

She did not see her new acquaintance again till they met at thesupper-table. She behaved herself then in an extremely well-bred way;was dignified and reserved and quiet; hardly said anything, as with anice recognition that her words were not wanted; scarce ever seemed tolook at the new arrival, of whom, nevertheless, not a word nor a lookescaped her; and was simply an elegant quiet figure at the table, solovely to look at that words from her seemed to be superfluous. Whetherthe stranger saw it, or whether he missed anything, there was no sign. He seemed to be provokingly and exclusively occupied with his fatherand mother; hardly, she thought, giving to herself all the attentionwhich is due from a gentleman to a lady. Yet he fulfilled his duties inthat regard, albeit only as one does it to whom they are a matter ofcourse. Betty listened attentively to everything that was said, whileshe was to all appearance indifferently busied with her supper. 

But the conversation ran, as it is wont to run at such times, whenhearts long absent have found each other again, and fling triflesabout, knowing that their stores of treasure must wait for a quietertime to be unpacked. They talked of weather and crops and Pitt'svoyage, and the neighbours, and the changes in the village, and theimprovements about the place; not as if any of these things were muchcared for; they were bubbles floating on their cups of joy. Questionsasked and questions answered, as if in the pleasure of speaking to oneanother again the subject of their words did not matter; or as if thesupreme content of the moment could spare a little benevolence even forthese outside things. At last a question was asked which made Bettyprick up her ears; this must have been due to something indefinable inthe tone of the speakers, for the words were nothing. 

'Have you heard anything of the Gainsboroughs?'

'No. '

It was the elder Dallas who answered. 

'What has become of them?'

'I am not in condition to tell. '

'Have you written to them?'

'No, not since the last time; and that was a good while ago. '

'Then you do not know how things are with them, of course. I do not seehow you have let them drop out of knowledge so. They were not exactlypeople to lose sight of. '

'Why not, when they went out of sight?'

'You do not even know, sir, whether Colonel Gainsborough is stillliving?'

'How should I? But he was as likely to live as any other man. '

'He did not think so. '

'For which very reason he would probably live longer than many othermen. There is nothing like a hypochondriack for tough holding out. '

'Well, I must search New York for them this time, until I find them. '

'What possible occasion, Pitt?' said his mother, with a tone ofuneasiness which Betty noted. 

'Duty, mamma, and also pleasure. But duty is imperative. '

'I do not see the duty. You tried to look them up the last time youwere here, and failed. '

'I shall not fail this time. '

'If it depended on your will, ' remarked his father coolly. 'But I thinkthe probability is that they have gone back to England, and areconsequently no longer in New York. '

'What are the grounds of that probability?'

'When last I heard from the colonel, he was proposing the question ofreconciliation with his family. And as I have heard no more from himsince then, I think the likeliest thing is that he has made up hisquarrel and gone home. '

'I can easily determine that question by looking over the shippinglists. '

'Perhaps not, ' said Mr. Dallas, rubbing his chin. 'If he has gone, Ithink it will have been under another name. The one he bore here was, Isuspect, assumed. '

'What for?' demanded Pitt somewhat sharply. 

'Reasons of family pride, no doubt. That is enough to make men dofoolisher things. '

'It would be difficult to find a foolisher thing to do, ' replied hisson. But then the conversation turned. It had given Miss Bettysomething to think of. She drew her own conclusions without askinganybody. And in some indefinite, inscrutable way it stimulated andconfirmed her desire for the game Mrs. Dallas had begged her to play. Human hearts are certainly strange things. What were the Gainsboroughsto Miss Betty Frere? Nothing in the world, half an hour before; now?Now there was a vague suspicion of an enemy somewhere; a scent ofrivalry in the air; an immediate rising of partisanship. Were these thepeople of whom Mrs. Dallas was afraid? against whom she craved help?She should have help. Was it not even a meritorious thing, to withdrawa young man from untoward influences, and keep him in the path markedout by his mother?

Miss Frere scented a battle like Job's war-horse. In spirit, that is;outwardly, nothing could show less signs of war. She was equal to Pitt, in her seeming careless apartness; the difference was, that with her it_was_ seeming, and with him reality. She lost not a word; she failednot to observe and regard every movement; she knew, without being seento look, just what his play of feature and various expressions were;all the while she was calmly embroidering, or idly gazing out of thewindow, or skilfully playing chess with Mr. Dallas, whom she inevitablybeat. 

Pitt, the while, his mother thought (and so thought the young ladyherself), was provokingly careless of her attractions. He was goinghither and thither; over the farm with his father; about the village, to see the changes and look up his old acquaintances; often, too, busyin his room where he had been wont to spend so many hours in the oldtime. He was graver than he used to be; with the manner of a man, and athoughtful one; he showed not the least inclination to amuse himselfwith his mother's elegant visitor. Mrs. Dallas became as nearly fidgetyas it was in her nature to be. 

'What do you think of my young friend?' she asked Pitt when he had beena day or two at home. 

'The lady? She is a very satisfactory person, to the eye. '

'To the eye!'

'It is only my eyes, you will remember, mother, that know anythingabout her. '

'That is your fault. Why do you let it be true?'

'Very naturally, I have had something else to think of. '

'But she is a guest in the house, and you really seem to forget it, Pitt. Can't you take her for a drive?'

'Where shall I take her?'

'_Where?_ There is all the country to choose from. What a question! Younever used to be at a loss, as I remember, in old times, when you wentdriving about with that little proteg�e of yours. '

It was very imprudent of Mrs. Dallas, and she knew it immediately, andwas beyond measure vexed with herself. But the subject was started. 

'Poor Esther!' said Pitt thoughtfully. 'Mamma, I can't understand howyou and my father should have lost sight of those people so. '

'They went out of our way. '

'But you sometimes go to New York. '

'Passing through, to Washington. I could not have time to search forpeople whose address I did not know. '

'I cannot understand why you did not know it. They were not the sort ofpeople to be left to themselves. A hypochondriack father, who thoughthe was dying, and a young girl just growing up to need a kind mother'scare, which she had not. I would give more than I can tell you to findher again!'

'What could you possibly do for her, Pitt? You, reading law and livingin chambers in the Temple, --in London, --and she a grown young woman bythis time, and living in New York. No doubt her father is quite equalto taking care of her. '

Pitt made no reply. His mother repeated her question. 'What could youdo for her?'

She was looking at him keenly, and did not at all like a faint smilewhich hovered for a second upon his lips. 

'That is a secondary question, ' he said. 'The primary is, Where is she?I must go and find out. '

'Your father thinks they have gone back to England. It would just belost labour, Pitt. '

'Not if I found that was true. '

'What _could_ you do for them, if you could discover them?'

'Mother, that would depend on what condition they were in. I made apromise once to Colonel Gainsborough to look after his daughter. '

'A very extraordinary promise for him to ask or for you to give, seeingyou were but a boy at the time. '

'Somewhat extraordinary, perhaps. However, that is nothing to thematter. '

There was a little vexed pause, and then Mrs. Dallas said:

'In the meanwhile, instead of busying yourself with far-away claimswhich are no claims, what do you think of paying a little attention toa guest in your own house?'

Pitt lifted his head and seemed to prick up his ears. 

'Miss Frere? You wish me to take her to drive? I am willing, mamma. '

'Insensible boy! You ought to be very glad of the privilege. '

'I would rather take you, mother. '

The drive accordingly was proposed that very day; did not, however, come off. It was too hot, Miss Frere said. 

She was sitting in the broad verandah at the back of the house, whichlooked out over the garden. It was an orderly wilderness of cherrytrees and apple trees and plum trees, raspberry vines and gooseberrybushes; with marigolds and four o'clocks and love-in-a-puzzle andhollyhocks and daisies and larkspur, and a great many more sweet andhomely growths that nobody makes any account of nowadays. Sunlight justnow lay glowing upon it, and made the shade of the verandah doublypleasant, the verandah being further shaded by honeysuckle and trumpetcreeper which wreathed round the pillars and stretched up to the eaves, and the scent of the honeysuckle was mingled with the smell of roseswhich came up from the garden. In this sweet and bowery place MissFrere was sitting when she declared it was too hot to drive. She was inan India garden chair, and had her embroidery as usual in her hand. Shealways had something in her hand. Pitt lingered, languidlycontemplating the picture she made. 

'It _is_ hot, ' he assented. 

'When it is hot I keep myself quiet, ' she went on. 'You seem to be ofanother mind. '

'I make no difference for the weather. '

'Don't you? What energy! Then you are always at work?'

'Who said so?'

'I said so, as an inference. When the weather has been cool enough toallow me to take notice, I have noticed that you were busy aboutsomething. You tell me now that weather makes no difference. '

'Life is too short to allow weather to cut it shorter, ' said Pitt, throwing himself down on a mat. 'I think I have observed that you tooalways have some work in hand whenever I have seen you. '

'My work amounts to nothing, ' said the young lady. 'At least you wouldsay so, I presume. '

'What is it?'

Miss Betty displayed her roll of muslin, on the free portion of whichan elegant line of embroidery was slowly growing, multiplying andreproducing its white buds and leaves and twining shoots. Pitt regardedit with an unenlightened eye. 

'I am as wise as I was before, ' he said. 

'Why, look here, ' said the young lady, with a slight movement of herlittle foot calling his attention to the edge of her skirt, where asomewhat similar line of embroidery was visible. 'I am making a borderfor another gown. '

Pitt's eye went from the one embroidery to the other; he said nothing. 

'You are not complimentary, ' said Miss Frere. 

'I am not yet sure that there is anything to compliment. '

The young lady gave him a full view of her fine eyes for half a second, or perhaps it was only that they took a good look at him. 

'Don't you see, ' she said, 'that it is economy, and thrift, and all thehousehold virtues? Not having the money to buy trimming, I ammanufacturing it. '

'And the gown must be trimmed?'

'Unquestionably! You would not like it so well if it were not. '

'That is possible. The question remains'--

'What question?'

'Whether Life is not worth more than a bit of trimming. '

'Life!' echoed the young lady a little scornfully. 'An hour now andthen is not Life. '

'It is the stuff of which Life is made. '

'What is Life good for?'

'That is precisely the weightiest question that can occupy the mind ofa philosopher!'

'Are you a philosopher, Mr. Dallas!'

'In so far as a philosopher means a lover of knowledge. A philosopherwho has attained unto knowledge, I am not;--that sort of knowledge. '

'You have been studying it?'

'I have been studying it for years. '

'What Life is good for?' said the young lady, with again a lift of hereyes which expressed a little disdain and a little impatience. But shesaw Pitt's face with a thoughtful earnestness upon it; he was notwatching her eyes, as he ought to have been. Her somewhat petulantwords he answered simply. 

'What question of more moment can there be? I am here, a human creaturewith such and such powers and capacities; I am here for so many years, not numerous; what is the best thing I can do with them and myself?'

'Get all the good out of them you can. '

'Certainly! but you observe that is no answer to my question of "how. "'

'Good is pleasure, isn't it?'

'Is it?'

'I think so. '

'Make pleasure lasting, and perhaps I should agree with you. But howcan you do that?'

'You cannot do it, that ever I heard. It is not in the nature ofthings. '

'Then what is the good of pleasure when it is over, and you have givenyour life for it?'

'Well, if pleasure won't do, take greatness, then. '

'What sort of greatness?' Pitt asked in the same tone. It was the toneof one who had gone over the ground. 

'Any sort will do, I suppose, ' said Miss Frere, with half a laugh. 'Thething is, I believe, to be great, no matter how. I never had thatambition myself; but that is the idea, isn't it?'

'What is it worth, supposing it gained?'

'People seem to think it is worth a good deal, by the efforts they makeand the things they undergo for it. '

'Yes, ' said Pitt thoughtfully; 'they pay a great price, and they havetheir reward. And, I say, what is it worth?'

'Why, Mr. Dallas, ' said the young lady, throwing up her head, 'it isworth a great deal--all it costs. To be noble, to be distinguished, tobe great and remembered in the world, --what is a worthy ambition, ifthat is not?'

'That is the general opinion; but what is it _worth_, when all is done?Name any great man you think of as specially great'--

'Napoleon Buonaparte, ' said the young lady immediately. 

'Do not name _him_, ' said Pitt. 'He wore a brilliant crown, but he gotit out of the dirt of low passions and cold-hearted selfishness. Hisname will be remembered, but as a splendid example of wickedness. Namesome other. '

'Name one yourself, ' said Betty. 'I have succeeded so ill. '

'Name them all, ' said Pitt. 'Take all the conquerors, from Rameses theGreat down to our time; take all the statesmen, from Moses and onward. Take Apelles, at the head of a long list of wonderful painters;philosophers, from Socrates to Francis Bacon; discoverers andinventors, from the man who first made musical instruments, in thelifetime of Adam our forefather, to Watt and the steam engine. Take anyor all of them; _we_ are very glad they lived and worked, _we_ are thebetter for remembering them; but I ask you, what are they the betterfor it?'

This appeal, which was evidently meant in deep earnest, moved the mindof the young lady with so great astonishment that she looked at Pitt asat a _lusus naturae_. But he was quite serious and simply matter offact in his way of putting things. He looked at her, waiting for ananswer, but got none. 

'We speak of Alexander, and praise him to the skies, him of Macedon, Imean. What is that, do you think, to Alexander now?'

'If it is nothing to him, then what is the use of being great?' saidMiss Frere in her bewilderment. 

'You are coming back to my question. '

There ensued a pause, during which the stitches of embroidery weretaken slowly. 

'What do you intend to do with _your_ life, Mr. Dallas, since pleasureand fame are ruled out?' the young lady asked. 

'You see, that decision waits on the previous question, ' he answered. 

'But it has got to be decided, ' said Miss Frere, 'or you will be'--

'Nothing. Yes, I am aware of that. '

There was again a pause. 

'Miss Frere, ' Pitt then began again, 'did you ever see a person whosehappiness rested on a lasting foundation?'

The young lady looked at her companion anew as if he were to her a veryodd character. 

'What do you mean?' she said. 

'I mean, a person who was thoroughly happy, not because ofcircumstances, but in spite of them?'

'To begin with, I never saw anybody that was "thoroughly happy. " I donot believe in the experience. '

'I am obliged to believe in it. I have known a person who seemed to beclean lifted up out of the mud and mire of troublesome circumstances, and to have got up to a region of permanent clear air and sunshine. Ihave been envying that person ever since. '

'May I ask, was it a man or a woman?'

'Neither; it was a young girl. '

'It is easy to be happy at _that_ age. '

'Not for her. She had been very unhappy. '

'And got over it?'

'Yes; but not by virtue of her youth or childishness, as you suppose. She was one of those natures that are born with a great capacity forsuffering, and she had begun to find it out early; and it was from thedepths of unhappiness that she came out into clear and peacefulsunshine; with nothing to help her either in her external surroundings. '

'Couldn't you follow her steps and attain her experience?' asked MissFrere mockingly. 

Pitt rose up from the mat where he had been lying, laughed, and shookhimself. 

'As you will not go to drive, ' he said, 'I believe I will go alone. '

But he went on horseback, and rode hard. 

CHAPTER XXXV. 

_ANTIQUITIES_. 

As Pitt went off, Mrs. Dallas came on the verandah. 'You would not goto drive?' she said to Betty. 

'It is so hot, dear Mrs. Dallas! I had what was much better than adrive--a good long talk. '

'What do you think of my boy?' asked the mother, with an accent ofhappy confidence in which there was also a vibration of pride. 

'He puzzles me. Has he not some peculiar opinions?'

'Have you found that out already?' said Mrs. Dallas, with a change oftone. 'That shows he must like you very much, Betty; my son is notgiven to letting himself out on those subjects. Even to me he veryseldom speaks of them. '

'What subjects do you mean, dear Mrs. Dallas?' inquired the young ladysoftly. 

'I mean, ' said Mrs. Dallas uneasily and hesitating, 'some sort ofreligious questions. I told you he had had to do at one time withdissenting people, and I think their influence has been bad for him. Ihoped in England he would forget all that, and become a true Churchman. What did he say?'

'Nothing about the Church, or about religion. I do not believe it wouldbe easy for any one to influence him, Mrs. Dallas. '

'You can do it, Betty, if any one. I am hoping in you. '

The young lady, as I have intimated, was not averse to the task, allthe rather that it promised some difficulty. All the rather, too, thatshe was stimulated by the idea of counter influence. She recalled morethan once what Pitt had said of that 'young girl, ' and tried to makeout what had been in his tone at the time. No passion certainly; he hadspoken easily and frankly; too easily to favour the supposition of anyvery deep feeling; and yet, not without a certain cadence oftenderness, and undoubtedly with the confidence of intimate knowledge. Undoubtedly, also, the influence of that young person, whatever itsnature, had not died out. Miss Betty had little question in her ownmind that she must have been one of the persons referred to and dreadedby Mrs. Dallas as dissenters; and the young lady determined to do whatshe could in the case. She had a definite point of resistance now, andfelt stronger for the fray. 

The fray, however, could not be immediately entered upon. Pitt departedto New York, avowedly to look up the Gainsboroughs. And there, as twoyears before, he spent unwearied pains in pursuit of his object; also, as then, in vain. He returned after more than a week of absence, abaffled man. His arrival was just in time to allow him to sit down todinner with the family; so that Betty heard his report. 

'Have you found the Gainsboroughs?' his father asked. 

'No, sir. '

'Where did you look?'

'Everywhere. '

'What have you done?' his mother asked. 

'Everything. '

'I told you, I thought they were gone back to England. '

'If they are, there is no sign of it, and I do not believe it. I havespent hours and hours at the shipping offices, looking over the listsof passengers; and of one thing I am certain, they have not sailed fromthat port this year. '

'Not under the name by which you know them. '

'And not under any other. Colonel Gainsborough was not a man to hidehis head under an alias. But they know nothing of any ColonelGainsborough at the post office. '

'That is strange. '

'They never had many letters, you know, sir; and the colonel had givenup his English paper. I think I know all the people that take theLondon _Times_ in New York; and he is not one of them. '

'He is gone home, ' said Mr. Dallas comfortably. 

'I can find that out when I go back to England; and I will. '

Miss Betty said nothing, and asked never a word, but she lost none ofall this. Pitt was becoming a problem to her. All this eagerness andpainstaking would seem to look towards some very close relationsbetween the young man and these missing people; yet Pitt showed noannoyance nor signs of trouble at missing them. Was it that he did notreally care? was it that he had not accepted failure, and did not meanto fail? In either case, he must be a peculiar character, and in eithercase there was brought to light an uncommon strength of determination. There is hardly anything which women like better in the other sex thanforce of character. Not because it is a quality in which their own sexis apt to be lacking; on the contrary; but because it gives a womanwhat she wants in a man--something to lean upon, and somebody to lookup to. Miss Betty found herself getting more and more interested inPitt and in her charge concerning him; how it was to be executed shedid not yet see; she must leave that to chance. Nothing could be forcedhere. Where liking begins to grow, there also begins fear. 

She retreated to the verandah after dinner, with her embroidery. By andby Mrs. Dallas came there too. It was a pleasant place in theafternoon, for the sun was on the other side of the house, and the seabreeze swept this way, giving its saltness to the odours of rose andhoneysuckle and mignonette. Mrs. Dallas sat down and took her knitting;then, before a word could be exchanged, they were joined by Pitt. Thatis, he came on the verandah; but for some time there was no talking. The ladies would not begin, and Pitt did not. His attention, whereverit might be, was not given to his companions; he sat thoughtful, anddeterminately silent. Mrs. Dallas's knitting needles clicked, MissBetty's embroidering thread went noiselessly in and out. Bees hummedand flitted about the honeysuckle vines; there was a soft, sweet, luxurious atmosphere to the senses and to the mind. This went on for awhile. 

'Mr. Pitt, ' said Miss Betty, 'you are giving me no help at all. '

He brought himself and his attention round to her at once, and askedhow he could be of service. 

'Your mother, ' began Miss Betty, stitching away, 'has given me acommission concerning you. She desires me to see to it that _ennui_does not creep upon you during your vacation in this unexciting place. How do I know but it is creeping upon you already? and you give me nochance to drive it away. '

Pitt laughed a little. 'I was never attacked by _ennui_ in my life, ' hesaid. 

'So you do not want my services!'

'Not to fight an enemy that is nowhere in sight. Perhaps he is yourenemy, and I might be helpful in another way. '

It occurred to him that _he_ had been charged to make Miss Frere'ssojourn in Seaforth pleasant; and some vague sense of what this mutualcharge might mean dawned upon him, with a rising light of amusement. 

'I don't know!' said the young lady. 'You did once propose a drive. Ifyou would propose it again, perhaps I would go. We cannot help itsbeing hot?'

So they went for a drive. The roads were capital, the evening waslovely, the horses went well, and the phaeton was comfortable; if thatwere not enough, it was all. Miss Frere bore it for a while patiently. 

'Do you dislike talking?' she asked at length meekly, when a soft bitof road and the slow movement of the horses gave her a good opportunity. 

'I? Not at all!' said Pitt, rousing himself as out of a muse. 

'Then I wish you would talk. Mrs. Dallas desires that I shouldentertain you; and how am I to do that unless I know you better?'

'So you think people's characters come out in talking?'

'If not their characters, at least something of what is in theirheads--what they know--and don't know; what they can talk about, inshort. '

'I do not know anything--to talk about. '

'Oh, fie, Mr. Dallas! you who have been to Oxford and London. Tell me, what is London like? An overgrown New York, I suppose. '

'No, neither. "Overgrown" means grown beyond strength or usefulness. London is large, but not overgrown, in any sense. '

'Well, like New York, only larger?'

'No more than a mushroom is like a great old oak. London is like that;an old oak, gnarled and twisted and weather-worn, with plenty of halelife and young vigour springing out of its rugged old roots. '

'That sounds--poetical. '

'If you mean, not true, you are under a mistake. '

'Then it seems you know London?'

'I suppose I do; better than many of those who live in it. When I amthere, Miss Frere, I am with an old uncle, who is an antiquary and anenthusiast on the subject of his native city. From the first it hasbeen his pleasure to go with me all over London, and tell me thesecrets of its old streets, and show me what was worth looking at. London was my picture-book, my theatre, where I saw tragedy and comedytogether; my museum of antiquities. I never tire of it, and my UncleStrahan is never tired of showing it to me. '

'Why, what is it to see?' asked Miss Frere, with some real curiosity. 

'For one thing, it is an epitome of English history, strikinglyillustrated. '

'Oh, you mean Westminster Abbey! Yes, I have heard of that, of course. But I should think _that_ was not interminable. '

'I do not mean Westminster Abbey. '

'What then, please?'

'I cannot tell you here, ' said Pitt smiling, as the horses, havingfound firm ground, set off again at a gay trot. 'Wait till we get home, and I will show you a map of London. '

The young lady, satisfied with having gained her object, waited verypatiently, and told Mrs. Dallas on reaching home that the drive hadbeen delightful. 

Next day Pitt was as good as his word. He brought his map of Londoninto the cool matted room where the ladies were sitting, rolled up atable, and spread the map out before Miss Frere. The young lady droppedher embroidery and gave her attention. 

'What have you there, Pitt?' his mother inquired. 

'London, mamma. '

'London?' Mrs. Dallas drew up her chair too, where she could look on;while Pitt briefly gave an explanation of the map; showed where was the'City' and where the fashionable quarter. 

'I suppose, ' said Miss Frere, studying the map, 'the parts of Londonthat delight you are over here?' indicating the West End. 

'No, ' returned Pitt, 'by no means. The City and the Strand areinfinitely more interesting. '

'My dear, ' said his mother, 'I do not see how that can be. '

'It is true, though, mother. All this, ' drawing his finger round acertain portion of the map, 'is crowded with the witnesses of humanlife and history; full of remains that tell of the men of the past, andtheir doings, and their sufferings. '

Miss Frere's fine eyes were lifted to him in inquiry; meeting them, hesmiled, and went on. 

'I must explain. Where shall I begin? Suppose, for instance, we takeour stand here at Whitehall. We are looking at the Banqueting House ofthe Palace, built by Inigo Jones for James I. The other buildings ofthe palace, wide and splendid as they were, have mostly perished. Thisstands yet. I need not tell you the thoughts that come up as we look atit. '

'Charles I was executed there, I know. What else?'

'There is a whole swarm of memories, and a whole crowd of images, belonging to the palace of which this was a part. Before the time youspeak of, there was Cardinal Wolsey'--

'Oh, Wolsey! I remember. '

'His outrageous luxury and pomp of living, and his disgrace. Then comesHenry VIII. , and Anne Boleyn, and their marriage; Henry's splendours, and his death. All that was here. In those days the buildings ofWhitehall were very extensive, and they were further enlargedafterwards. Here Elizabeth held her court, and here she lay in stateafter death. James I comes next; he built the Banqueting House. And inhis son's time, the royal magnificence displayed at Whitehall wasincomparable. All the gaieties and splendours and luxury of living thatthen were possible, were known here. And here was the scaffold where hedied. The next figure is Cromwell's. '

'Leave him out!' said Mrs. Dallas, with a sort of groan of impatience. 

'What shall I do with the next following, mamma? That is Charles II. '

'He had a right there at least. '

'He abused it. '

'At least he was a king, and a gentleman. '

'If I could show you Whitehall as it was in his day, mother, I thinkyou would not want to look long. But I shall not try. We will go on toCharing Cross. The old palace extended once nearly so far. Here is theplace. ' He pointed to a certain spot on the map. 

'What is there now?' asked Betty. 

'Not the old Cross. That is gone; but, of course, I cannot stand therewithout in thought going back to Edward I. And his queen. In its placeis a brazen statue of Charles I. And in fact, when I stand there thewinds seem to sweep down upon me from many a mountain peak of history. Edward and his rugged greatness, and Charles and his weak folly; andthe Protectorate, and the Restoration. For here, where the statuestands, stood once the gallows where Harrison and his companions wereexecuted, when "the king had his own again. " Sometimes I can hardly seethe present, when I am there, for looking at the past. '

'You are enthusiastic, ' said Miss Frere. 'But I understand it. Yes, that is not like New York; not much!'

'What became of the Cross, Pitt?'

'Pulled down, mother--like everything else in its day. '

'Who pulled it down?'

'The Republicans. '

'The Republicans! Yes, it was like them!' said Mrs. Dallas. 'Rebellion, dissent, and a want of feeling for whatever is noble and refined, allgo together. That was the Puritans!'

'Pretty strong!' said Pitt. 'And not quite fair either, is it? How muchfeeling for what is noble and refined was there in the court of thesecond Charles?--and how much of either, if you look below the surface, was in the policy or the character of the first Charles?'

'He did not destroy pictures and pull down statues, ' said Mrs. Dallas. 'He was at least a gentleman. But the Puritans were a low set, always. I cannot forgive them for the work they did in England. '

'You may thank heaven for some of the work they did. But for them, youwould not be here to-day in a land of freedom. '

'Too much freedom, ' said Mrs. Dallas. 'I believe it is good to have aking over a country. '

'Well, go on from Charing Cross, won't you, ' said Miss Frere. 'I aminterested. I never studied a map of London before. I am not sure Iever saw one. '

'I do not know which way to go, ' said Pitt. 'Every step brings us tonew associations; every street opens up a chapter of history. Here isNorthumberland House; a grand old building, full of its records. Howards and Percys and Seymours have owned it and built it; and thereGeneral Monk planned the bringing back of the Stuarts. Going along theStrand, every step is full of interest. Just _here_ used to be thepalace of Sir Nicholas Baron and his son; then James the First'sfavourite, the Duke of Buckingham, lived in it; and the beautifulwater-gate is yet standing which Inigo Jones built for him. All theStrand was full of palaces which have passed away, leaving behind thenames of their owners in the streets which remain or have been builtsince. Here Sir Walter Raleigh lived; _here_ the Dudleys had theirabode, and Lady Jane Grey was married; here was the house of LordBurleigh. But let us go on to the church of St. Mary-le-Strand. Hereonce stood a great Maypole, round which there used to be merry doings. The Puritans took that down too, mother. '

'What for?'

'They held it to be in some sort a relic of heathen manners. Then underCharles II. It was set up again. And here, once, four thousand childrenwere gathered and sang a hymn, on some public occasion of triumph inQueen Anne's reign. '

'It is not there now?'

'Oh, no! It was given to Sir Isaac Newton, and made to subserve theuses of a telescope. '

'How do you know all these things, Mr. Pitt. '

'Every London antiquary knows them, I suppose. And I told you, I havean old uncle who is a great antiquary; London is his particular hobby. '

'He must have had an apt scholar, though. '

'Much liking makes good learning, I suppose, ' said the young man. 'Alittle further on is the church of St. Clement Danes, where Dr. Johnsonused to attend divine service. About _here_ stands Temple Bar. '

'Temple Bar!' said Miss Frere. 'I have heard of Temple Bar all my life, and never connected any clear idea with the name. What _is_ Temple Bar?'

'It is not very much of a building. It is the barrier which marks thebound of the city of London. '

'Isn't it London on both sides of Temple Bar?'

'London, but not the City. The City proper begins here. On the west ofthis limit is Westminster. '

'There are ugly associations with Temple Bar, I know, ' said Miss Frere. 

'There are ugly associations with everything. Down here stood EssexHouse, where Essex defended himself, and from which he was carried offto the Tower. _There_, in Lincoln's Inn fields, Thomas Babington andhis party died for high treason, and there Russell died. And just uphere is Smithfield. It is all over, the record of violence, intolerance, and brutality. It meets you at every turn. '

'It is only what would be in any other place as old as London, ' saidMrs. Dallas. 'In old times people were rough, of course, but they wererough everywhere. '

'I was thinking'-- said Miss Frere. 'Mr. Dallas gives a somewhatsingular justification of his liking for London. '

'Is it?' said Pitt. 'It would be singular if the violence were therenow; but to read the record and look on the scene is interesting, andfor me fascinating. The record is of other things too. See, --in thisplace Milton lived and wrote; here Franklin abode; here Charles Lamb;from an inn in this street Bishop Hooper went away to die. And so Imight go on and on. At every step there is the memorial of some greatman's life, or some noted man's death. And with all that, there arealso the most exquisite bits of material antiquity. Old picturesquehouses; old crypts of former churches, over which stands now a modernrepresentative of the name; old monuments many; old doorways, andcourts, and corners, and gateways. Come over to London, and I will takeyou down into the crypt of St. Paul's, and show you how history ispresented to you there. '

'The crypt?' said Miss Frere, doubting somewhat of this invitation. 

'Yes, the old monuments are in the crypt. '

'My dear, ' said Mrs. Dallas, 'I do not understand how all these thingsyou have been talking about should have so much charm for you. I shouldthink the newer and handsomer parts of the city, the parks and thegardens, and the fine squares, would be a great deal more agreeable. '

'To live in, mother. '

'And don't you go to the British Museum, and to the Tower, and to HydePark?'

'I have been there hundreds of times. '

'And like these old corners still?'

'I am very fond of the Museum. '

'There is nothing like that is this country, ' said Mrs. Dallas, with anaccent of satisfaction. 

CHAPTER XXXVI. 

_INTERPRETATIONS_. 

Miss Betty hereupon begged to be told more distinctly what was in theBritish Museum, that anybody should go there 'hundreds of times. ' Pittpresently got warm in his subject, and talked long and well; as manypeople will do when they are full of their theme, even when they cantalk upon nothing else. Pitt was not one of those people; he could talkwell upon anything, and now he made himself certainly veryentertaining. His mother thought so, who cared nothing for the BritishMuseum except in so far that it was a great institution of an oldcountry, which a young country could not rival. She listened to Pitt. Miss Betty gave him even more profound interest and unflaggingattention; whether she too were not studying the speaker full as muchas the things spoken, I will not say. They had a very pleasant morningof it; conversation diverging sometimes to Assyria and Egypt, andancient civilizations and arts, and civilization in general. Mrs. Dallas gradually drew back from mingling in the talk, and watched, wellpleased, to see how eager the two other speakers became, and how theywere lost in their subject and in each other. 

In the afternoon there was another drive, to which Pitt did not need tobe stimulated; and all the evening the two young people were busy withsomething which engaged them both. Mrs. Dallas breathed freer. 

'I _think_ he is smitten, ' she said privately to her husband. 'Howcould he help it? He has seen nobody else to be smitten with. '

But Betty Frere was not sure of any such thing; and the very fact ofPitt's disengagedness made him more ensnaring to her. There was nobodyelse in the village to divert his attention, and the two young peoplewere thrown very much together. They went driving, they rode, and theytalked, continually. The map of London was often out, and Mrs. Dallassaw the two heads bent over it, and interested faces looking into eachother; and she thought things were going on very fairly. If only thevacation were not so short! For only a little time more, and Pitt mustbe back at his chambers in London. The mother sighed to herself. Shewas paying rather a heavy price to keep her son from Dissenters!

Betty Frere too remembered that the vacation was coming to an end, anddrew her breath rather short. She was depending on Pitt too much forher amusement, she told herself, and to be sure there were other youngmen in the world that could talk; but she felt a sort of disgust at thethought of them all. They were not near so interesting. They allflattered her, and some of them were supposed to be brilliant; butBetty turned from the thought of them to the one whose lips nevercondescended to say pretty things, nor made any effort to say wittythings. They behaved towards her with a sort of obsequious reverence, which was the fashion of that day much more than of this; and Bettyliked far better a manner which never made pretence of anything, wasthoroughly natural and perfectly well-bred, but which frankly paid morehonour to his mother than to herself. She admired Pitt's behaviour tohis mother. Even to his mother it had less formality than was thecustom of the day; while it gave her every delicate little attentionand every possible graceful observance. The young beauty had senseenough to see that this promised more for Pitt's future wife than anyamount of civil subserviency to herself. Perhaps there is not a qualitywhich women value more in a man, or miss more sorely, than what weexpress by the term manliness. And she saw that Pitt, while he wasenthusiastic and eager, and what she called fanciful, always was true, honest, and firm in what he thought right. From that no fancy carriedhim away. 

And Miss Betty found the days pass with almost as much charm asfleetness. How fleet they were she did not bear to think. She foundherself recognising Pitt's step, distinguishing his voice in thedistance, and watching for the one and the other. Why not? He was sopleasant as a companion. But she found herself also starting when heappeared suddenly, thrilled at the unexpected sound of his voice, andconscious of quickened pulses when he came into the room. Betty did notlike these signs in herself; at the same time, that which had wroughtthe spell continued to work, and the spell was not broken. In justiceto the young lady, I must say that there was not the slightest outwardtoken of it. Betty was as utterly calm and careless in her manner asPitt himself; so that even Mrs. Dallas--and a woman in those matterssees far--could not tell whether either or both of the young people hada liking for the other more than the social good-fellowship which wasfrank and apparent. It might be, and she confessed also to herself thatit might not be. 

'You must give that fellow time, ' said her husband. Which Mrs. Dallasknew, if she had not been so much in a hurry. 

'If he met those Gainsboroughs by chance, I would not answer foranything, ' she said. 

'How should he meet them? They are probably as poor as rats, and havedrawn into some corner, out of the way. He will never see them. '

'Pitt is so persistent!' said Mrs. Dallas uneasily. 

'He'll be back in England in a few weeks. '

'But when he comes again!'

'He shall not come again. We will go over to see him ourselves nextyear. '

'That is a very good thought, ' said Mrs. Dallas. 

And, comforted by this thought and the plans she presently began toweave in with it, she looked now with much more equanimity than Bettyherself towards the end of Pitt's visit. Mrs. Dallas, however, was notto get off without another shock to her nerves. 

It was early in September, and the weather of that sultry, hot, andmoist character which we have learned to look for in connection withthe first half of that month. Miss Frere's embroidery went languidly;possibly there might have been more reasons than one for the slow andspiritless movement of her fingers, which was quite contrary to theirnormal habit. Mrs. Dallas, sitting at a little distance on theverandah, was near enough to hear and observe what went on when Pittcame upon the scene, and far enough to be separated from theconversation unless she chose to mix in it. By and by he came, lookingthoughtful, as Betty saw, though she hardly seemed to notice hisapproach. There was no token in her quiet manner of the quickenedpulses of which she was immediately conscious. Something like atremulous thrill ran through her nerves; it vexed her to be so littlemistress of them, yet the pleasure of the thrill at the moment was morethan the pain. Pitt threw himself into a chair near her, and for a fewmoments watched the play of her needle. Betty's eyelashes neverstirred. But the silence lasted too long. Nerves would not bear it. 

'What can you find to do in this weather, Mr. Pitt?' she askedlanguidly. 

'It is good weather, ' he answered absently. 'Do you ever read theBible?'

Miss Betty's fine eyes were lifted now with an expression of someamusement. They were very fine eyes; Mrs. Dallas thought they could notfail of their effect. 

'The Bible?' she repeated. 'I read the lessons in the Prayer-book; thatis the same. '

'Is it the same? Is the whole Bible contained in the lessons?'

'I don't know, I am sure, ' she answered doubtfully. 'I think so. Thereis a great deal of it. '

'But you read it piecemeal so. '

'You must read it piecemeal any way, ' returned the young lady. 'You canread only a little each day; a portion. '

'You could read consecutively, though, or you could choose foryourself. '

'I like to have the choice made for me. It saves time; and then one issure one has got hold of the right portion, you know. I like thelessons. '

'And then, ' remarked Mrs. Dallas, 'you know other people and yourfriends are reading that same portion at the same time, and the feelingis very sacred and sweet. '

'But if the Bible was intended to be read in such a way, how comes itthat we have no instruction to that end?'

'Instruction was given, ' said Mrs. Dallas. 'The Church has ordered it. '

'The Church' said Pitt thoughtfully. 'Who is the Church?'

'Why, my dear, ' said Mrs. Dallas, 'don't ask such questions. You knowas well as I do. '

'As I understand it, mother, what you mean is simply a body ofChristians who lived some time ago. '

'Yes. Well, what then?'

'I do not comprehend how they should know what you and I want to readto-day. I am not talking of Church services. I am talking of privatereading. '

'But it is pleasant and convenient, ' said Betty. 

'May be very inappropriate. '

'Pitt, ' said his mother, 'I wish you would not talk so! It is reallyvery wrong. This comes of your way of questioning and reasoning abouteverything. What we have to do with the Church is to _obey_. '

'And that is what we have to do with the Bible, isn't it?' he saidgravely. 

'Undoubtedly. '

'Well, mother, I am not talking to you; I am attacking Miss Frere. Ican talk to her on even terms. Miss Frere, I want to know what youunderstand by obeying, when we are speaking of the demands of theBible?'

'Obeying? I understand just what I mean by it anywhere. '

'Obeying what?'

'Why, obeying God, of course. '

'Of course! But how do we know what His commands are?'

'By the words--how else?' she asked, looking at him. He was in earnest, for some reason, she saw, and she forbore from the light words withwhich at another time she would have given a turn to the subject. 

'Then you think, distinctly, that we ought to obey the words of theBible?'

'Ye-s, ' she said, wondering what was coming. 

'_All_ the words?'

'Yes, I suppose so. All the words, according to their real meaning. '

'How are we to know what that is?'

'I suppose--the Church tells us. '

'Where?'

'I do not know--in books, I suppose. '

'What books? But we are going a little wild. May I bring you aninstance or two? I am talking in earnest, and mean it earnestly. '

'Do you ever do anything in any other way?' asked the young lady, witha charming air of fine raillery and recognition blended. 'Certainly; Iam in earnest too. '

Pitt went away and returned with a book in his hand. 

'What have you there? the Prayer-book?' his mother asked, with adoubtful expression. 

'No, mamma; I like to go to the Fountain-head of authority as well asof learning. '

'The Fountain-head!' exclaimed Mrs. Dallas, in indignant protest; andthen she remembered her wisdom, and said no more. It cost her aneffort; however, she knew that for her to set up a defence of eitherChurch or Prayer-book just then would not be wise, and that she hadbetter leave the matter in Betty's hands. She looked at Bettyanxiously. The young lady's face showed her cool and collected, notlikely to be carried away by any stream of enthusiasm or overborne byinfluence. It was, in fact, more cool than she felt. She liked to getinto a good talk with Pitt upon any subject, and so far was content; atthe same time she would rather have chosen any other than this, and wasa little afraid whereto it might lead. Religion had not been preciselyher principal study. True, it had not been his principal study either;but Betty discerned a difference in their modes of approaching it. Sheattributed that to the Puritan or dissenting influences which had atsome time got hold of him. To thwart those would at any rate be a goodwork, and she prepared herself accordingly. 

Pitt opened his book and turned over a few leaves. 

'To begin with, ' he said, 'you admit that whatever this book commandswe are bound to obey?'

'Provided we understand it, ' his opponent put in. 

'Provided we understand it, of course. A command not understood ishardly a command. Now here is a word which has struck me, and I wouldlike to know how it strikes you. '

He turned to the familiar twenty-fifth of Matthew and read the centralportion, the parable of the talents. He read like an interested man, and perhaps it was owing to a slight unconscious intonation here andthere that Pitt's two hearers listened as if the words were strangelynew to them. They had never heard them sound just so. Yet the readingwas not dramatic at all; it was only a perfectly natural and feelingdeliverance. But feeling reaches feeling, as we all know. The readingceased, nobody spoke for several minutes. 

'What does it mean?' asked Pitt. 

'My dear, ' said his mother, 'can there be a question what it means? Thewords are perfectly simple, it seems to me. '

'Mamma, I am not talking to you. You may sit as judge and arbiter; butit is Miss Frere and I who are disputing. She will have the goodness toanswer. '

'I do not know what to answer, ' said the young lady. 'Are not thewords, as Mrs. Dallas says, perfectly plain?'

'Then surely it cannot be difficult to say what the teaching of themis?'

If it was not difficult, the continued silence of the lady wasremarkable. She made no further answer. 

'_Are_ they so plain? I have been puzzling over them. I will divide thequestion, and perhaps we can get at the conclusion better so. In thefirst place, who are these "servants" spoken of?'

'Everybody, I suppose. You have the advantage of me, Mr. Dallas; I have_not_ been studying the passage. '

'Yet you admit that we are bound to obey it. '

'Yes, ' she said doubtfully. 'Obey what?'

'That is precisely what I want to find out. Now the servants; theycannot mean everybody, for it says, he "called _his own_ servants;" theGreek is "bond-servants. "'

'His servants would be His Church then. '

'His own people. "He delivered unto them His goods. " What are the goodshe delivered to them? Some had more, some had less; all had a share anda charge. What are these goods?'

'I don't know, ' said Miss Frere, looking at him. 

'What were they to do with these goods?'

'Trade with them, it seems. '

'In Luke the command runs so: "Trade till I come. " Trading is a processby which the goods or the money concerned are multiplied. What are thegoods given to you and me?--to bring the question down into thepractical. It must be something with which we may increase the wealthof Him who has entrusted it to us. '

'Pitt, that is a very strange way of speaking, ' said his mother. 

'I am talking to Miss Frere, mamma. You have only to hear and judgebetween us. Miss Frere, the question comes to you. '

'I should say it is not possible to increase "His wealth. "'

'That is not _my_ putting of the case, remember. And also, everyenlargement of His dominion in this world, every addition made to thenumber of His subjects, may be fairly spoken of so. The questionstands, What are the goods? That is, if you like to go into it. I amnot catechizing you, ' said Pitt, half laughing. 

'I do not dislike to be catechized, ' said Miss Frere slowly. _By you_, was the mental addition. 'But I never had such a question put to mebefore, and I am not ready with an answer. '

'I never heard the question discussed either, ' said Pitt. 'But I wasreading this passage yesterday, and could not help starting it. The"goods" must be, I think, all those gifts or powers by means of whichwe can work for God, and so work as to enlarge His kingdom. Now, whatare they?'

'Of course we can pay money, ' said the young lady, looking a good dealmystified. 'We can pay money to support ministers, if that is what youmean. '

'So much is patent enough. Is money the only thing?'

Miss Frere looked bewildered, Mrs. Dallas impatient. She restrainedherself, however, and waited. Pitt smiled. 

'We pay money to support ministers and teachers. What do the ministerswork with? what do they _trade_ with?'

'The truth, I suppose. '

'And how do they make the truth known? By their lips, and by theirlives; the power of the word, with the power of personal influence. '

'Yes, ' said Miss Frere; 'of course. '

'Then the goods, or talents, so far as they are commonly possessed, andso far as we have discovered, are three: property, speech, and personalexample. But the two last are entrusted to you and me, are they not, aswell as the former?'

The girl looked at him now with big eyes, in which no shadow ofself-consciousness was any more lurking. Eyes that were bewildered, astonished, inquiring, and also disturbed. 'What do you mean?' she saidhelplessly. 

'It comes to this, ' said Pitt. 'If we are ready to obey the Bible, weshall use not only our money, but our tongues and ourselves to do thework which--you know--the Lord left to His disciples to do; makedisciples of every creature. It will be our one business. '

'How do you mean, our one business?'

'That to which we make all others subservient. '

'Subservient! Yes, ' said Miss Frere. 'Subservient in a way; but thatdoes not mean that we should give up everything else for it. '

Pitt was silent. 

'My dear boy, ' said his mother anxiously, 'it seems to me you arestraining things quite beyond what is intended. We are not all meant tobe clergymen, are we?'

'That is not the point, mamma. The point is, what work is given us?'

'That work you speak of is clergymen's work. '

'Mamma, what is the command?'

'But that does not mean everybody. '

'Where is the excepting clause?'

'But, my dear, what would become of Society?'

'We may leave that. We are talking of obeying the Bible. I have givenyou one instance. Now I will give you another. It is written overhere, ' and he turned a few leaves, --'it is another word of Christ tothose whom He was teaching, --"If any man serve me, let him follow me. "Now here is a plain command; but what is it to follow Christ?'

'To imitate him, I suppose, ' said Miss Frere, to whom he looked. 

'In what?'

The young lady looked at him in silence, and then said, 'Why, we allknow what it means when we say that such a person or such a thing isChristlike. Loving, charitable, kind'--

'But to _follow_ Him, --that is something positive and active. Literalfollowing a person is to go where he has gone, through all the pathsand to all the places. In the spiritual following, which is intendedhere, --what is it? It is to do as He did, is it not? To have His aimsand purposes and views in life, and to carry them out logically. '

'What do you mean by "logically"?'

'According to their due and proper sequences. '

'Well, what are you driving at?' asked Miss Frere a little worriedly. 

'I will tell you. But I do not mean to drive _you_, ' he said, againwith a little laugh, as of self-recollection. 'Tell me to stop, if youare tired of the subject. '

'I am not in the least tired; how could you think it? It alwaysdelights me when people talk logically. I do not very often hear it. But I never heard of logical religion before. '

'True religion must be logical, must it not?'

'I thought religion was rather a matter of feeling. '

'I believe I used to think so. '

'And pray, what is it, then, Pitt?' his mother asked. 

'Look here, mamma. "If any man will serve me, _let him follow me_. "'

'Well, what do you understand by that, Pitt? You are going too fast forme. I thought the love of God was the whole of religion. '

'But here is the "following, " mamma. '

'What sort of following?'

'That is what I am asking. As it cannot be in bodily, so it must be inmental footsteps. '

'I do not understand you, ' said his mother, with an air both vexed andanxious; while Miss Frere had now let her embroidery fall, and wasgiving her best consideration to the subject and the speaker. She was alittle annoyed too, but she was more interested. This was a differentsort of conversation from any she had been accustomed to hear, and Pittwas a different sort of speaker. He was not talking to kill time, or toplease her; he was--most wonderful and rare!--in earnest; and that notin any matter that involved material interests. She had seen people inearnest before on matters of speculation and philosophy, often onstocks and schemes for making money, in earnest violently on questionsof party politics; but in earnest for the truth's sake, never, in allher life. It was a new experience, and Pitt was a novel kind of person;manly, straightforward, honest; quite a person to be admired, to berespected, to be-- Where were her thoughts running?

He had sat silent a moment, after his mother's last remark; gravelythinking. Betty brought him back to the point. 

'You will tell us what you think "following" means?' she said gently. 

'I will tell _you_, ' he said, smiling. 'I am not supposed to bespeaking to mamma. If you will look at the way Christ went, you willsee what following Him must be. In the first place, Self was nowhere. '

'Yes, ' said Miss Frere. 

'Who is ready to follow Him in that?'

'But, my dear boy!' cried Mrs. Dallas. 'We are human creatures; wecannot help thinking of ourselves; we are _meant_ to think ofourselves. Everybody must think of self; or the world would not holdtogether. '

'I am speaking to Miss Frere, ' he said pleasantly. 

'I confess I think so too, Mr. Dallas. Of course, we ought not to be_selfish;_ that means, I suppose, to think of self unduly; but wherewould the world be, if everybody, as you say, put self nowhere?'

'I will go on to another point. Christ went about doing good. It wasthe one business of His life. Whenever and wherever He went among men, He went to heal, to help, to teach, or to warn. Even when He wasresting among friends in the little household at Bethany, He wasteaching, and one of the household at least sat at His feet to listen. '

'Yes, and left her sister to do all the work, ' remarked Mrs. Dallas. 

'The Lord said she had done right, mamma. '

There ensued a curious silence. The two ladies sat looking at Pitt, each apparently possessed by a kind of troubled dismay; neither readywith an answer. The pause lasted till both of them felt what itimplied, and both began to speak at once. 

'But, my son'--

'But, Mr. Dallas!'--

'Miss Frere, mamma. Let her speak. ' And turning to the young lady witha slight bow, he intimated his willingness to hear her. Miss Frere wasnevertheless not very ready. 

'Mr. Dallas, do I understand you? Can it be that you mean--I do notknow how to put it, --do you mean that you think that everybody, thatall of us, and each of us, ought to devote his life to helping andteaching?'

'It can be of no consequence what I think, ' he said. 'The question issimply, what is "following Christ"?'

'Being His disciple, I should say. '

'What is that?' he replied quickly. 'I have been studying that verypoint; and do you know it is said here, and it was said then, "Whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he hath, he cannotbe my disciple"?'

'But what do you mean, Pitt?' his mother asked in indignantconsternation. 

'What did the Lord mean, mother?' he returned very gravely. 

'Are we all heathen, then?' she went on with heat. 'For I never sawanybody yet in my life that took such a view of religion as you aretaking. '

'Do we know exactly Mr. Pitt's view?' here put in the other lady. 'Iconfess I do not. I wish he would say. '

'I have been studying it, ' said Pitt, with an earnest gravity of mannerwhich gave his mother yet more trouble than his words. 'I have gone tothe Greek for it; and there the word rendered "forsake" is one thatmeans to "take leave of"--"bid farewell. " And if we go to history forthe explanation, we do find that that was the attitude of mind whichthose must needs assume in that day who were disposed to follow Christ. The chances were that they would be called upon to give up all--evenlife--as the cost of their following. They would begin by a secrettaking leave, don't you see?'

'But the times are not such now, ' Miss Frere ventured. 

Pitt did not answer. He sat looking at the open page of his Bible, evidently at work with the problem suggested there. The two womenlooked at him; and his mother got rid as unobtrusively as possible of avexed and hot tear that would come. 

'Mr. Dallas, ' Miss Frere urged again, 'these are not times ofpersecution any more. We can be Christians--disciples--and retain allour friends and possessions; can we not?'

'Can we without "taking leave" of them?'

'Certainly. I think so. '

'I do not see it!' he said, after another pause. 'Do you think anybodywill be content to put self nowhere, as Christ did, giving up his wholelife and strength--and means--to the help and service of his fellowmen, _unless_ he has come to that mental attitude we were speaking of?No, it seems to me, and the more I think of it the more it seems to me, that to follow Christ means to give up seeking honour or riches orpleasure, except so far as they may be sought and used in His service. I mean _for_ His service. All I read in the Bible is in harmony withthat view. '

'But how comes it then that nobody takes it, ' said Miss Frere uneasily. 

'I suppose, ' said Pitt slowly, 'for the same reason that has kept mefor years from accepting it;--because it was so difficult. '

'But religion cannot be a difficult thing, my dear son, ' said Mrs. Dallas. 

He looked up at her and smiled, an affectionate, very expressive, wistful smile. 

'Can it not, mother? What mean Christ's words here, --"Whosoever dothnot _take up his cross_ and follow me, he cannot be my disciple"? Thecross meant shame, torture, and death, in those days; and I think in amodified way, it means the same thing now. It means something. '

'But Mr. Pitt, you do not answer my argument, ' Miss Frere repeated. 'Ifthis view is correct, how comes it that nobody takes it but you?'

'Your argument is where the dew is after a hot sun, --nowhere. Insteadof nobody taking this view, it has been held by hundreds of thousands, who, like the first disciples, _have_ forsaken all and followed Him. Rather than be false to it they have endured the loss of all things, they have given up father and mother, they have borne torture and facedthe lions. In later days, they have been chased and worried fromhiding-place to hiding-place, they have been cut down by the sword, buried alive, thrown from the tops of rocks, and burned at the stake. And in peacefuller times they have left their homes and countries andgone to the ends of the earth to tell the gospel. They have done whatwas given them to do, without regarding the cost of it. '

'Then you think all the people who fill our churches are no Christians!'

'I say nothing about the people who fill our churches. '

Pitt rose here. 

'But, Mr. Dallas, how can all the world be so mistaken? Our clergymen, our bishops, do not preach such doctrine as you do, if I understandyou. '

'That has been a great puzzle to me, ' he said. 

'Is it not enough to make you doubt?'

'Can I question the words I have read to you?'

'No, but perhaps your interpretation of them. '

'When you have got down to the simplest possible English, there is noroom that I see for interpretation. "Follow me" can mean nothing but"follow me;" and "forsaking all" is not a doubtful expression. '

The discussion would probably have gone on still further, but the elderDallas's step was heard in the house, and Pitt went away with his book. 

CHAPTER XXXVII. 

_A STAND_. 

Mrs. Dallas was very deeply disturbed. She saw in these strange viewsof Pitt's all sorts of possible dangers to what she had hoped would behis future career in life. Even granting that they were a youthfulfolly and would pass away, how soon would they pass away? and in themeantime what chances Pitt might lose, what time might be wasted, whatfatal damage his prospects might suffer! And Pitt held a thing so fastwhen he had once taken it up. Almost her only hope lay in Betty'sinfluence. 

Betty herself was disturbed, much more than she cared to have known. If_this_ fascination got hold of Pitt, she knew very well he would, forthe time at least, be open to no other. Her ordinary power would begone; he would see in her nothing but a talking machine with whom hecould discuss things. It was not speculation merely that busied histhoughts now, she could see; not mere philosophy, or study of humannature; Pitt was carrying all these Bible words in upon himself, comparing them with himself, and working away at the discrepancy. Something that he called conscience was engaged, and restless. Bettysaw that there was but one thing left for her to do. Diversion was notpossible; she could not hope to turn Pitt aside from his quest aftertruth; she must seem to take part in it, and so gain her advantage fromwhat threatened to be her discomfiture. 

The result of all which was, that after this there came to be a greatdeal of talk between the two upon Bible subjects, intermingled with nota little reading aloud from the Bible itself. This was at Betty'sinstance, rather than Pitt's. When she could she got him out for a walkor a drive; in the house (and truly, often out of the house too) shethrew herself with great apparent interest into the study of thequestions that had been started, along with others collateral, anddesired to learn and desired to discuss all that could be known aboutthem. So there were, as I said, continual Bible readings, mingledoccasionally with references to some old commentary; and Betty and Pittsat very near together, looking over the same page; and remained longin talk, looking eagerly into one another's eyes. Mrs. Dallas was notsatisfied. 

She came upon Betty one day in the verandah, just after Pitt had lefther. The young lady was sitting with her hand between the leaves of aBible, and a disturbed, far-away look in her eyes, which might havebeen the questioning of a troubled conscience, or--of a very differentfeeling. She roused up as Mrs. Dallas came to her, and put on asomewhat wan smile. 

'Where is Pitt?'

'Going to ride somewhere, I believe. '

'What have you got there? the Bible again? I don't believe in all thisBible reading! Can't you get him off it?'

'It is the only thing to do now. '

'But cannot you get him off it?'

'Not immediately. Mr. Dallas takes a fancy hard. '

'So unlike him!' the mother went on. 'So unlike all he used to be. Healways took things "hard, " as you say; but then it used to be scienceand study of history, and collecting of natural curiosities, anddrawing. Have you seen any of Pitt's drawings? He has a genius forthat. Indeed, I think he has a genius for everything, ' Mrs. Dallas saidwith a sigh; 'and he used to be keen for distinguishing himself, and hedid distinguish himself everywhere, always; here at school and atcollege, and then at Oxford. My dear, he distinguished himself at_Oxford_. He was always a good boy, but not in the least foolish, orsuperstitious, or the least inclined to be fanatical. And now, as faras I can make out, he is for giving up everything!'

'He does nothing by halves. '

'No; but it is very hard, now when he is just reading law and gettingready to take his place in the world--and he would take no mean placein the world, Betty--it is hard! Why, he talks as if he would throweverything up. I never would have thought it of Pitt, of all people. Itis due, I am convinced, to the influence of those dissenting friends ofhis!'

'Who are they?' Miss Betty asked curiously. 

'You have heard the name, ' said Mrs. Dallas, lowering her voice, thoughPitt was not within hearing. 'They used to live here. It was a ColonelGainsborough--English, but of a dissenting persuasion. That kind ofthing seems to be infectious. '

'He must have been a remarkable man, if his influence could begin soearly and last so long. '

'Well, it was not just that only. There was a daughter'--

'And a love affair?' asked Miss Betty, with a slight laugh whichcovered a sudden down-sinking of her heart. 

'Oh dear no! she was a child; there was no thought of such a thing. ButPitt was fond of her, and used to go roaming about the fields with herafter flowers. My son is a botanist; I don't know if you have found itout. '

'And those were the people he went to New York to seek?'

'Yes, and could not find--most happily. '

Miss Betty mused. Certainly Pitt was 'persistent. ' And now he had gotthis religious idea in his head, would there be any managing it, orhim? It did not frighten Miss Betty, so far as the religious ideaitself was concerned; she reflected sagely that a man might be worsethings than philanthropic, or even than pious. She had seen wives madeunhappy by neglect, and others made miserable by the dissipated habitsor the ungoverned tempers of their husbands; a man need not beunendurable because he was true and thoughtful and conscientious, oreven devout. She could bear that, quite easily; the only thing was, that in thoughts which possessed Pitt lately he had passed out of herinfluence; beyond her reach. All she could do was to follow him intothis new and very unwonted sphere, and seem to be as earnest as he was. He met her, he reasoned with her, he read to her, but Betty did notfeel sure that she got any nearer to him, nevertheless. She was shrewdenough to divine the reason. 

'Mr. Pitt, ' she said frankly to him one day, when the talk had beeneager in the same line it had taken that first day on the verandah, andboth parties had held the same respective positions with regard to eachother, --'Mr. Pitt, are you fighting me, or yourself?'

He paused and looked at her, and half laughed. 

'You are right, ' said he. And then he went off, and for the presentthat was all Miss Betty gained by her motion. 

Nobody saw much of Pitt during the rest of the day. The next morning, after breakfast, he came out to the two ladies where as usual they weresitting at work. It was another September day of sultry heat, yet theverandah was also in the morning a pleasant place, sweet with thehoneysuckle fragrance still lingering, and traversed by a faintintermittent breeze. Both ladies raised their heads to look at theyoung man as he came towards them, and then, struck by something in hisface, could not take their eyes away. He came straight to his motherand stood there in front of her, looking down and meeting her look;Miss Frere could not see how, but evidently it troubled Mrs. Dallas. 

'What is it now, Pitt?' she asked. 

'I have come to tell you, mother. I have come to tell you that I havegiven up fighting. '

'Fighting!?'

'Yes. The battle is won, and I have lost, and gained. I have given upfighting, mother, and I am Christ's free man. '

'What?' exclaimed Mrs. Dallas bewilderedly. 

'It is true, mother. I am Christ's servant. The things are the same. How should I not be the servant, the _bond-servant_, of Him who hasmade a free man of me?'

His tone was not excited; it was quiet and sweet; but Mrs. Dallas wasexcited. 

'A free man? My boy, what are you saying? Were you not always free?'

'No, mother. I was in such bonds, that I have been struggling for yearsto do what was right--what I knew was right--and was unable. '

'To do what was right? My boy, how you talk! You _always_ did what wasright. '

'I was never Christ's servant, mamma. '

'What delusion is this!' cried Mrs. Dallas. 'My son, what do you mean?You were baptized, you were confirmed, you were everything that youought to be. You cannot be better than you have always been. '

He smiled, stooped down and kissed her troubled face. 

'I was never Christ's servant before, ' he repeated. 'But I am Hisservant now at last, all there is of me. I wanted you to know at once, and Miss Frere, I wanted her to know it. She asked me yesterday whom Iwas fighting? and I saw directly that I was fighting a won battle; thatmy reason and conscience were entirely vanquished, and that the onlything that held out was my will. I have given that up, and now I am theLord's servant. '

'You were His servant before. '

'Never, in any true sense. '

'My dear, what difference?' asked Mrs. Dallas helplessly. 

'It was nominal merely. '

'And now?'

'Now it is not nominal; it is real. I have come to know and love myMaster. I am His for life and death; and now His commands seem thepleasantest things in the world to me. '

'But you obeyed them always?'

'No, mamma, I did not. I obeyed nothing, in the last resort, but my ownsupreme will. '

'But, Pitt, you say you have come to know; what time has there been forany such change?'

'Not much time, ' he replied; 'and I cannot tell how it is; but itseemed as if, so soon as I had given up the struggle and yielded, scales fell from my eyes. I cannot tell how it was; but all at once Iseemed to see the beauty of Christ, which I never saw before; and, mamma, the sight has filled me with joy. Nothing now to my mind is morereasonable than His demands, or more delightful than yielding obedienceto them. '

'Demands? what demands?' said Mrs. Dallas. 

Her son repeated the words with which the twelfth chapter of Romansbegins. 

'"I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that yepresent your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service; and be not conformed to this world. "'

'But, my dear, that means'--

'It means all. '

'How all?'

'There is nothing more left to give, when this sacrifice is presented. It covers the whole ground. The sacrifice is a living sacrifice, but itgives all to God as entirely as the offering that imaged it went up insmoke and flame. '

'What sacrifice imaged it?'

'The burnt-sacrifice of old. That always meant consecration. '

'How do you know? You are not a clergyman. '

Pitt smiled again, less brightly. 'True, mother, but I have beenstudying all this for years, in the Bible and in the words of otherswho _were_ clergymen; and now it is all plain before me. It became soas soon as I was willing to obey it. '

'And what are you going to do?'

'Do? I cannot say yet. I am a soldier but just enlisted, and do notknow where my orders will place me or what work they will give me. OnlyI _have_ enlisted; and that is what I wanted you to know at once. Mother, it is a great honour to be a soldier of Christ. '

'I should think, --if I did not see you and hear your voice, --I shouldcertainly think I heard a Methodist talking. I suppose that is the waythey do. '

'Did you ever hear one talk, mother?'

'No, and do not want to hear one, even if it were my own son!' sheanswered angrily. 

'But in all that I have been saying, if they say it too, the Methodistsare right, mother. A redeemed sinner is one bought with a price, andthenceforth neither his spirit nor his body can be his own. And hishappiness is not to be his own. '

Mrs. Dallas was violently moved, yet she had much self-command andhabitual dignity of manner, and would not break down now. More pitifulthan tears was the haughty gesture of her head as she turned it asideto hide the quivering lips. And more tender than words was the air withwhich her son presently stooped and took her hand. 

'Mother!' he said gently and tenderly. 

'Pitt, I never would have believed this of you!' she said with bitteremphasis. 

'You never could have believed anything so good of me. '

'What are you going to _do?_' she repeated vehemently. 'What does allthis amount to? or is it anything but dissenting rant?'

'Anything but that, ' he answered gravely. 'Mother, do you remember thewords, --"No man when he hath lighted a lamp covereth it with a vessel, or putteth it under a bed; but putteth it on a stand, that they whichenter in may see the light"? Every Christian is such a lighted lamp, intended for some special place and use. My special use and place I donot yet know; but this I know plainly, that my work in the world, oneway or another, must be the Lord's work. For that I live henceforth. '

'You will go into the Church?' cried his mother. 

'Not necessarily. '

'You will give up reading law?'

'No, I think not. At present it seems to me I had better finish what Ihave begun. But if I do, mother, my law will be only one of the means Ihave to work with for that one end. '

'And I suppose your money would be another?'

'Undoubtedly. '

'What has money to do with teaching people?' Miss Frere asked. It wasthe first word she had spoken; she spoke it seriously, not mockingly. The question brought his eyes round to her. 

'Do you ask that?' said he. 'Every unreasoning, ignorant creature ofhumanity understands it. The love that would win them for heaven wouldalso help them on earth; and if they do not see the one thing, they donot believe in the other. '

'Then-- But-- What do you propose?'

'It is simple enough, ' he said. 

'It is too simple for Betty and me, ' said his mother. 'I would beobliged to you, Pitt, to answer her. '

The young man's countenance changed; a shadow fell over it which raisedMiss Frere's sympathy. He went into the house, however, for a Bible, and coming back with it sat down and read quietly and steadfastly thebeautiful words in Isaiah:

'"To loose the bands of wickedness, to undo the heavy burdens, and tolet the oppressed go free, and that ye break every yoke. ... To dealthy bread to the hungry, and that thou bring the poor that are cast outto thy house; when thou seest the naked, that thou cover him; and thatthou hide not thyself from thine own flesh. "'

'It would take a good deal of money, certainly, ' said Miss Frere, 'todo all that; indeed, I hardly think all the fortunes in the world wouldbe sufficient. '

Pitt made no answer. He sat looking down at the page from which he hadbeen reading. 

'Nobody is required to do more than his part of the work, ' said Mrs. Dallas. 'If Pitt will be contented with that'--

'What is my part of it, mother?'

'Why, your share; what you can do properly and comfortably, without anyfanaticism of sacrifice. '

'Must I not do all I can?'

'No, not all you _can_. You _could_ spend your whole fortune in it. '

'I was thinking, easily, ' observed Miss Frere. 

'What is the Bible rule? "When thou seest the naked, that thou coverhim"--"that ye break every yoke. " And, "he that hath two coats, let himimpart to him that hath none; and he that hath meat, let him dolikewise. "'

'You can find Scripture to quote for everything, said Mrs. Dallas, rising in anger; 'that is the way Methodists and fanatics always do, asI have heard. But I can tell you one thing, Pitt, which you may nothave taken into account; if you persist in this foolishness, yourfather, I know, will take care that the fortune you have to throw awayshall not be large!'

With these words she swept into the house. The two left behind were forsome moments very still. Pitt had drooped his head a little, and restedhis brow in his hand; Miss Betty watched him. Her dismay and dislike ofPitt's disclosures were scarcely less than his mother's, but different. Disappointed pride was not here in question. That he should give up asplendid and opulent career did not much trouble her. In the firstplace, he might modify his present views; in the second place, if hedid not, if he lived up to his principles, there was something in herwhich half recognised the beauty and dignity and truth of such a life. But in either case, alas, alas! how far was he drifted away out of hersphere, and beyond her reach? For the present, at least, his mind wasutterly taken up by this one great subject; there was no room in itleft for light things; love skirmishes could not be carried on over theground he now occupied; he was wholly absorbed in his new decisions andexperiences, and likely to be engaged with the consequences of them. Betty was sorry for him just now, for she saw that he felt pain; and atthe same time she admired him more than ever. His face was more sweet, she thought, and yet more strong, than she had ever seen it; his mannerto his mother was perfect. So had not been her manner towards him. Hehad been gentle, steadfast, and true, manly and tender. 'Happy will bethe woman that will share his life, whatever it be!' thought Betty, with some constriction of heart; but to bring herself into thatfavoured place she saw little chance now. She longed to say a word ofsome sort that might sound like sympathy or intelligence; but she couldnot find it, and wisely held her peace. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

_LIFE PLANS_. 

Happily or unhappily, --it was as people looked at it, --Pitt's free daysin America were drawing to a close. There were few still remaining tohim before he must leave Seaforth and home, and go back to his readinglaw in the Temple. In those days there was a little more discussion ofhis new views and their consequences between him and his mother, butnot much; and none at all between him and his father. 

'Pitt is not a fool, ' he had said, when Mrs. Dallas, in her distress, confided to him Pitt's declaration; 'I can trust him not to make an assof himself; and so can you, wife. '

'But he is very strong when he takes a thing in his head; always was. '

'This thing will get out of his head again, you will see. '

'I do not believe it. It isn't his way. '

'One thing is certain, --I shall never give my money to a fool to makeducks and drakes with; and you may hint as much to him. '

'It would be very unwise policy, ' said Mrs. Dallas thoughtfully. 

'Then let it alone. I have no idea there is any need. You may dependupon it, London and law will scare all this nonsense away, fast enough. '

Mrs. Dallas felt no comforting assurance of the kind. She watched herson during the remaining days of his presence with them--watched himincessantly; so did Betty Frere, and so, in truth, secretly, did hisfather. Pitt was rather more quiet than usual; there was not much otherchange to be observed in him, or so Mrs. Dallas flattered herself. 

'I see a difference, ' said Miss Frere, to whom she communicated thisopinion. 

'What is it?' asked the mother hastily. For she had seen it too. 

'It is not just easy to put it in words; but I see it. Mrs. Dallas, there is a wonderful _rest_ come into his face. '

'Rest?' said the other. 'Pitt was never restless, in a bad sense; therewas no keep still to him; but that is not what you mean. '

'That is not what I mean. I never in my life saw anybody look so happy. '

'Can't you do something with him?'

'He gives me no chance. '

It may seem strange that a good mother should wish to interfere withthe happiness of a good son; but neither she nor Miss Frere adverted tothat anomaly. 

'I should not wonder one bit, ' said Mrs. Dallas bitterly, 'if he wereto disinherit himself. '

That would be bad, Betty agreed--deplorable; however, the thought ofher own loss busied her most just now; not of what Pitt might lose. Twodays before his departure all these various feelings of the variouspersons in the little family received a somewhat violent jar. 

It was evening. Miss Frere and Pitt had had a ride that afternoon--along and very spirited one. It might be the last they would taketogether, and she had enjoyed it with the keenness of thatconsciousness; as a grain of salt intensifies sweetness, or as discordsthrow out the value of harmony. Pitt had been bright and lively as muchas ever, the ride had been gay, and the one regret on Betty's mind asthey dismounted was that she had not more time before her to try whatshe could do. Pitt, as yet at least, had not grown a bit precise orsanctimonious; he had not talked nonsense, indeed, but then he neverhad paid her the very poor compliment of doing that. All the more, sheas well as the others was startled by what came out in the evening. 

All supper-time Pitt was particularly talkative and bright. Mrs. Dallas's face took a gleam from the brightness, and even Mr. Dallasroused up to bear his part in the conversation. When supper was donethey still sat round the table, lingering in talk. Then, after a slightpause which had set in, Pitt leaned forward a little and spoke, lookingalternately at one and the other of his parents. 

'Mother, --father, --I wish you would do one thing before I go away. '

At the change in his tone all three present had pricked up their ears, and every eye was now upon him. 

'What is that, Pitt?' his mother said anxiously. 

'Have family prayer. '

If a bombshell had suddenly alighted on the table and there exploded, there would have been, no doubt, more feeling of fright, but not moreof shocked surprise. Dumb silence followed. Angry eyes were directedtowards the speaker from the top and from the bottom of the table. MissFrere cast down hers with the inward thought, 'Oh, you foolish, foolishfellow! what did you do that for, and spoil everything!' Pitt waited alittle. 

'It is duty, ' he said. 'You yourselves will grant me that. '

'And you fancy it is _your_ duty to remind us of ours!' said hisfather, with contained scorn. 

The mother's agitation was violent--so violent that she had difficultyto command herself. What it was that moved her so painfully she couldnot have told; her thoughts were in too much of a whirl. Between anger, and fear, and something else, she was in the greatest confusion, andnot able to utter a syllable. Betty sat internally railing at Pitt'sfolly. 

'The only question is, Is it duty?--in either case, ' the son saidsteadfastly. 

'Exactly!' said his father. 'Well, you have done yours; and I will domine. '

His wife wondered at his calmness, and guessed that it was studied. Neither of them was prepared for Pitt's next word. 

'Will you?' he said simply. 'And will you let me make a beginning now?Because I am going away?'

'Do what you like, ' said the older man, with indescribable expression. Betty interpreted it to be restrained rage. His wife thought it was amoved conscience, or mere policy and curiosity; she could not tellwhich. The words were enough, however, whatever had moved them. Pitttook a Bible and read, still sitting at the table, the Parable of theTalents; and then he kneeled down. The elder Dallas never stirred. Betty knelt at once. Mrs. Dallas sat still at first, but then slippedfrom her chair to the floor and buried her face in her hands, wheretears that were exceedingly bitter flowed beyond all her power tohinder them. For Pitt was praying, and to his mother's somewhat shockedastonishment, not in any words from a book, but in words--where did heget them?--that broke her heart. They were solemn and sweet, tender andsimple; there was neither boldness nor shyness in them, although therewas a frankness at which Mrs. Dallas wondered, along with thetenderness that quite subdued her. 

The third one kneeling there was moved differently. The fountain of hertears was not touched at all, neither had she any share in the passionof displeasure which filled the father and mother. Yet she was in adisturbance almost as complete as theirs. It was a bitter and secrettrouble, which as a woman she had to keep to herself, over which herhead bowed as she knelt there. Just for that minute she might bow herhead and confess to her trouble, while no one could see; and her head, poor girl, went low. She did not in the least approve of Pitt'sproceedings; she did not sympathize with his motives; at the same timethey did not make her like him the less. On the contrary, and Bettyfelt it was on the contrary, she could not help admiring his bravery, and she was almost ready to worship his strength. Somebody brave enoughto avow truth that is unwelcome, and strong enough to do what goesagainst the grain with himself; such a person is not to be met withevery day, and usually excites the profound respect of his fellows, even when they do not like him. But Betty liked this one, and liked himthe more for doing the things she disliked, and it drove her to thebounds of desperation to feel that in the engrossment of his newprinciples he was carried away from her, and out of her power. Added toall this was the extreme strangeness of the present experience. Absolutely kneeling round the dinner-table!--kneeling to pray! Bettyhad never known such a thing, nor conceived the possibility of such athing. In an unconsecrated place, led by unconsecrated lips, in wordsnowhere set down; what could equal the irregularity and theimpropriety? The two women, in their weakness, kneeling, and the masterof the house showing by his unmoved posture that he disallowed thewhole thing! Incongruous! unfortunate! I am bound to say that Bettyunderstood little of the words she so disapproved; the sea under astormy wind is not more uneasy than was her spirit; and towards the endher one special thought and effort was bent upon quieting thecommotion, and at least appearing unmoved. She was pretty safe, for theother members of the family had each enough to busy him without takingmuch note of her. 

Pitt had but a day or two more to stay; and Miss Frere felt anirresistible impulse to force him into at least one talk more. Shehardly knew what she expected, or what she wished from it; only, to lethim go so, without one more word, was unbearable. She wanted to getnearer to him, if she could, if she might not bring him nearer to her;and at any rate she wanted the bitter-sweet pleasure of arguing withhim. Nothing might come of it, but she must have the talk if she could. So she took the first chance that offered. 

The family atmosphere was a little oppressive the next morning; andafter breakfast Mr. And Mrs. Dallas both disappeared. Betty seized heropportunity, and reminded Pitt that he had never showed her hisparticular room, his old workshop and play place. 'It was not much tosee, ' he said; however, he took her through the house, and up the openflight of steps, where long ago Esther had been used to go for herlessons. The room looked much as it had done at that time; for duringPitt's stay at home he had pulled out one thing after another from itspacking or hiding place; and now, mounted birds and animals, coins, shells, minerals, presses, engravings, drawings, and curiosities, madea delightful litter; delightful, for it was not disorderly; only gaveone the feeling of a wealth of tastes and pursuits, every one of thempursued to enjoyment. Betty studied the place and the several objectsin it with great and serious attention. 

'And you understand all these things!' said she. 

'So little, that I am ashamed to speak of it. '

'I know!' said Betty; 'that is what nobody says whose knowledge issmall. It takes a good deal of knowing to perceive how much one does_not_ know. '

'That is true. '

'And what becomes of all these riches when you are gone away?'

'They remain in seclusion. I must pack them up to-day. It is a job Ihave reserved to the last, for I like to have them about while I amhere. '

He began as he spoke to put away some little articles, and got outpaper to wrap up others. 

'And how came you by all these tastes? Mr. And Mrs. Dallas do not sharethem, I think. '

'No. Impossible to say. Inherited from some forgotten ancestor, perhaps. '

'Were there ever any Independents or Puritans among your ancestors?'

'No!' said Pitt, with a laughing look at her. 'The record is clean, Ibelieve, on both sides of the house. My mother has not that on herconscience. '

'But you sympathize with such supposititious ancestors?'

'Why do you say so?'

'Mr. Pitt, ' said Betty, sitting down and folding her hands seriously inher lap, 'I wish you would let me ask you one thing. '

'Ask it certainly, ' said he. 

'But it is really not my business; only, I am puzzled, and interested, and do not know what to think. You will not be displeased?'

'I think I can answer for that. '

'Then do tell me why, when you are just going away and cannot carry iton, you should have done what you did last night?'

'As I am just going away, don't you see, it was my only chance. '

'But I do not understand why you did it. You knew it would be somethinglike an earthquake; and what is the use of earthquakes?'

'You remember the Eastern theory--Burmese, is it? orSiamese?--according to which the world rests on the heads of fourelephants; when one of the elephants shakes his head, there is anearthquake. But must not the elephant therefore move his head?'

'But the world does not rest on _your_ head. '

'I do not forget that, ' said Pitt gravely. 'Not the world, but a smallpiece of it does rest on my head, as on that of every other humancreature. On the right position and right movement of every one of usdepends more than we know. What we have to do is to keep straight andgo straight. '

'But did you think it was _duty_ to do what you did last night?'

'I did it in that faith. '

'I wish you would explain to me!' cried the lady. 'I cannot understand. I believe you, of course; but _why_ did you think it duty? It justraised a storm; you know it did; they did not like it; and it wouldonly make them more opposed to your new principles. I do not see how itcould do any good. '

'Yes, ' said Pitt, who meanwhile was going on with his packing andputting away. 'I know all that. But don't you think people ought toshow their colours, as much as ships at sea?'

'Ships at sea do not always show their colours. '

'If they do not, when there is occasion, it is always ground forsuspicion. It shows that they are for some reason either afraid orashamed to announce themselves. '

'I do not understand!' said Miss Frere perplexedly. 'Why should _you_show your colours?'

'I said I was moved by duty to propose prayers last night. It was morethan that. ' Pitt stopped in his going about the room and stood oppositehis fair opponent, if she can be called so, facing her with steady eyesand a light in them which drew her wonder. 'It was more than duty. Since I have come to see the goodness of Christ, and the happiness ofbelonging to Him, I wish exceedingly that everybody else should see itand know it as I do. '

'And, if I remember, you intimated once that it was to be the businessof your life to make them know it?'

'What do you think of that purpose?'

'It seems to me extravagant. '

'Otherwise, fanatical!'

'I would not express it so. But what are clergymen for, if this is yourbusiness?'

'To whom was the command given?'

'To the apostles and their successors. '

'No, it was given to the whole band of disciples; the order to go intoall the world and make disciples of every creature. '

'All the disciples!'

'And to all the disciples that other command was given, --"Whatsoever yewould that men should do to you, do ye even so to them. " And of all thethings that a man can want and desire to have given him, there isnothing comparable for preciousness to the knowledge of Christ. '

'But, Mr. Dallas, this is not the general way of thinking?'

'Among those who'--he paused--'who are glad in the love of Christ, Ithink it must be. '

'Then what are those who are not "glad" in that way?'

'Greatly to be pitied!'

There was a little pause. Pitt went on busily with his work. Betty satand looked at him, and looked at the varieties of things he was puttingunder shelter or out of the way. One after another, all bearing theirwitness to the tastes and appetite for knowledge possessed by theperson who had gathered them together. Yes, if Pitt was not ascientist, he was very fond of sciences; and if he were not to becalled an artist in some kinds, he was full of feeling for art. What ananomaly he was! how very unlike this room looked to the abode of afanatic!

'What is to become of all these things?' she asked, pursuing herthoughts. 

'They will be safe here till I return. '

'But I mean-- You do not understand me. I was thinking rather, whatwould become of all the tastes and likings to which they bear evidence?How do they match with your new views of things?'

'How do they not match?' said Pitt, stopping short. 

'You spoke of giving up all things, did you not?'

'The Bible does, ' said Pitt, smiling. 'But that is, _if need be_ forthe service or honour of God. Did you think they were to be renouncedin all cases?'

'Then what did you mean?'

'The Bible means, evidently, that we are to be so minded, toward themand toward God, that we are ready to give them up and do give them upjust so far and so fast as His service calls for it. That is all, andit is enough!'

Betty watched him a little longer, and then began again. 

'You say, it is to be the business of your life to--well, how shall Iput it?--to set people right, in short. Why don't you begin at thebeginning, and attack me?'

'I don't know how to point my guns. '

'Why? Do you think me such a hard case?'

He hesitated, and said 'Yes. '

'Why?' she asked again, with a mixture of mortification and curiosity. 

'Your defences have withstood all I have been able to bring to bear inthe shape of ordnance. '

'Why do you say that? I have been very much interested in all I haveheard you say. '

'I know that; and not in the least moved. '

Betty was vexed. Had her tactics failed so utterly? Did Pitt think shewas a person quite and irremediably out of his plane, and inaccessibleto the interests which he ranked first of all? She had wanted to getnearer to him. Had she so failed? She would not let the tears come intoher eyes, but they were ready, if she would have let them. 

'So you give me up!' she said. 

'I have no alternative. '

'You have lost all hope of me?'

'No. But at present your eyes are so set in another direction that youwill not look the way I have been pointing you. Of course, you do notsee what I see. '

'In what direction are my eyes so set?'

'I will not presume to tell Miss Frere what she knows so much betterthan I do. '

Betty bit her lip. 

'What is in that cabinet?' she asked suddenly. 

'Coins. '

'Oh, coins! I never could see the least attractiveness in coins. '

'That was because--like some other things--they were not looked at. '

'Well, what _is_ the interest of them?'

'To find out, I am afraid you must give them your attention. They arelike witnesses, stepping out from the darkness of the past and tellingthe history of it--history in which they moved and had a part, youunderstand. '

'But the history of the past is not so delightful, is it, that onewould care much about hearing the witnesses? What is in that othercabinet, where you are standing?'

'That contains my herbarium. '

'All that? You don't mean that all those drawers are filled with driedflowers?'

'Pretty well filled. There is room for some more. '

'How you must have worked!'

'That was play. '

'Then what do you call work?'

'Well, reading law rather comes into that category. '

'You expect to go on reading law?'

'For the present. I approve of finishing things when they are begun. '

'Mr. Dallas, what are you going to _do?_ In what, after all, are yougoing to be unlike other men? Your mother seems to apprehend somedisastrous and mysterious change in all your prospects; I cannot seethe necessity of that. In what are you going to be other than shewishes you to be? Are not her fears mistaken?'

Pitt smiled a grave smile; again stopped in his work and stood oppositeher. 

'I might say "yes" and "no, "' he answered. 'I do not expect to have ared cross embroidered on my sleeve, like the old crusaders. But judgeyourself. Can those who live to do the will of God be just like thosewhose one concern is to do their own will?'

'Mr. Dallas, you insinuate, or your words might be taken to insinuate, that all the rest of us are in the latter class!'

'Whose will do you do?' he said. 

There was no answer, for Betty had too much pluck to speak falsely, andtoo much sense not to know what was truth. She accordingly did not sayanything, and after waiting a minute or two Pitt went on with hispreparations, locking up drawers, packing up boxes, taking down andputting away the many objects that filled the room. There was not alittle work of this sort to be done, and he went on with it busily, andwith an evidently trained and skilled hand. 

'Then, after finishing with law, do you expect to come back here andunpack all these pretty things again?' she said finally. 

'Perhaps. I do not know. '

'Perhaps you will settle in England?'

'I do not yet know what is the work that I have to do in the world. I_shall_ know, but I do not know now. It may be to go to India, or toGreenland; or it may be to come here. Though I do not now see what Ishould do in Seaforth that would be worth living for. '

India or Greenland! For a young man who was heir to no end of money, and would have acres of land! Miss Betty perceived that here wassomething indeed very different from the general run of rich young men, and that Mrs. Dallas had not been so far wrong in her forebodings. 'Howvery absurd!' she said to herself as she went away down the openstaircase; 'and what a pity!'

CHAPTER XXXIX. 

_SKIRMISHING_. 

To the great chagrin of his mother, and, indeed, of everybody, Pitttook his departure a few days before the necessary set termination ofhis visit. He must, he declared, have a few days to run down fromLondon into the country and find out the Gainsborough family; ifColonel Gainsborough and his daughter had really gone home, he mustknow. 

'What on earth do you want to know for?' his lather had angrily asked. 'What concern is it to you, in any way? Pitt, I wish you would take allthe time you have and use it to make yourself agreeable to Miss Frere. Where could you do better?'

'I have no time for that now, sir. '

'Time! What is time? Don't you admire her?'

'Everyone must do that. '

'I have an idea she don't dislike you. It would suit your mother and mevery well. She has not money, but she has everything else. There hasbeen no girl more admired in Washington these two winters past; nogirl. You would have a prize, I can tell you, that many a one wouldlike to hinder your getting. '

'I have no time, sir, now; and I must find out my old friends, first ofall. '

'Do you mean, you want to marry _that_ girl?' said Mr. Dallas, imprudently flaming out. 

Pitt was at the moment engaged in mending up a precious old volume, which by reason of age and use had become dangerously dilapidated. Hewas manipulating skilfully, as one accustomed to the business, with awland a large needle, surrounded by his glue-pot and bits of leather andpaper. At the question he lifted up his head and looked at his father. Mr. Dallas did not like the look; it was too keen and had too muchrecognition in it; he feared he had unwarily showed his play. But Pittanswered then quietly, going on with his work again. 

'I said nothing of that, sir; I do not know anything about that. My oldfriends may be in distress; both or one of them; it is not at allunlikely, I think. If things had gone well with them, you would havebeen almost sure to hear of their whereabouts at least. I made apromise, at any rate, and I am bound to find them, one side or theother of the Atlantic. '

'Don Quixote!' muttered his father. 'Colonel Gainsborough, I have nodoubt, has gone home to his people, whom he ought never to have left. '

'In that case I can certainly find them. '

Mr. Dallas seldom made the mistake of spoiling his cause with words; helet the matter drop, though his mouth was full of things he would haveliked to speak. 

So the time came for Pitt's departure, and he went; and the two womenhe left behind him hardly dared to look at each other; the one lest sheshould betray her sorrow, and the other lest she should seem to see it. Betty honestly suffered. She had found Pitt's society delightful; ithad all the urbanity without the emptiness of that she was accustomedto. Whether right or wrong, he was undoubtedly a person in earnest, whomeant his life to be something more than a dream or a play, and who hadhigher ends in view than to understand dining, or even to be anacknowledged critic of light literature, or a leader of fashion. Higherends even than to be at the head of the State or a leader of itsarmies. There was enough natural nobleness in Betty to understand Pitt, at least in a degree, and to be mightily attracted by all this. And histemper was so fine, his manners so pleasant, his tender deference tohis mother so beautiful. Ah, such a man's wife would be well shelteredfrom some of the harshest winds that blow in the face of human nature!Even if he were a little fanatical, it was a fanaticism which Bettyhalf hoped, half inconsistently feared, would fade away with time. Hehad stayed just long enough to kindle a tire in her heart, which nowshe could not with a blow or a breath extinguish; not long enough forthe fire to catch any loose tinder lying about on the outskirts of his. Pitt rode away heart-whole, she was obliged to confess to herself, sofar, at least, as she was concerned; and Betty had nothing to do nowbut to feel how that fire bit her, and to stifle the smoke of it. Mrs. Dallas was a woman and a mother, and she saw what Betty would not havehad her see for any money. 

'_I_ think Pitt was taken with her, ' she said to her husband, as oneseeks to strengthen a faint belief by putting it into words. 

'He is taken with nothing but his own obstinacy!' growled Mr. Dallas. 

'His obstinacy never troubled you, ' said the mother. 'Pitt was alwayslike that, but never for anything bad. '

'It's for something foolish, then; and that will do as well. '

'Did you sound him?'

'Yes!'

'And what did he say?'

'Said he must see Esther Gainsborough first, confound him!'

'Esther Gainsborough! But he tried and could not find them. '

'He will try on the other side now. He'll waste his time running allover England to discover the family place; and then he will know thatthere is more looking to be done in America. '

'And he talked of coming over next year! Husband, he must not come. Wemust go over there. '

'Next summer. Yes, that is the only thing to do. '

'And we will take Betty Frere along with us. '

Mrs. Dallas said nothing of this scheme at present to the young lady, though it comforted herself. Perhaps it would have comforted Betty too, whose hopes rested on the very faint possibility of another summer'sgathering at Seaforth. That was a very doubtful possibility; the hopebuilt upon it was vaporously unsubstantial. She debated with herselfwhether the best thing were not to take the first passable offer thatshould present itself, marry and settle down, and so deprive herself ofthe power of thinking about Pitt, and him of the fancy that she everhad thought about him. Poor girl, she had verified the truth of theword which speaks about going on hot coals; she had burned her feet. She had never done it before; she had played with a dozen men atdifferent times, allowed them to come near enough to be looked at;dallied with them, discussed, and rejected, successively, without herown heart ever even coming in danger; as to danger to their's, thatindeed had not been taken into consideration, or had not excited anyscruple. Now, now, the fire bit her, and she could not stifle it; and agrave doubt came over her whether even that expedient of marriage mightbe found able to stifle it. She went away from Seaforth a few daysafter Pitt's departure, a sadder woman than she had come to it, though, I fear, scarce a wiser. 

On her way to Washington she tarried a few days in New York; and thereit chanced that she had a meeting which, in the young lady's then stateof mind, had a tremendous interest for her. 

Society in New York at that day was very little like society there now. Even granting that the same principles of human nature underlay itsdevelopments, the developments were different. Small companies, even offashionable people, could come together for an evening; dancing, although loved and practised, did not quite exclude conversation;supper was a far less magnificent affair; and fashion itself was muchmore necessarily and universally dependent on the accessories of birth, breeding, and education, than is the case at present. It was known whoeverybody was; parvenus were few; and there was still a flavour left ofold-world traditions and colonial antecedents. So, when Miss Frere wasinvited to one of the best houses in the city to spend the evening, shewas not surprised to find only a moderate little company assembled, anddresses and appointments on an easy and unostentatious footing, whichnow is nearly unheard of. There was elegance enough, however, both inthe dresses and persons of many of those present; and Betty was quitein her element, finding herself as usual surrounded by attentive andadmiring eyes, and able to indulge her love of conversation; for thisyoung lady liked talking better than dancing. Indeed, there was nodancing in the early part of the evening; it was rather a musicalcompany, and Betty's favourite amusement was often interrupted; for themusic was too good, and the people present too well-bred, to allow ofthat jumble of sounds musical and unmusical which is so distressing, and alas! not so rare. 

Several bits of fine, old-fashioned music had been given, from Mozartand Beethoven and Handel; and Betty had got into full swing ofconversation again, when a pause around her gave notice that anotherperformer was taking her seat at the piano. Betty checked her speechwith a little impulse of vexation, and cast her eyes across the room. 

'Who is it now?' she asked. 

There was a little murmur of question and answer, for the gentlemenimmediately at hand did not know; then she was told, 'It is a MissGainsborough. '

'Gainsborough!' Betty's eyes grew large, and her face took a suddengravity. 'What Gainsborough?'

Nobody knew. 'English, I believe, ' somebody said. 

All desire to talk died out of Betty's lips; she became as silent asthe most rigid decorum could have demanded, and applied herself tolisten, and of course those around her were becomingly silent also. What was the astonishment of them all, to hear the notes of a hymn, andthen the hymn itself, sung by a sweet voice with very clear accent, sothat every word was audible! The hymn was not known to Miss Frere; itwas fine and striking; and the melody, also unfamiliar, was exceedinglysimple. Everybody listened, that was manifest; it was more than thesilence of politeness which reigned in the rooms until the last notewas ended. And Betty listened more eagerly than anybody, and a strangethrill ran through her. The voice which sang the hymn was not finer, not so fine as many a one she had heard; it was thoroughly sweet andhad a very full and rich tone; its power was only moderate. Thepeculiarity lay in the manner with which the meaning was breathed intothe notes. Betty could not get rid of the fancy that it was a spiritsinging, and not a woman. Simpler musical utterance she had neverheard, nor any, in her life, that so went to the heart. She listened, and wondered as she listened what it was that so moved her. The voicewas tender, pleading, joyous, triumphant. How anybody should dare singsuch words in a mixed company, Betty could not conceive; yet she enviedthe singer; and heard with a strange twinge at her heart the words ofthe chorus, which was given with the most penetrating ring of truth--

 'Glory, glory, glory, glory, Glory be to God on high, Glory, glory, glory, glory, Sing His praises through the sky; Glory, glory, glory, glory, Glory to the Father give: Glory, glory, glory, glory, Sing His praises, all that live!'

The hymn went on to offer Christ's salvation to all who would have it;and closed with a variation of the chorus, taken from the song of theredeemed in heaven, --'Worthy is the Lamb that was slain. '

As sweet and free as the jubilant shout of a bird the notes rang; witha _lift_ in them, however, which the unthinking creature neither knowsnor can express. Betty's eye roved once or twice round the room duringthe singing to see how the song was taken by the rest of the company. All listened, but she could perceive that some were bored and someothers shocked. Others looked curiously grave. 

The music ceased and the singer rose. Nobody proposed that she shouldsing again. 

'What do you think of the good taste of that?' one of Betty's cavaliersasked her softly. 

'Oh, don't talk about good taste! Who is she?'

'I--really, I don't know--I believe somebody said she was a teachersomewhere. She has tried her hand on us, hasn't she?'

'A teacher!' Betty repeated the word, but gave no attention to thequestion. She was looking across the room at the musician, who wasstanding by the piano talking with a gentleman. The apartment was notso large but that she could see plainly, while it was large enough tosave her from the charge of ill-bred staring. She saw a moderately tallfigure, as straight as an Indian, with the head exquisitely set on theshoulders, the head itself covered with an abundance of pale brownhair, disposed at the back in a manner of careless grace which remindedBetty of a head of Sappho on an old gem in her possession. The face shecould not see quite so well, for it was partly turned from her; Betty'sattention centred on the figure and carriage. A pang of jealous rivalryshot through her as she looked. There was not a person in the room thatcarried her head so nobly, nor whose pose was so stately and graceful;yet, stately as it was, it had no air of proud self-consciousness, norof pride at all; it was not that; it was simple, maidenly dignity, notdignity aped. Betty read so much, and rapidly read what else she couldsee. She saw that the figure she was admiring was dressed butindifferently; the black silk had certainly seen its best days, if itwas not exactly shabby; no ornaments whatever were worn with it. Thefashion of garments at that day was, as I have remarked, very trying toany but a good figure, while it certainly showed such a one toadvantage. Betty knew her own figure could bear comparison with most;the one she was looking at would bear comparison with any. MissGainsborough was standing in the most absolute quiet, the arms crossedover one another, with no ornament but their whiteness. 

'A good deal of _aplomb_ there?' whispered one of Betty's attendants, who saw whither her eyes had gone. 

'_Aplomb!_' repeated Betty. 'That is not _aplomb!_'

'Isn't it? Why not?'

'It is something else, ' said Betty, eyeing still the figure she wascommenting on. 'You don't speak of _balance_ unless--how shall I putit? Don't you know what I mean?'

'No!' laughed her companion. 

'You might save me the trouble of telling you, if you were clever. Youknow you do not speak of "balance, " except--well, except where eitherthe footing or the feet are somehow doubtful. You would not think of"balance" as belonging to a mountain. '

'A mountain!' said the other, looking over at Esther, and stilllaughing. 

'Yes; I grant you there is not much in common between the two things;only that element of undisturbableness. Do you know Miss Gainsborough?'

'I have not the honour. I have never met her before. '

'I must know her. Who can introduce me?' And finding her hostess atthis moment near her, Betty went on: 'Dear Mrs. Chatsworth, do take meover and introduce me to Miss Gainsborough! I am filled with admirationand curiosity. But first, who is she?'

'I really can tell you little. She is a great favourite of my friendMiss Fairbairn; that is how I came to know her. She teaches in Mme. Duval's school. She is English, I believe. Miss Fairbairn says she isvery highly accomplished; and I believe it is true. '

'Well, please introduce me. I am dying to know her. '

The introduction was made; the gentleman who had been talking to MissGainsborough withdrew; the two girls were left face to face. 

Yes, what a face! thought Betty, as soon as it was turned upon her; andwith every minute of their being together the feeling grew. Not likeany face she had ever seen in her life, Betty decided; what thedifference was it took longer to determine. Good features, withrefinement in every line of them; a fair, delicate skin, matching thepale brown hair, Betty had seen as good repeatedly. What she had notseen was what attracted her. The brow, broad and intellectual, had amost beautiful repose upon it; and from under it looked forth uponBetty two glorious grey eyes, pure, grave, thoughtful, penetrating, sweet. Yet more than all the rest, perhaps, which struck Miss Frere, was an expression, in mouth and eyes both, which is seen on no facesbut of those who have gone through discipline and have learned thehabit of self-renunciation, endurance, and loving ministry. 

The two girls sat down together at Betty's instance. 

'Will you forgive me?' she said. 'I am a stranger, but I do want to askyou a question or two. May I? and will you hear me patiently? I see youwill. '

The other made a courteous, half smiling sign of assent, _not_ as ifshe were surprised. Betty noticed that. 

'It is very bold, for a stranger, ' she went on, making her observationswhile she spoke; 'but the thing is earnest with me, and I must seize mychance, if it _is_ a chance. It has happened, '--she lowered her voicesomewhat and her words came slower, --'it has happened that I have beenstudying the subject of religion a good deal lately; it interests me;and I want to ask you, why did you sing that hymn?'

'That particular hymn?'

'No, no; I mean, why did you sing a hymn at all? It is not the usualthing, you know. '

'May I ask you a counter question? What should be the motive with whichone sings, or does anything of the sort?'

'Motive? why, to please people, I suppose. '

'And you think my choice was not happy?'

'What does she ask me that for?' thought Betty; 'she knows, just aswell as I do, what people thought of it. What is she up to?' But aloudshe answered, --

'I think it was very happy, as regarded the choice of the hymn; it waspeculiar, but very effective. My question meant, why did you sing ahymn at all?'

'I will tell you, ' said the other. 'I do not know if you willunderstand me. I sang that, because I have given myself to Christ, andmy voice must be used only as His servant. '

Quick as thought it flashed upon Betty, the words she had heard PittDallas quote so lately, quote and descant upon, about giving his body'a living sacrifice. ' 'How you two think alike!' was her instantreflection; 'and how you would fit if you could come together!--whichyou never shall, if I can prevent it. ' But her face showed only seriousattention and interest. 

'I do _not_ quite understand, ' she said. 'Your words are so unusual'--

'I cannot put my meaning in simpler words. '

'Then do you think it wrong to sing common songs?--those everybodysings?'

'_I_ cannot sing them, ' said Esther simply. 'My voice is Christ'sservant. ' But the smile with which these (to Betty) severe words werespoken was entirely charming. There was not severity but gladness uponevery line of the curving lips, along with a trait of tenderness whichtouched Betty's heart. In all her life she had never had such a feelingof inferiority. She had given due reverence to persons older thanherself; it was the fashion in those days; she had acknowledged acertain social precedence in ladies who were leaders of society andheads of families; she had never had such a feeling of being set down, as before this young, pure, stately creature. Mentally, Betty, as itwere, stepped down from the dais and stood with her arms folded overher breast, in the Eastern attitude of reverence, during the rest ofthe interview. 

'Then you do not do anything, ' said Betty incredulously, 'if you cannotdo it _so?_'

'Not if I know it, ' the other said, smiling more broadly and with somearchness. 

'But still--may I speak frankly?--that does not tell me all. Youknow--you _must_ know--that not everybody would like your choice ofmusic?'

'I suppose, very few. '

'Would it do any good, in any way, to displease them?'

'That is not the first question. The first question, in any case, is, How may I best do this thing for God?--for His honour and His kingdom. '

'I do not see what His honour and His kingdom have to do with it. '

'It is for His honour that His servants should obey Him, is it not?'said Esther, with another smile. 'And is it not for His kingdom, thatHis invitations should be given?'

'But _here?_'

'Why not here?'

'It is unusual. '

'I have no business to be anywhere where I cannot do it. '

'That sounds--dreadful!' said Betty honestly. 

'Why?'

'Oh, it sounds strict, narrow, like a sort of slavery, as if one couldnever be free. '

'Free for what?'

'Whatever one likes! I should be miserable if I felt I could not dowhat I liked!'

'Can you do it now?' said Esther. 

'Well, not always; but I am free to try, ' said Betty frankly. 

'Is that your definition of happiness?--to try for that which youcannot attain. '

'I do attain it, --sometimes. '

'And keep it?'

'Keep it? You cannot keep anything in this world. '

'I do not think anything is happiness, that you cannot keep. '

'But--if you come to that--what _can_ you keep?' said Betty. 

Esther bent forward a little, and said, with an intense gleam in hergrey eyes, which seemed to dance and sparkle, '"Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever. "'

'I do not know Him, ' Betty breathed out, after staring at her companion. 

'I saw that. '

Esther rose, and Betty felt constrained to rise too. 

'Oh, are you going?' she cried. 'I have not done talking. How can Iknow Him?'

'Do you wish me to tell you?'

'Indeed, yes. '

'If you are in dead earnest, and seek Him, He will reveal Himself toyou. But then, you must be willing to obey every word He says. Goodnight. '

She offered her hand. Before Miss Frere, however, could take it, upcame the lady of the house. 

'You are not _going_, Miss Gainsborough?'

'My father would be uneasy if I stayed out late. '

'Oh, well, for once! What have you two been talking about? I sawseveral gentlemen casting longing looks in this direction, but they didnot venture to interrupt. What were you discussing?'

'Life in general, ' said Betty. 

'Life!' echoed the older woman, and her brow was instantly clouded. 'What is the use of talking about that? Can either of you say that herlife is not a failure?'

'Miss Gainsborough will say that, ' replied Betty. 'As for me, my lifeis a problem that I have not solved. '

'What do you mean by a "failure, " Mrs. Chatsworth?' the other girlasked. 

'Oh, just a failure! Turning out nothing, coming to nothing; nothing, Imean, that is satisfying. "_Tout lasse, --tout casse, --tout passe!_" Atrue record; but isn't it sorrowful?'

'I do not think it need be true, ' said Esther. 

'It is not true with you?'

'No, certainly not. '

'Your smile says more than your words. What a smile! My dear, I envyyou. And yet I do not. You have got to wake up from all that. You areseventeen, eighteen--nineteen, is it?--and you have not found out yetthat the world is hollow and your doll stuffed with sawdust. '

'But the world is not all. '

'Isn't it? What is?'

'The Lord said, "He that believeth on me hath everlasting life. "'

'Everlasting life! In the next world! Oh yes, my dear, but I wasspeaking of life now. '

'Does not everlasting life begin now?' said Esther, with another ofthose rare smiles. They were so rare and so beautiful that Betty hadcome to watch for them, --arch, bright, above all happy, and full of akind of loving power. 'The Lord said "hath"; He did not say will"have. "'

'Miss Gainsborough, you talk riddles. '

'I am sorry, ' said Esther; 'I do not mean to do that. I am speaking thesimplest truth. We were made to be happy in the love of God; and as wewere made for that, nothing less will do. '

'Are you happy? My dear, I need not ask; your face speaks for you. Ibelieve that pricked me on to ask the question with which we began, inpure envy. I see you are happy. But confess honestly now, honestly, andquite between ourselves, confess there is some delightful loversomewhere, who provokes those smiles, with which no doubt you rewardhim?'

Esther's grey eyes opened unmistakeably at her hostess while she wasspeaking, and then a light colour rose on her cheek, and then shelaughed. 

'I neither have, nor ever expect to have, anything of the kind, ' shesaid. And then she was no longer to be detained, but took leave, andwent away. 

'She is a little too certain about the lover, ' remarked Miss Frere. 'That looks as if there were already one, _in petto_. '

'She is poor, ' said Mrs. Chatsworth. 'She has not much chance. Ibelieve she supports herself and her father--he is old or invalid orsomething--by teaching; perhaps they have a little something to helpher out. But I fancy she sees very little society. I never meet heranywhere. The lady in whose house she was educated is a very warmfriend of hers, and she introduced her to me. So I get her to come heresometimes for a little change. '

Betty went home with a great many thoughts in her mind, which kept herhalf the night awake. Jealousy perhaps pricked her the most. Not thatPitt loved this girl; about that Betty was not sure; but how he wouldlove her if he could see her! How anybody would, especially a man ofrefined nature and truth of character, who requires the same in thoseconnected with him. What a pure creature this was! and then, she wasnot only tender, but strong. The look on her face, the lines of herlips, told surely of self-control, self-denial, and habitual patience. People do not look so, who have all they need of this world's goods, and have always dipped their hands into full money bags. No; Esther hadsomething to bear, and something to do, both of which called for andcalled out that strength and sweetness; and yet she was sohappy!--happy after Pitt's fashion. And this was the girl he had beenlooking to find. Betty could deserve well of him by letting him knowwhere to find her! But then, all would be lost, and Betty's life afailure indeed. She could not face it. And besides, as things were, they were quite safe for the other two. The childish friendship hadfaded out; would start up again, no doubt, if it had a chance; butthere was no need that it should. Pitt was at least heart-whole, if notmemory-free; and as for Esther, she had just declared a lover to be apossibility nowhere within the range of her horizon. Esther would notlose anything by not seeing Pitt any more. But then, _would_ she losenothing? The girl teaching to support herself and her father, alone andpoor, what would it be to her life if Pitt suddenly came into it, withhis strong hand and genial temper and plenty of means? What would it beto Betty's life, if he went out of it? She turned and tossed, shebattled and struggled with thoughts; but the end was, she went on toWashington without ever paying Esther a visit, or letting her know thather old friend was looking for her. 

CHAPTER XL. 

_LONDON_. 

The winter passed. In the spring Betty received a letter from Mrs. Dallas, part of which ran as follows:--

'My husband and I have a new plan on foot; we have been meditating itall winter, so it ought to be ripe now. We are going over to spend thesummer in England. My son talked of making us a visit again this year, and we decided it was better we should go to him. Time is nothing tous, and to him it is something; for although he will have no need topractise in any profession, I agree with him and Mr. Dallas in thinkingthat it is good a young man should _have_ a profession; and, at anyrate, what has been begun had better be finished. So, some time in Maywe think to leave Seaforth, on our way to London. Dear Betty, will youtake pity on an old woman and go with us, to give us the brightness ofyour youth? Don't you want to see London? and I presume by this timePitt has qualified himself to be a good cicerone. Besides, we shall notbe fixed in London. We will go to see whatever you would most like tosee in the kingdom; perhaps run up to Scotland. Of course what _I_ wantto see is my boy; but other things would naturally have an attractionfor you. Do not say no; it would be a great disappointment to me. Meetus in New York about the middle of May. Mr. Dallas wishes to go as soonas the spring storms are over. I have another reason for making thisjourney; I wish to keep Pitt from coming over to America. '

Betty's heart made a bound as she read this letter, and went on withfaster beats than usual after she had folded it up. A voyage, andLondon, and Pitt Dallas for a showman! What could be more alluring inits temptation and promise? Going about in London with him to guide andexplain things--could opportunity be more favourable to finish the workwhich last summer left undone? Betty's heart jumped at it; she knew shewould say yes to Mrs. Dallas; she could say nothing but yes; and yet, questions did come up to her. Would it not be putting herself undulyforward? would it not look as though she went on purpose to see--notLondon but somebody in London? That would be the very truth, Bettyconfessed to herself, with a pang of shame and humiliation; the pangwas keen, yet it did not change her resolution. What if? Nobody knew, she argued, and nobody would have cause to suspect. There was reasonenough, ostensible, why she should go to England with Mrs. Dallas; ifshe refused to visit all the old ladies who had sons, her social limitswould be restricted indeed. But Mrs. Dallas herself; would not sheunderstand? Mrs. Dallas understood enough already, Betty said toherself defiantly; they were allies in this cause. It was verymiserable that it should be so; however, not now to be undone or setaside. Lightly she had gone into Mrs. Dallas's proposition last summer;if it had grown to be life and death earnest with her, there was noneed Mrs. Dallas should know _that_. It _was_ life and death earnest, and she must go to London. It was a capital plan. To have met PittDallas again at Seaforth and again spent weeks in his mother's housewhile he was there, would have been too obvious; this was better everyway. Of course she could not refuse such an invitation; such a chanceof seeing something of the world; she who had always been too poor totravel. Pitt could not find any matter of surprise nor any ground forcriticism in her doing that. And it would give her all the opportunityshe wished for. 

Here, most inopportunely, came before her the image of Esther. Howthose two would suit each other! How infallibly Pitt would be devotedto her if he could see her! But Betty said to herself that _she_ had abetter right. They did not know each other; he was nothing to Esther, Esther was nothing to him. She set her teeth, and wrote to Mrs. Dallasthat she would be delighted to go. 

And then, having made her choice, she put away thought. All through thevoyage she was a most delightful companion. A little stifledexcitement, like forcing heat in a greenhouse, made all her socialqualities blossom out in unwonted brilliancy. She was entertaining, bright, gay, witty, graceful; she was the admiration and delight of thewhole company on board; and Mrs. Dallas thought to herself with proudsatisfaction that Pitt could find nothing better than that, nor moreattractive, and that she need wish nothing better than that at the headof her son's household and by his side. That Pitt could withstand suchenchantment was impossible. She was doing the very best thing she coulddo in coming to England and in bringing Betty with her. 

Having meditated this journey for months, Mr. Dallas had made all hispreparations. Rooms had been engaged in a pleasant part of the city, and there, very soon after landing, the little party found themselvescomfortably established and quite at home. 

'Nothing like England!' Mr. Dallas grumbled with satisfaction. 'Youcouldn't do this in New York; they understand nothing about it, andthey are too stupid to learn. I believe there isn't a lodging-house inall the little Dutch city over there; you could not find a single housewhere they let lodgings in the English fashion. '

'Mr. Dallas, it is not a Dutch city!'

'Half Dutch, and that's enough. Have you let Pitt know we are here, wife?'

Mrs. Dallas had done that; but the evening passed away, nevertheless, without any news of him. They made themselves very comfortable; had anexcellent dinner, and went to rest in rooms pleasant and wellappointed; but Betty was in a state of feverish excitement which wouldnot let her be a moment at ease. Now she was here, she almost was readyto wish herself back again. How would Pitt look at her? how would hereceive her? and yet, what affair was it of his, if his mother broughta young friend with her, to enjoy the journey and make it agreeable? Itwas nothing to Pitt; and yet, if it _were_ nothing to him, Betty wouldwant to take passage in the next packetship sailing for New York orBoston. She drew her breath short, until she could see him. 

He came about the middle of the next morning. Mr. Dallas had gone out, and the two ladies were alone, in a high state of expectancy; joyous onone part, most anxious and painful on the other. The first sight of himcalmed Betty's heart-beating; at the same time it gave her a greatthrill of pain. Pitt was himself so frank and so quiet, she said toherself, there was no occasion for her to fear anything in histhoughts; his greeting of her was entirely cordial and friendly. He wasneither surprised nor displeased to see her. At the same time, whilethis was certainly comforting, Pitt looked too composedly happy forBetty's peace of mind. Apparently he needed neither her noranybody;--'Do men ever?' said Betty to herself bitterly. And besides, there was in his face and manner a nobleness and a pureness which atone blow drove home, as it were, the impressions of the last year. Sucha look she had never seen on any face in her life; _except_--yes, therewas one exception, and the thought sent another pang of pain throughher. But women do not show what they feel; and Pitt, if he noticed MissFrere at all, saw nothing but the well-bred quiet which always belongedto Betty's demeanour. He was busy with his mother. 

'This is a pleasure, to have you here!' he was saying heartily. 

'I thought we should have seen you last night. My letter was in time. Didn't you get it?'

'It went to my chambers in the Temple; and I was not there. '

'Where were you?'

'At Kensington. '

'At Kensington! With Mr. Strahan. '

'Not with Mr. Strahan, ' said Pitt gravely. 'I have been with him agreat deal these last weeks. You got my letter in which I told you hewas ill?'

'Yes, and that you were nursing him. '

'Then you did _not_ get my letter telling of the end of his illness?You left home before it arrived. '

'You do not mean that uncle Strahan is dead?'

'It is a month ago, and more. But there is nothing to regret, mother. He died perfectly happy. '

Mrs. Dallas passed over this sentence, which she did not like, andasked abruptly, --

'Then what were you doing at Kensington?'

'There was business. I have been obliged to give some time to it. Youwill be as much surprised as I was, to learn that my old uncle has leftall he had in the world to me. '

'To you!' Mrs. Dallas did not utter a scream of delight, or embrace herson, or do anything that many women would have done in honour of theoccasion; but her head took a little loftier set upon her shoulders, and in her cheeks rose a very pretty rosy flush. 

'I am not surprised in the least, ' she said. 'I do not see how he couldhave done anything else; but I did not know the old gentleman had somuch sense, for all that. Is the property large?'

'Rather large. '

'My dear, I am very glad. That makes you independent at once. I do notknow whether I ought to be glad of that; but you would never be led offfrom any line of conduct you thought fit to enter, by either having orwanting money. '

'I hope not. It is not _high_ praise to say that I am not mercenary. Who was thinking to bribe me? and to what?'

'Never mind, ' said Mrs. Dallas hastily. 'Was not the house atKensington part of the property?'

'Certainly. '

'And has that come to you too?'

'Yes, of course; just as it stood. I was going to ask if you would notmove in and take possession?'

'Take possession!--we?'

'Yes, mother; it is all ready. The old servants are there, and willtake very passably good care of you. Mrs. Bunce can cook a chop, andboil an egg, and make a piece of toast; let me see, what else can shedo? Everything that my old uncle liked, I know; beyond that, I cannotsay how far her power extends. But I think she can make youcomfortable. '

'My dear, aren't you going to let the house?'

'No, mother. '

'Why not? You cannot live in chambers and there too?'

'I can never let the house. In the first place, it is too full ofthings which have all of them more or less value, many of them _more_. In the second place, the old servants have their home there, and willalways have it. '

'You are bound by the will?'

'Not at all. The will binds me to nothing. '

'Then, my dear boy! it may be a long time before you would want to setup housekeeping there yourself; you might never wish it; and in themeantime all this expense going on?'

'I know what uncle Strahan would have liked, mamma; but apart fromthat, I could never turn adrift his old servants. They are devoted tome now; and, besides, I wish to have the house taken care of. When youhave seen it, you will not talk any more about having it let. You willcome at once, will you not? It is better than _this_. I told Mrs. Bunceshe might make ready for you; and there is a special room for MissFrere, where she may study several things. '

He gave a pleasant glance at the young lady as he spoke, whichcertainly assured her of a welcome. But Betty felt painfullyembarrassed. 

'This is something we never contemplated, ' she said, turning to Mrs. Dallas. 'What will you do with me? _I_ have no right to Mr. Pitt'shospitality, generous as it is. '

'You will come with us, of course, ' said Mrs. Dallas. 'You are one ofus, as much as anybody could be. '

'And you would be very sorry afterwards if you did not, I can tellyou, ' said Pitt frankly. 'My old house is quite something to see; and Ipromise myself some pleasure in the enjoyment you all will have in it. I hope we are so much old friends that you would not refuse me such anhonour?'

There was no more to say, after the manner in which this was spoken;and from embarrassment Betty went over to great exultation. What_could_ be better than this? and did even her dreams offer her such abewildering prospect of pleasure. She heard with but half an ear whatPitt and his mother were saying; yet she did hear it, and lost not aword, braiding in her own reflections diligently with the thoughts thussuggested. They talked of Mr. Strahan, of his illness, through whichPitt had nursed him; of the studies thus interrupted; of the propertythus suddenly come into Pitt's hands. 

'I do not see why you should go on with your law reading, ' Mrs. Dallasbroke out at last. 'Really, --why should you? You are perfectlyindependent already, without any help from your father; house andservants and all, and money enough; your father would say, too much. Haven't you thought of giving up your chambers in the Temple?'

'No, mother. '

'Any other young man would. Why not you? What do you want to study lawfor any more?'

'One must do something, you know. '

'Something--but I never heard that law was an amusing study. Is it notthe driest of the dry?'

'Rather dry--in spots. '

'What is your notion, then, Pitt?--if you do not like it. '

'I do like it. And I am thinking of the use it may be. '

'The _use?_' said Mrs. Dallas bewilderedly. 

'It is a grand profession, ' he went on; 'a grand profession, when usedfor its legitimate purposes! I want to have the command of it. If thestudy is sometimes dry, the practice is often, or it often may be, inthe highest degree interesting. '

'Purposes! What purposes?' Mrs. Dallas pursued, fastening on that oneword in Pitt's speech. 

'Righting the wrong, mother, and lifting up the oppressed. A knowledgeof law is necessary often for that; and the practice too. '

'Pitt, ' said his mother, 'I don't understand you. '

Betty thought _she_ did, and she was glad that Mr. Dallas's entrancebroke off the conversation. Then it was all gone over again, Mr. Strahan's illness, Pitt's ministrations, the will, the property, thehouse; concluding with the plan of removing thither. Betty, sayingnothing herself, watched the other members of the party; the gleam inMr. Dallas's money-loving eyes, the contained satisfaction of Mrs. Dallas's motherly pride, and the extremely different look on theyounger man's face. With all the brightness and life of his talk tothem, with all the interest and pleasure he showed in the things talkedabout, there was a quiet apartness on his brow and in his eyes, a liftabove trifles, a sweetness and a gravity that certainly found theiraliment neither in the sudden advent of a fortune nor in any of theaccessories of money. Betty saw and read, while the others weretalking; and her outward calm and careless demeanour was no trueindication of how she felt. The very things which drew her to Pitt, alas, made her feel set away at a distance from him. What had herrestless soul in common with that happy repose that was about him? Andyet, how restlessness is attracted by rest! Of all things it seemed toBetty one of the most delightful and desirable. Not to be fretted, notto be anxious; to be never 'out of sorts, ' never, seemingly, discontented with anything or afraid of anything!--while these termswere the very reverse of all which must describe her and every one elsewhom she knew. Where did that high calm come from? No face that Bettyhad ever seen had that look upon it; except--

Oh, she wished she had never seen that other, or that she could forgetit. Those two fitted together. 'But I should make him just as good awife, ' said Betty to herself; 'perhaps better. And _she_ does not care;and I do. Oh, what a fool I was ever to go into this thing!'

CHAPTER XLI. 

_AN OLD HOUSE_. 

Arrangements were soon made. The landlady of the house was contentedwith a handsome bonus; baggage was sent off; a carriage was ordered, and the party set forth. 

It was a very strange experience to Betty. If her position was felt tobe a little awkward, at the same time it was most deliciouslyadventurous and novel. She sat demurely enough by Mrs. Dallas's side, eyeing the strange streets through which they passed, hearing everyword that was spoken by anybody, and keeping the while herself anextremely smooth and careless exterior. She was full of interest forall she saw, and yet the girl saw it as in a dream, or only as abackground upon which she saw Pitt. She saw him always, without oftenseeming to look at him. The content of Mr. And Mrs. Dallas wasinexpressible. 

'Where will you find anything like that, now?' said Mr. Dallas, as theywere passing Hyde Park. 'Ah, Miss Betty, wait; you will never want tosee Washington again. The Capitol? Pooh, pooh! it may do for a littlebeginning of a colony; but wait till you have seen a few things here. What will you show her first, Pitt?'

'Kensington. '

'Kensington! Ah, to be sure. Well, I suppose your new house takesprecedence of all other things for the present. '

'Not my _new_ house, ' said Pitt. 'It is anything but that. There isnothing new about it but the master. I thought I should bring you backwith me, mother; so I told Mrs. Bunce to have luncheon ready. As Isaid, she can cook a chop. '

By degrees the houses became thinner, as they drove on; grass and treeswere again prominent; and it was in a region that looked at least halfcountry that the carriage at last stopped. Indeed more than halfcountry, for the city was certainly left behind. Everything was infresh green; the air was mild and delicious; the place quiet. Thecarriage turned from the road and passed through an iron gateway and upa gravel sweep to the door of an old house, shaded by old trees andsurrounded by a spread of velvety turf. The impression, as Bettydescended from the carriage, was that here had been ages of dignifiedorder and grave tranquillity. The green-sward was even and soft and ofvivid freshness; the old trees were stately with their length of limband great solid trunks; and the house?--

The house, towards which she turned, as if to ask questions of it, wasof moderate size, built of stone, and so massively built as if it hadbeen meant to stand for ever. That was seen at once in the thickness ofthe walls, the strong oaken doorway, and the heavy window frames. Butas soon as Betty set foot within the door she could almost havescreamed with delight. 

'Upon my word, very good! very well!' said Mr. Dallas, standing in thehall and reviewing it. And then, perceiving the presence of theservants, he checked himself and reviewed them. 

'These are my uncle's faithful old friends, mother, ' Pitt was saying;'Mrs. Bunce, and Stephen Hill. Have you got something ready fortravellers, Mrs. Bunce?'

Dignified order and grave tranquillity was the impression on Betty'smind again, as they were ushered into the dining-room. It was late, andthe party sat down at once to table. 

But Betty could hardly eat, for feasting her eyes. And when they wentup-stairs to their rooms that feast still continued. The house wasirregular, with rather small rooms and low ceilings; which itself waspleasant after the more commonplace regularity to which Miss Frere hadbeen accustomed; and then it was full--all the rooms were full--ofquaintness and beauty. Oak wainscottings, dark with time; oakendoorways with singular carvings; chimney-pieces, before which Bettystood in speechless delight and admiration; small-paned windows set indeep window niches; in one or two rooms dark draperies; but the lateMr. Strahan had not favoured anything that shut out the light, and inmost of the house there were no curtains put up. And then, on thewalls, in cupboards and presses, on tables and shelves, and incabinets, there was an endless variety and wealth of treasures andcuriosities. Pictures, bronzes, coins, old armour, old weapons, curiosities of historical value, others of natural production, others, still, of art; some of all these were very valuable and precious. Toexamine them must be the work of many days; it was merely the fact oftheir being there which Betty took in now, with a sense of the greatriches of the new mental pasture-ground in which she found herself. Shechanged her dress in a kind of breathless mood; noticing as she did sothe old-fashioned and aged furniture of her room. Aged, not infirm; themanufacture solid and strong as ever; the wood darkened by time, thepatterns quaint, but to Betty's eye the more picturesque. Her apartmentwas a corner room, with one deep window on each of two sides; thelook-out over a sunny landscape of grass, trees, and scatteredbuildings. On another side was a deep chimney-place, with curiouswrought-iron fire-dogs. What a delightful adventure--or what a terribleadventure--was it which had brought her to this house! She would notthink of that; she dressed and went down. 

The rest of the party were gathered in the library, and this roomfinished Betty's enchantment. It was a well-sized room, the largest inthe house, on the second floor; and all the properties that made thehouse generally interesting were gathered and culminated here. Darkwainscotting, dark bookcases, and dark books, gave it an aspect thatmight have been gloomy, yet was not so; perhaps because of the manyother objects in the room, which gave points of light or bits ofcolour. What they were, Betty could only find out by degrees; she sawat once, in general, that this must have been a favourite place of thelate owner, and that here he had collected a special assemblage of thethings that pleased him best. A table at one side must have been made, she thought, about the same time with her chamber furniture, and by thesame hand. The floor was dark and polished, and on it lay here andthere bits of soft carpeting, which were well worn. Betty advancedslowly to the corner where the party were siting, taking in the effectof all this; then almost started as Pitt gave her a chair, to see inthe corner just beyond the group a stuffed bear showing his teeth ather. 

The father and mother had been talking about various matters at home, and the talk went on. Betty presently left them, and began to examinethe sides of the room. She studied the bear, which was in an uprightposition, resting one paw on a stick, while the other supported a lamp. From the bear her eyes passed on to a fire-screen, which stood beforethe empty chimney, and then she went to look at it nearer by. It was amost exquisite thing. Two great panes of plate glass were so set in aframe that a space of some three or four inches separated them. In thisspace, in every variety of position, were suspended on invisible wiressome twenty humming birds, of different kinds; and whether the lightfell upon this screen in front or came through it from behind, thedisplay was in either case most beautiful and novel. Betty at lastwandered to the chimney-piece, and went no farther for a good while;studying the rich carving and the coat of arms which was bothsculptured and painted in the midst of it. By and by she found thatPitt was beside her. 

'Mr. Strahan's?' she asked. 

'No; they belonged to a former possessor of the house. It came into myuncle's family by the marriage of his father. '

'It is very old?'

'Pretty old; that is, what in America we would call so. It reaches backto the time of the Stuarts. Really that is not so long ago as it seems. '

'It is worth while to be old, if it gives one such a chimney-piece asthat. But I should not like another man's arms in it, if I were you. '

'Why not?'

'I don't know--I believe it diminishes the sense of possession. '

'A good thing, then, ' said Pitt. 'Do you remember that "they that have"are told to be "as though they possessed not"?'

'How can they?' answered Betty, looking at him. 

'You know the words?'

'I seem to have read them--I suppose I have. '

'Then there must be some way of making them true. '

'What is this concern, Pitt?' inquired his father, who had followedthem, and was looking at a sort of cabinet which was framed into thewall. 

'I was going to invite Miss Frere's attention to it; yet, onreflection, I believe she is not enthusiastic for that sort of thing. That is valuable, father. It is a collection of early Greek coins. Uncle Strahan was very fond of that collection, and very proud of it. He had brought it together with a great deal of pains. '

'Rubbish, I should say, ' observed the elder man; and he moved on, whileBetty took his place. 

'Now, I do not understand them, ' she said. 

'You can see the beauty of some of them. Look at this head of Apollo. '

'That is beautiful--exquisite! Was that a common coin of trade?'

'Doubtful, in this case. It is not certain that this was not rather amedal struck for the members of the Amphictyonic Council. But see thiscoin of Syracuse; _this_ was a common coin of trade; only of a size notthe most common. '

'All I can say is, their coinage was far handsomer than ours, if it waslike that. '

'The reverse is as fine as the obverse. A chariot with four horses, done with infinite spirit. '

'How can you remember what is on the other side--I suppose this side iswhat you mean by the _obverse_--of this particular coin? Are you sure?'

Pitt produced a key from his pocket, unlocked the glass door of thecabinet, and took the coin from its bed. On the other side was what hehad stated to be there. Betty took the piece in her hands to look andadmire. 

'That is certainly very fine, ' she said; but her attention was notentirely bent on the coin 'Is this lovely head meant for Apollo too?'

'No; don't you see it is feminine? Ceres, it is thought; but Mr. Strahan held that it was Arethusa, in honour of the nymph that presidedover the fine fountain of sweet water near Syracuse. The coinage ofthat city was extremely beautiful and diversified; yielding to hardlyany other in design and workmanship. Here is an earlier one; you seethe very different stage art had attained to. '

'A regular Greek face, ' remarked Betty, going back to the coin she heldin her hand. 'See the straight line of the nose and the very shortupper lip. Do you hold that the Greek type is the only true beauty?'

'Not I. The only _true_ beauty, I think, is that of the soul; or atleast that which the soul shines through. '

'What are these little fish swimming about the head? They would seem toindicate a marine deity. '

'The dolphin; the Syracusan emblem. '

'I wish I had been born in those times!' said Betty. And the wish had ameaning in the speaker's mind which the hearer could not divine. 

'Why do you wish that?' asked Pitt, smiling. 

'I suppose the principal reason is, that then I should not have beenborn in this. Everything is dreadfully prosy in our age. Oh, not_here_, at this moment! but this is a fairy tale we are living through. I know how the plain world will look when I go back to it. '

'At present, ' said Pitt, taking the Syracusan coin and restoring it toits place, 'you are not an enthusiastic numismatist!'

'No; how should I? Coins are not a thing to excite enthusiasm. They arebeautiful, and curious, but not exactly--not exactly stirring. '

'I had a scholar once, ' remarked Pitt, as he locked the glass door ofthe cabinet, 'whose eyes would have opened very wide at sight of thiscollection. Have you heard anything of the Gainsboroughs, mother?'

Betty started, inwardly, and was seized with an unreasoning fear lestthe question might next be put to herself. Quietly, as soon as shecould, she moved away from the coin cabinet, and seemed to be examiningsomething else; but she was listening all the while. 

'Nothing whatever, ' Mrs. Dallas had answered. 

'They have not come back to England. I have made out so much. I lookedup the family after I came home last fall; their headquarters are at anice old place down in Devonshire. I introduced myself and gotacquainted with them. They are pleasant people. But they knew nothingof the colonel. He has not come home, and he has not written. Thus muchI have found out. '

'It is not certain, however, ' grumbled Mr. Dallas. 'I believe he _has_come home; that is, to England. He was on bad terms with his people, you know. '

'When are you going to show Miss Frere and me London?' asked Mrs. Dallas. She was as willing to lead off from the other subject as Bettyherself. 

'Show you London, mamma! Show you a bit of it, you mean. It would takesomething like a lifetime to show you London. What bit will you beginwith?'

'What first, Betty?' said Mrs. Dallas. 

Betty turned and slowly came back to the others. 

'Take her to see the lions in the Tower, ' suggested Mr. Dallas; 'andthe wax-work. '

'Do you think I have never seen a lion, Mr. Dallas?' said the younglady. 

'Well, --small ones, ' said the gentleman, stroking his chin. 'But theTower is a big lion itself. I believe _I_ should like to go to theTower. I have never been there yet, old as I am. '

'I do not want to go to the Tower, ' said Mrs. Dallas. 'I do not carefor that kind of thing. I should like to see the Temple, and Pitt'schambers. '

'So should I, ' said the younger lady. 

'You might do worse, ' said Pitt. 'Then to-morrow we will go to theTemple, and to St. Paul's. '

'St. Paul's? _that_ will not hold us long, will it?' said Betty. 'Is itso much to see?'

'A good deal, if you go through and study the monuments!'

'Well, ' said Betty, 'I suppose it will be all delightful. '

But when she had retired to her room at night, her mood was not justso. She sat down before her glass and ruminated. That case of coins, and Pitt's old scholar, and the Gainsboroughs, who had not come home. He would find them yet; yes, and Esther would one day be standingbefore those coins; and Pitt would be showing them to her; and she--shewould enter into his talk about them, and would understand and havesympathy, and there would be sympathy on other points too. If Estherever stood there, in that beautiful old library, it would be asmistress and at home. Betty had a premonition of it; she put her handsbefore her eyes to shut out the picture. Suppose she earned well of thetwo and gained their lasting friendship by saying the words that wouldbring them to each other? That was one way out of her difficulty. Butthen, why should she? What right had Esther Gainsborough to be happymore than Betty Frere? The other way out of her difficulty, namely, towin Pitt's liking, would be much better; and then, they both of themmight be Esther's friends. For of one thing Betty was certain; _if_ shecould win Pitt, he would be won. No half way-work was possible withhim. He would never woo a woman he did not entirely love; and any womanso loved by him would not need to fear any other woman; it would beonce for all. Betty had never, as it happened, met thoroughgoing truthbefore; she recognised it and trusted it perfectly in Pitt; and it wasone of the things, she confessed to herself, that drew her mostmightily to him. A person whom she could absolutely believe, and alwaysbe sure of. Whom else in the world could she trust so? Not her ownbrothers; not her own father; mother she had none. How did she know sosecurely that Pitt was an exception to the universal rule?--thequestion might be asked, and she asked it. She had not seen him testedin any great thing. But she had seen him tried in little bits ofeveryday things, in which most people think it is no harm to dodge thetruth a little; and Betty recognised the soundness of the axiom, --'Hethat is faithful in that which is least, is faithful also in much. '

CHAPTER XLII. 

_THE TOWER_. 

The next morning they went to inspect the Temple; Pitt and the twoladies. Mr. Dallas preferred some other occupation. But the interestbrought to the inspection was not altogether legitimate. Mrs. Dallascared principally to see how comfortable her son's chambers were, andto refresh herself with the tokens of antiquity and importance whichattached to the place and the institution to which he belonged. Bettywas no antiquarian in the best of times, and at present had all herfaculties concentrated on one subject and one question which was not ofthe past. Nevertheless, it is of the nature of things that a highstrain of the mind renders it intensely receptive and sensitive foroutward impressions, even though they be not welcomed; like a tautstring, which answers to a breath breathed upon it. Betty did not carefor the Temple; had no interest in the old Templars' arms on the sidesof the gateways; and thought its medley of dull courts and lanes a veryundesirable place. What was it to her where Dr. Johnson had lived? shedid not care for Dr. Johnson at all, and as little for OliverGoldsmith. Pitt, she saw, cared; how odd it was! It was some comfortthat Mrs. Dallas shared her indifference. 

'My dear, ' she said, 'I do not care about anybody's lodgings but yours. Dr. Johnson is not there now, I suppose. Where are _your_ rooms?'

But Pitt laughed, and took them first to the Temple church. 

Here Betty could not refuse to look and be interested a little. Howlittle, she did not show. The beauty of the old church, its venerableage, and the strange relics of the past in its monuments, did commandsome attention. Yet Betty grudged it; and went over the Halls and theCourts afterward with a half reluctant foot, hearing as if against herwill all that Pitt was telling her and his mother about them. Oh, whatdid it matter, that one of Shakspeare's plays had been performed in theMiddle Temple Hall during its author's lifetime? and what did itsignify whether a given piece of architecture were Early English orPerpendicular Gothic? What did interest her, was to see how lively andwarm was Pitt's knowledge and liking of all these things. Evidently hedelighted in them and was full of information concerning them; and hisinterest did move Betty a little. It moved her to speculation also. Could this man be so earnest in his enjoyment of Norman arches andpolished shafts and the effigies of old knights, and still hold to theviews and principles he had avowed and advocated last year? Could he, who took such pleasure in the doings and records of the past, reallymean to attach himself to another sort of life, with which the honoursand dignities and delights of this common world have nothing to do?

The question recurred again afresh on their return home. As Bettyentered the house, she was struck by the beauty of the carved oakstaircase, and exclaimed upon it. 

'Yes, ' said Pitt; 'that is the prettiest part of the house. It is saidto be by Inigo Jones; but perhaps that cannot be proved. '

'Does it matter?' said Betty, laughing. 

'Not to any real lover of it; but to the rest, you know, the name isthe thing. '

'"Lover of it"!' said Betty. 'Can you love a staircase?'

Pitt laughed out; then he answered seriously. 

'Don't you know that all that is good and true is in a way bound uptogether? it is one whole; and I take it to be certain that inproportion to anyone's love for spiritual and moral beauty will be, _coeteris paribus_, his appreciation of all expression of it, in natureor art. '

'_But_', said Betty, '"spiritual and moral beauty"! You do not meanthat this oak staircase is an expression of either?'

'Of both, perhaps. At any rate, the things are very closely connected. '

'You are an enigma!' said Betty. 

'I hope not always to remain so, ' he answered. 

Betty went up the beautiful staircase, noting as she went its beauties, from storey to storey. She had not noticed it before, although itreally took up more room than was proportionate to the size of thehouse. What did Pitt mean by those last words? she was querying. Andcould it be possible that the owner of a house like this, with aproperty corresponding, would not be of the world and live in the worldlike other men? He must, Betty thought. It is all very well for peoplewho have not the means to make a figure in society, to talk ofisolating themselves from society. A man may give up a little; but whenhe has much, he holds on to it. But how was it with Pitt? She must tryand find out. 

She accordingly made an attempt that same evening, beginning with thestaircase again. 

'I admired Inigo Jones all the way up-stairs, ' she said, when she hadan opportunity to talk to Pitt alone. Mr. Dallas had gone to sleepafter dinner, and his wife was knitting at a sufficient distance. 'Thequaint fancies and delicate work are really such as I never imaginedbefore in wood-carving. But your words about it remain a puzzle to me. '

'My words? About art being an expression of truth? Surely that is notnew?'

'It may be very old; but I do not understand it. '

'You understand, that so far as art is genuine, it is a setter forth oftruth?'

'Well, I suppose so; of some truth. Roses must be roses, and trees mustbe trees; and of course must look as like the reality as possible. '

'That is the very lowest thing art can do, and in some cases is nottrue art at all. Her business is to tell truth--never to deceive. '

'What sort of truth then?'

'What I said; spiritual and moral. '

'Ah, there it is! Now you have got back to it. Now you are talkingmystery, or--forgive me--transcendentalism. '

'No; nothing but simple and very plain fact. It is this first, --thatall truth is one; and this next, --that in the world of creation thingsmaterial are the expression of things spiritual. So all real beauty inform or colour has back of it a greater beauty of higher degree. '

'You are talking pure mystery. '

'No, surely, ' said Pitt eagerly. 'You certainly recognise the truth ofwhat I am saying, in some things. For instance, you cannot look upsteadily into the blue infinity of one of our American skies on a clearday--at least _I_ cannot--without presently getting the impression oftruth, pure, unfailing, incorruptible truth, in its Creator. The rose, everywhere in the world, so far as I know, is the accepted emblem oflove. And for another very familiar instance, --Christ is called in theBible the Sun of righteousness--the Light that is the life of man. Doyou know how close to fact that is? What this earth would be ifdeprived of the sun for a few days, is but a true image of thecondition of any soul finally forsaken by the Sun of righteousness. Inone word, death; and that is what the Bible means by death, of whichthe death we commonly speak of is again but a faint image. '

Betty fidgeted a little; this was not what she wished to speak of; itwas getting away from her point. 

'Your staircase set me wondering about _you_, ' she said boldly, notanswering his speech at all. 

'In yet another connection?' said Pitt, smiling. 

'In another connection. You remember you used to talk to me prettyfreely last summer about your new views and plans of life?'

'I remember. But my staircase?'--

'Yes, your staircase. You know it is rich and stately, as well asbeautiful. Whatever it signifies to you, to my lower vision it means aposition in the world and the means to maintain it. And I debated withmyself, as I went up the stairs, whether the owner of all this would_still_ think it his duty to live altogether for others, and not forhimself like common people. '

She looked at him, and Pitt met her inquiring eyes with a steady, penetrating, grave look, which half made her wish she had let thequestion alone. He delayed his answer a little, and then he said, --

'Will you let me meet that doubt in my own way?'

'Certainly!' said Betty, surprised; 'if you will forgive me itsarising. '

'Is one responsible for doubts? One _may_ be responsible for the stateof mind from which they spring. Then, if you will allow me, I will sayno more on the subject for a day or two. But I will not leave youunanswered; that is, unless you refuse to submit to my guidance, andwill not let me take my own way. '

'You are mysterious!'

'Will you go with me when I ask you?'

'Yes. '

'Then that is sufficient. '

Betty thought she had not gained much by her move. 

The next day was given to the Tower. Mrs. Dallas did not go; herhusband was of the party instead. The inspection of the place wasthorough, and occupied some hours; Pitt, being able, through an oldfriend of Mr. Strahan's who was now also _his_ friend, to obtain anorder from the Constable for seeing the whole. At dinner Bettydelivered herself of her opinion. 

'Were you busy all day with nothing but the Tower? asked Mrs. Dallas. 

'Stopped for luncheon, ' said her husband. 

'And we did our work thoroughly, mamma, ' added Pitt. 'You must taketime, if you want to see anything. '

'Well, ' said Betty, 'I must say, if this is what it means, to live inan old country, I am thankful I live in a new one. '

'What now?' asked Mr. Dallas. 'What's the matter?'

'Mrs. Dallas was wiser, that she did not go, ' Betty went on. '"I havesupped fall of horrors. " Really I have read history, but that gives itto one diluted. I had no notion that the English people were so savage. '

'Come, come! no worse than other people, ' Mr. Dallas put in. 

'I do not know how it is with other people. I am thankful we have nosuch monument in America. I shouldn't think snow would lie on theTower!'

'Doesn't often, ' said Pitt. 

'Think, Mrs. Dallas! I stood in that little chapel there, --theprisoners' chapel, --and beneath the pavement lay between thirty andforty people, the remains of them, who lay there with their headsseparated from their bodies; and some of them with no heads at all. Theheads had been set up on London bridge, or on Temple Bar, or some otherdreadful place. And then as we went round I was told that here was thespot where Lady Jane Grey was beheaded; and there was the window fromwhich she saw the headless body of her husband carried by; and _there_stood the rack on which Anne Askew was tortured; and there was theprison where Arabella Stuart died insane; and here was the axe whichused to be carried before the Lieutenant when he took a prisoner to histrial, and was carried before the prisoner when he returned, mostlywith the sharp edge turned towards him. I do not see how people used tolive in those times. There are Anne Boleyn and her brother, Lady JaneGrey and her husband, and other Dudleys innumerable'--

'My dear, do stop, ' said Mrs. Dallas. 'I cannot eat my dinner, and youcannot. '

'Eat dinner! Did anybody use to eat dinner, in those times? Did theworld go on as usual? with such horrors on the throne and in thedungeon?'

'It is a great national monument, ' said Mr. Dallas, 'that any peoplemight be proud of. '

'Proud! Well, I am glad, as I said, that the sky is blue over America. '

'The blue looks down on nothing so fine as our old Tower. And it isn'tso blue, either, if you could know all. '

'Where are you going to take us next, Pitt?' Mrs. Dallas asked, to givethings a pleasanter turn. 

'How did you like St. Paul's, Miss Betty?' her husband went on, beforePitt could speak. 

'It is very black!'

'That is one of its beauties, ' remarked Pitt. 

'Is it? But I am accustomed to purer air. I do not like so much smoke. '

'You were interested in the monuments?' said Mrs. Dallas. 

'Honestly, I am not fond of monuments. Besides, there is really areminiscence of the Tower and the axe there very often. I had noconception London was such a place. '

'Let us take her to Hyde Park and show her something cheerful, Pitt. '

'I should like above all things to go to the House of Commons and heara debate--if it could be managed. '

Pitt said it could be managed; and it was managed; and they went to thePark; and they drove out to see some of the beauties near London, Richmond, Hampton Court, and Windsor; and several days passed away ingreat enjoyment for the whole party. Betty forgot the Tower and grewgay. The strangeness of her position was forgotten; the house came tobe familiar; the alternation of sight-seeing with the quiet householdlife was delightful. Nothing could be better, might it last. Could itnot last? Nay, Betty would have relinquished the sight-seeing andbargained for only the household life, if she could have retained that. 

CHAPTER XLIII. 

_MARTIN'S COURT_. 

'What is for to-day, Pitt?'

There had been a succession of rather gay days, visiting of galleriesand palaces. Mrs. Dallas put the question at breakfast. 

'I am going to show Miss Frere something, if she will allow me. '

'She will allow you, of course. You have done it pretty often lately. Where is it now?'

'Nowhere for you, mamma. My show to-day is for Miss Frere alone. '

'Alone? Why may I not go?'

'You would not enjoy it. '

'Then perhaps she will not enjoy it. '

'Perhaps not. '

'But, Pitt, what do you mean? and what is this you want to show herwhich she does not want to see?'

'She can tell you all about it afterwards, if she chooses. '

'Perhaps she will not choose to go with you on such a doubtfulinvitation. '

Betty, however, declared herself ready for anything. So she was, undersuch guidance. 

They took a cab for a certain distance; then Pitt dismissed it, andthey went forward on foot. It was a dull, hot day; clouds hanging lowand threatening rain, but no rain falling as yet. Rain, if decided, toa good degree keeps down exhalations in the streets of a city, and sofar is a help to the wayfarer who is at all particular about the air hebreathes. No such beneficent influence was abroad to-day; and Betty'simpressions were not altogether agreeable. 

'What part of the city is this?' she asked. 

'Not a bad part at all. In fact, we are near a very fashionablequarter. This particular street is a business thoroughfare, as you see. '

Betty was silent, and they went on a while; then turned sharp out ofthis thoroughfare into a narrow alley. It was hot and close and dankenough here to make Miss Frere shrink, though she would not betray it. But dead cats and decaying cabbage leaves, in a not very clean alley, where the sun rarely shines, and briefly then, with the thermometerwell up, on a summer day, altogether make an atmosphere not suited todelicate senses. Pitt picked the way along the narrow passage, which atthe end opened into a little court. This was somewhat cleaner than thealley; also it lay so that the sun sometimes visited it, though heretoo his visits could be but brief, for on the opposite side the courtwas shut in and overshadowed by the tall backs of great houses. Theyseemed, to Betty's fancy, to cast as much moral as physical shadow overthe place. The houses in this court were small and dingy. If one lookedstraight up, there was a space of grey cloud visible; some days itwould no doubt be a space of blue sky. No other thing even dimlysuggesting refreshment or purity was within the range of vision. Pittslowly paced along the row of houses. 

'Who lives here?' Betty asked, partly to relieve the oppression thatwas creeping upon her. 

'No householders, that I know of. People who live in one room, orperhaps in two rooms; therefore in every house there are a number offamilies. This is Martin's court. And _here_, '--he stopped before oneof the doors, --'in this house, in a room on the third floor--let mesuppose a case'--

'Third floor? why, there are only two stories. '

'In the garret, then, --there lives an old woman, over seventy yearsold, all alone. She has been ill for a long time, and suffers a greatdeal of pain. '

'Who takes care of her?' Betty asked, wondering at the same time whyPitt told her all this. 

'She has no means to pay anybody to take care of her. '

'But how does she _live?_--if she cannot do anything for herself. '

'She can do nothing at all for herself. She has been dependent on thekindness of her neighbours. They are poor, too, and have their handsfull; still, from time to time one and another would look in upon her, light a fire for her, and give her something to eat; that is, when theydid not forget it. '

'And what if they did forget it?'

'Then she must wait till somebody remembered; wait perhaps days, to gether bed made; lie alone in her pain all day, except for those rarevisits; and even have to hire a boy with a penny to bring her a pitcherof water; lie alone all night and wait in the morning till somebodycould give her her breakfast. '

'Why do you tell me all this, Mr. Pitt?' said Betty, facing round onhim. 

'Ask me that by and by. Come a little farther. Here, in this next housebut one, there is a man sick with rheumatism--in a fever; when I firstsaw him he was lying there shivering and in great pain, with no fire;and his daughter, a girl of perhaps a dozen years old, was trying tolight a fire with a few splinters of sticks that she had picked up. That was last winter, in cold weather. They were poverty-stricken, since the man had been some time out of work. '

'Well?' said Betty. 'I must not repeat my question, but what is allthis to me? I have no power to help them. Do you know these peopleyourself?'

'Yes, I know them. In the last house of the row there is another oldwoman I want to tell you of; and then we will go. She is not ill, nordisabled; she is only very old and quite alone. She is not unhappyeither, for she is a true old Christian. But think of this: in the roomwhich she occupies, which is half underground, there is just one hourin the day when a sunbeam can find entrance. For that hour she watches;and when the sky is not clouded, and it comes, she takes her Bible andholds it in the sunshine to read for that blessed hour. It is all shehas in the twenty-four. The rest of the time she must only think ofwhat she has read; the place is too dark for any more. '

'Do let us go!' said Betty; and she turned, and almost fled back to thealley, and through the alley back to the street. There they walked moremoderately a space of some rods before she found breath and words. Shefaced round on her conductor again. 

'Why do you take me to such a place, and tell me such things?'

'Will you let that question still rest a little while?' Almost as hespoke Pitt called another cab, and Betty and he were presently speedingon again, whither she knew not. It was a good time to talk, and sherepeated her question. 

'Instead of answering you, I would like to put a question on my side, 'he returned. 'What do you think is duty, on the part of a servant ofChrist, towards such cases?'

'Pray tell me, is there not some system of poor relief in this place?'

'Yes, there is the parish help. And sorrowful help it is! The parishesare often very large, the sufferers very many, the cases of fraud andtrickery almost--perhaps quite--as numerous as those at least whichcome to the notice of the parish authorities. The parish authoritiesare but average men; is it wonderful if they are hard administrators? Ican tell you, justice is bitterly hard, as she walks the streets here;and mercy's hand has grown rough with friction!'

Betty looked at the speaker, whose brow was knit and his eye darkenedand flashing; she half laughed. 

'You are eloquent, ' she said. 'You ought to be representing the case onthe floor of the House of Commons. '

'Well, ' he said, coming down to an easier tone, 'the parish authoritiesare but men, as I said, and they grow suspicious, naturally; and in anycase the relief they give is utterly insufficient. A shilling a week, or two shillings a week, --what would they do for the people I have beentelling you of? And it is hard dealing with the parish authorities. Iknow it, for here and there at least I have followed Job's example;"the cause I knew not, I searched out. " One must do that, or one runsthe risk of being taken in, and throwing money away upon rogues whichought to go to help honest people. '

'But that takes time?'

'Yes. '

'A great deal of time, if it is to be done often. '

'Yes. '

'Mr. Pitt, if you follow out that sort of business, it would leave youtime for nothing else. '

'What better can I do with my time?'

'Just suppose everybody did the like!'

'Suppose they did. '

'What would be the state of things?'

'I should say, the world would be in a better state of health; and thatelephant we once spoke of would not shake his head quite so often. '

'But you are not the elephant, as I pointed out, if I remember; theworld does not rest on your head. '

'Part of it does. Go on and answer my question. What ought I to do forthese people of whom I have told you?'

'But you cannot reach everybody. You can reach only a few. '

'Yes. For those few, what ought I to do?'

'I daresay you know of other cases, that you have not said anythingabout, equally miserable?'

'_More_ miserable, I assure you, ' said Pitt, looking at her. 'Whatthen? Answer my question, like a good woman. '

'I am not a good woman. '

'Answer it _like_ a good woman, anyhow, ' said Pitt, smiling. 'Whatshould I do, properly, for such people as those I have brought to yournotice? Apply the golden rule--the only one that _can_ give the measureof things. In their place, what would you wish--and have a right towish--that some one should do for you? what may those who have nothingdemand from those who have everything?'

'Why, they could demand all you have got!'

'Not justly. Cannot you set your imagination to work and answer me? Iam not talking for nothing. Take my old Christian, near eighty, whosees a sunbeam for one hour in the twenty-four, when the sun shines, and uses it to read her Bible. The rest of the twenty-four hourswithout even the company of a sunbeam. Imagine--what would you, in herplace, wish for?'

'I should wish to die, I think. '

'It would be welcome to Mrs. Gregory, I do not doubt, though perhapsfor a different reason. Still, you would not counsel suicide, ormanslaughter. While you continued in life, what would you like?'

'Oh, ' said Betty, with an emphatic utterance, 'I would like a placewhere I could breathe!'

'Better lodgings?'

'Fresh air. I would beg for air. Of all the horrors of such places, theworst seems to me the want of air fit to breathe. '

'Then you think she ought to have a better lodging, in a betterquarter. She cannot pay for it. I can. Ought I to give it to her?'

Betty fidgeted, inwardly. The conditions of the cab did not allow ofmuch external fidgeting. 

'I do not know why you ask me this, ' she said. 

'No; but indulge me! I do not ask you without a purpose. '

'I am afraid of your purpose! Yes; if I must tell you, I should say, Oh, take me out of this! Let me see the sun whenever he can be seen inthis rainy London; and let me have sweet air outside of my windows. Then I would like somebody to look after me; to open my window insummer and make my fire in winter, and prepare nice meals for me. Iwould like good bread, and a cup of drinkable tea, and a little bit ofbutter on my bread. And clothes enough to keep clean; and then I wouldlike to live to thank you!'

Betty had worked herself up to a point where she was very near a greatburst of tears. She stopped with a choked sob in her throat, and lookedout of the cab window. Pitt's voice was changed when he spoke. 

'That is just what I thought. '

'And you have done it!'

'No; I am doing it. I could not at once find what I wanted. Now I havegot it, I believe. Go on now, please, and tell me what ought to be donefor the man in rheumatic fever. '

'The doctor would know better than I. '

'He cannot pay for a doctor. '

'But he ought to have one!'

'Yes, I thought so. '

'I see what you are coming to, ' said Betty; 'but, Mr. Pitt, I can _not_see that it is your duty to pay physician's bills for everybody thatcannot afford it. '

'I am not talking of everybody. I am speaking of this Mr. Hutchins. '

'But there are plenty more, as badly off. '

'As badly, --and worse. '

'You _cannot_ take care of them all. '

'Therefore--? What is your deduction from that fact?'

'Where are you going to stop?'

'Where ought I to stop? Put yourself, in imagination, in that conditionI have described; the chill of a rheumatic fever, and a room withoutfire, in the depth of winter. What would your sense of justice demandfrom the well and strong and comfortable and _able?_ Honestly. '

'Why, ' said Betty, again surveying Pitt from one side, '_with mynotions_, I should want a doctor, and an attendant, and a comfortableroom. '

'I do not doubt his notions would agree with yours, --if his fancy couldget so far. '

'But who ought to furnish those things for him is another question. '

'Another, but not more hard to answer. The Bible rule is, "Whatsoeverthy hand findeth to do, do it--"'

'Will you, ought you, to do all that you find to do?'

But Pitt went on, in a quiet business tone: 'In that same court Ifound, some time ago, a man who had been injured by an accident. Aheavy piece of iron had fallen on his foot; he worked in a machineshop. For months he was obliged to stay at home under the doctor'scare. He used up all his earnings; and strength and health were alikegone. The man of fifty looked like seventy. The doctor said he couldhardly grow strong again, without change of air. '

'Mr. Pitt!'--said Betty, and stopped. 

'He has a wife and nine children. '

'What did you do?'

'What would you have done?'

'I don't know! I never thought it was my business to supplement all theworld's failures. '

'Suppose for a moment it were Christ the Lord himself in either ofthese situations we have been looking at?'

'I cannot suppose it!'

'How would you feel about ministry _then?_'

Betty was silent, choked with discomfort now. 

'Would you think you could do enough? But, Miss Frere, He says it _is_Himself, in every case of His servants; and what is done to them Hecounts as done to Himself. And so it is!'

Looking again keenly at the speaker, Betty was sure that the eyes, which did not meet hers, were soft with moisture. 

'What did you do for that man?'

'I sent him to the seaside for three weeks. He came back perfectlywell. But then his employers would not take him on again; they saidthey wanted younger men; so I had to find new work for him. '

'There was another old woman you told me of in that dreadful court;what did you do for her?'

'Put her in clover, ' said Pitt, smiling. 'I moved Hutchins and hisfamily into a better lodging, where they could have a room to spare;and then I paid Mrs. Hutchins to take care of her. '

'You might go on, for aught I see, and spend your whole life, and allyou have, in this sort of work. '

'Do you think it would be a disagreeable disposition to make of both?'

'Why, yes!' said Betty. 'Would you give up all your tastes andpursuits, --literary, and artistic, and antiquarian, and I don't knowwhat all, --and be a mere walking Benevolent Society?'

'No need to give them up, any further than as they would interfere withsomething more important and more enjoyable. '

'_More enjoyable!_'

'Yes. I think, Miss Betty, the pleasure of doing something for Christis the greatest pleasure I know. '

Betty could have cried with vexation; in which, however, there was adistracting mingling of other feelings, --admiration of Pitt, envy ofhis evident happiness, regret that she herself was so different; but, above all, dismay that she was so far off. She was silent the rest ofthe drive. 

CHAPTER XLIV. 

_THE DUKE OF TREFOIL_. 

They drove a long distance, much of the way through uninterestingregions. Pitt stopped the cab at last, took Betty out, and led herthrough one and another street and round corner after corner, till atlast he turned into an alley again. 

'Where are you taking me now, Mr. Pitt?' she asked, in sometrepidation. 'Not another Martin's Court?'

'I want you to look well at this place. '

'I see it. What for?' asked Betty, casting her eyes about her. It was avery narrow alley, leading again, as might be seen by the gleam oflight at the farther end, into a somewhat more open space--anothercourt. _Here_ the word open had no application. The sides of the alleywere very near together and very high, leaving a strange gap betweenwalls of brick, at least strange when considered with reference tohuman habitation; all of freedom or expanse there was indicatedanywhere being a long and very distant strip of blue sky overhead whenthe weather was clear. Not even that to-day. The heavy clouds hung low, seeming to rest upon the house-tops, and shutting up all below undertheir breathless envelopment. Hot, sultry, stifling, the air felt toBetty; well-nigh unendurable; but Pitt seemed to be of intent that sheshould endure it for a while, and with some difficulty she submitted. Happily the place was cleaner than Martin's Court, and no dead cats nordecaying vegetables poisoned what air there was. But surely somewhatelse poisoned it. The doors of dwellings on the one side and on theother stood open, and here and there a woman or two had pressed to theopening with her work, both to get light and to get some freshness, ifthere were any to be had. 

Half way down the alley, Pitt paused before one of these open doors. Awoman had placed herself as close to it as she could, having apparentlysome fine work in hand for which she could not get light enough. Bettycould without much difficulty see past her into the space behind. Itwas a tiny apartment, smaller than anything Miss Frere had ever seenused as a living room; yet a living room it was. She saw that a veryminute stove was in it, a small table, and another chair; and on someshelves against the wall there was apparently the inmate's store ofwhat stood to her for china and plate. Two cups Betty thought she couldperceive; what else might be there the light did not serve to show. Thewoman was respectable-looking, because her dress was whole andtolerably clean; but it showed great poverty nevertheless, beingfrequently mended and patched, and of that indeterminate dull grey towhich all colours come with overmuch wear. She seemed to bemiddle-aged; but as she raised her head to see who had stopped in frontof her, Betty was so struck by the expression and tale-telling of itthat she forgot the question of age. Age? she might have been a hundredand fifty years old, to judge by the life-weary set of her features. Acomplexion that told of confinement, eyes dim with over-straining, lines of face that spoke weariness and disgust; and further, what toBetty's surprise seemed a hostile look of defiance. The face cleared, however, as she saw who stood before her; a great softening and alittle light came into it; she rose and dropped a curtsey, which wasevidently not a mere matter of form. 

'How do you do, Mrs. Mills?' said Pitt, and his voice was very gentleas he spoke, and half to Betty's indignation he lifted his hat also. 'This is rather a warm day!'

'Well, it be, sir, ' said the woman, resuming her seat. 'It nigh stiflesthe heart in one, it do!'

'I am afraid you cannot see to work very well, the clouds are so thick?'

'I thank you, sir; the clouds is allays thick, these days. Had youbusiness with me, Mr. Dallas?'

'Not to-day, Mrs. Mills. I am showing this lady a bit of London. '

'And would the lady be your wife, sir?'

'Oh no, ' said Pitt, laughing a little; 'you honour me too much. This isan American lady, from over the sea ever so far; and I want her to knowwhat sort of a place London is. '

'It's a bitter poor place for the likes of us, ' said the woman. 'Youshould show her where the grand folk lives, that built these houses forthe poor to be stowed in. '

'Yes, I have showed her some of those, and now I have brought her tosee your part of the world. '

'It's not to call a part o' the world!' said the woman. 'Do you callthis a part of the world, Mr. Dallas? I mind when I lived where treesgrow, and there was primroses in the grass; them's happier that hasn'tknown it. If you axed me sometimes, I would tell you that this is hell!Yet it ain't so bad as most. It's what folk call very decent. Oh yes!it's decent, it is, no doubt. I'll be carried out of it some day, andbless the day!'

'How is your boy?'

'He's fairly, sir, thank you. '

'No better?' said Pitt gently. 

'He won't never be no better, ' the woman said, with a doggedness whichBetty guessed was assumed to hide the tenderer feeling beneath. 'He'sdone for. There ain't nothin' but ill luck comes upon folks as lives insuch a hole, and couldn't other!'

'I'll come and see you about Tim, ' said Pitt. 'Keep up a good heart inthe mean while. Good-bye! I'll see you soon. '

He went no farther in that alley. He turned and brought Betty out, called another cab, and ordered the man to drive to Kensington Gardens. Till they arrived there he would not talk; bade Betty wait with herquestions. The way was long enough to let her think them all overseveral times. At last the cab stopped, Pitt handed her out, and ledher into the Gardens. Here was a change. Trees of noble age and growthshadowed the ground, greensward stretched away in peaceful smoothness, the dust and the noise of the great city seemed to be escaped. It wasfresh and shady, and even sweet. They could hear each other speak, without unduly raising their voices. Pitt went on till he found a placethat suited him, and they sat down, in a refreshing greenness and quiet. 

'Now, ' said Betty, 'I suppose I may ask. What did you take me to thatlast place for?'

'That will appear in due time. What did you think of it?'

'It is difficult to tell you what I think of it. Is much of London likethat?'

'Much of it is far worse. '

'Well, there is nothing like that in New York or Washington. '

'Do not be too sure. There is something like that wherever rich men arecongregated in large numbers to live. '

'Rich men!' cried Betty. 

'Yes. So far as I know, this sort of thing is to be found nowhere else, but where rich men dwell. It is the growth of their desire for largeincomes. That woman we visited--what did you think of her?'

'She impressed me very much, and oddly. I could not quite read herlook. She seemed to be in a manner hostile, not to you, but I thoughtto all the world beside; a disagreeable look!'

'She is a lace-mender'--

'A lace-mender!' broke in Betty. 'Down in that den of darkness?'

'And she pays-- Did you see where she lived?'

'I saw a room not bigger than a good-sized box; is that all?'

'There is an inner room--or box--without windows, where she and herchild sleep. For that lodging that woman pays half-a-crown a week--thatis, about five shillings American money--to one of the richest noblemenin England. '

'A nobleman!' cried Betty. 

'The Duke of Trefoil. '

'A nobleman!' Betty repeated. 'A duke, and a lace-mender, and fiveshillings a week!'

'The glass roofs of his hothouses and greenhouses would cover an acreof ground. His wife sits in a boudoir opening into a conservatory whereit is summer all the year round; roses bloom and violets, and geraniumswreathe the walls, and palm trees are grouped around fountains. Sheeats ripe strawberries every day in the year if she chooses, and might, like Judah, "wash her feet in the blood of the grape, " the fruit is soplenty, the while my lace-mender strains her eyes to get half-a-crown aweek for his Grace. All that alley and its poor crowded lodgings belongto him. '

'I don't wonder she looks bitter, poor thing. Do you suppose she knowshow her landlord lives?'

'I doubt if she does. She perhaps never heard of the house and gardensat Trefoil Park. But in her youth she was a servant in a good house inthe country, --not so great a house, --and she knows something of thedifference between the way the rich live and the poor. She is verybitter over the contrast, and I cannot much blame her!'

'Yet it is not just. '

'Which?' said Pitt, smiling. 

'That feeling of the poor towards the rich. '

'Is it not? It has some justice. I was coming home one night lastwinter, late, and found my way obstructed by the crowd of arrivals toan entertainment given at a certain great house. The house stood alittle back from the street, and carpeting was laid down for the softlyshod feet to pass over. Of course there were gathered a small crowd oflookers-on, pressing as near as they were allowed to come; trying tocatch, if they might, a gleam or a glitter from the glories they couldnot approach. I don't know if the contrast struck them, but it struckme; the contrast between those satin slippers treading the carpet, andthe bare feet standing on the muddy stones; feet that had never knownthe touch of a carpet anywhere, nor of anything else either clean orsoft. '

'But those contrasts must be, Mr. Dallas. '

'Must they? Is not something wrong, do you think, when the Duke ofTrefoil eats strawberries all the year long, and my lace-mender, in theheight of the season, perhaps never sees one?--when the duchess sits inher bower of beauty, with the violets under her feet and the palms overher head, and the poor in her husband's houses cannot get a flower toremind them that all the world is not like a London alley? Does notsomething within you say that the scales of the social balance might bea little more evenly adjusted?'

'How are you going to do it?'

'If you do not feel that, ' Pitt went on, 'I am afraid that some of thelower classes do. I said I did not know whether the contrast struck thepeople that night, but I do know it did. I heard words and saw looksthat betrayed it. And when the day comes that the poor will know moreand begin to think about these things, I am afraid there will betrouble. '

'But what can you do?'

'That is exactly what I was going to ask you, ' said Pitt, changing histone and with a genial smile. 'Take my lace-mender for an example. These things must be handled in detail, if at all. She is bitter in thefeeling of wrong done her somewhere, bitter to hatred; what can, notyou, but I, do for her, to help her out of it?'

'I should say that is the Duke of Trefoil's business. '

'I leave his business to him. What is mine?'

'You have done something already, I can see, for she makes an exceptionof you. '

'I have not done much, ' said Pitt gravely. 'What do you think it was?Her boy was ill; he had met with an accident, and was a thin, pale, wasted-looking child when I first saw them. I took him a rosebush, infull flower. '

'Were they so glad of it?'

Pitt was silent a minute. 

'It was about as much as I could stand, to see it. Then I got the childsome things that he could eat. He is well now; as well as he ever willbe. '

'I did not see the rosebush. '

'Ah, it did not live. Nothing could there. '

'Well, Mr. Pitt, haven't you done your part, as far as this case isconcerned?'

'Have I? Would _you_ stop with that?'

Betty sat very quiet, but internally fidgeted. What did Pitt ask herthese questions for? Why had he taken her on this expedition? Shewished she had not gone; she wished she had not come to England; andyet she would not be anywhere else at this moment but where she was, for any possible consideration. She wished Pitt would be different, andnot fill his head with lace-menders and London alleys; and yet--evenso--things might be worse. Suppose Pitt had devoted his energies togambling, and absorbed all his interests in hunters and racers. Bettyhad known that sort of thing; and now summarily concluded that men mustmake themselves troublesome in one way or another. But this particularturn this man had taken did seem to set him so far off from her!

'What would you do, Mr. Pitt?' she said, with a somewhat weary cadencein her voice which he could not interpret. 

'Look at it, and tell me, from your standpoint. '

'If you took that woman out of those lodgings, there would comesomebody else into them, and you might begin the whole thing overagain. In that way the Duke of Trefoil might give you enough to do fora lifetime. '

'Well?--the conclusion?'

'How can you ask? Some things are self-evident. '

'What do you think that means: "He that hath two coats, let him impartto him that hath none"?'

'I don't think it means _that_, ' said Betty. 'That you are to give awayall you have, till you haven't left yourself an overcoat. '

'Are you sure? Not if somebody else needed it more? That is thequestion. We come back to the--"Whatsoever ye would that men should dounto you. " "Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast outdevils. " How, do you think, can I best do that in the case of Mrs. Mills and her boy? One thing at a time. Never mind what the Duke ofTrefoil may complicate in the future. '

'Raise the dead!' Betty echoed. 

'Ay, ' he said. 'There are worse deaths than that of the body. '

Betty paused, but Pitt waited. 

'If they are to be kept alive in any sense, ' she said at last, 'theymust be taken out of that hole where they are now. '

'And, as you truly suggest that the number of persons wanting suchrelief is unlimited, the first thing to be done is to build properhouses for the poor. That is what I have set about. '

'_You_ have!' cried Betty. 

'I cannot do much. True, but that is nothing whatever to the question. I have begun to put up a few houses, which shall be comfortable, easyto keep clean, and rentable for what the industrious poor can afford topay. That will give sufficient interest for the capital expended, andeven allow me, without further outlay, to go on extending myaccommodations. Mrs. Mills will move into the first of my new houses, Ihope, next month. '

'What have you taken me all this day's expedition for, Mr. Dallas?'Betty asked suddenly. The pain of the thing was pressing her. 

'You remember, you asked a question of me; to wit, whether I wereminded still as I seemed to be minded last year. I have showed you afraction of the reasons why I should not have changed, and you haveapproved them. '

Betty found nothing to answer; it was difficult not to approve them, and yet she hated the conclusion. The conversation was not resumedimmediately. All the quiet beauty of the scene around them spoke, toBetty, for a life of ease and luxury; it seemed to say, Keep at adistance from disagreeable things; if want and squalor are in theworld, you belong to a different part of the world; let London beLondon, you stay in Kensington Gardens. Take the good of youradvantages, and enjoy them. That this was the noblest view or thejustest conclusion, she would not say to herself; but it was the viewin which she had been brought up; and the leopard's spots, we know, arepersistent. Pitt had been brought up so too; what a tangent he hadtaken from the even round of society in general! Not to be brought back?

'I see, ' she began after a while, --'from my window at your house I seeat some distance what looks like a large and fine mansion, amongsttrees and pleasure grounds; whose is it?'

'That is Holland House. '

'Holland House! It looks very handsome outside. '

'It is one of the finest houses about London. And it is better insidethan outside. '

'You have been inside?'

'A number of times. I am sorry I cannot take you in; but it is not opento strangers. '

'How did you get in?'

'With my uncle. '

'Holland House! I have heard that the society there is very fine. '

'It has the best society of any house in London; and that is the same, I suppose, as to say any house in the world. '

'Do you happen to know that by experience?'

'Yes; its positive, not its relative character, ' he said, smiling. 

'But you-- However, I suppose you pass for an Englishman. '

'Yes, but I have seen Americans there. My late uncle, Mr. Strahan, wasa very uncommon man, full of rare knowledge, and very highly regardedby those who knew him. Lord Holland was a great friend of his, and hewas always welcomed at Holland House. I slipped in under his wing. '

'Then since Mr. Strahan's death you do not go there any more?'

'Yes, I have been there. Lord Holland is one of the most kindly men inthe kingdom, and he has not withdrawn the kindness he showed me as Mr. Strahan's nephew and favourite. '

'If you go _there_, you must go into a great deal of London society, 'said Betty, wondering. 'I am afraid you have been staying at home forour sakes. Mrs. Dallas would not like that. '

'No, ' said Pitt, 'the case is not such. Once in a while I have gone toHolland House, but I have not time for general society. '

'Not time!'

'No, ' said Pitt, smiling at her expression. 

'Not time for society! That is--_is_ it possibly--because of Martin'scourt, and the Duke of Trefoil's alley, and the like?'

'What do you think?' said Pitt, his eyes sparkling with amusement. 'There is society and society, you know. Can you drink from twoopposite sides of a cup at the same time?'

'But one has _duties_ to Society!' objected Betty, bewildered somewhatby the argument and the smile together. 

'So I think, and I am trying to meet them. Do not mistake me. I do notmean to undervalue _real_ society; I will take gladly all I can thatwill give me mental stimulus and refreshment. But the round of fashionis somewhat more vapid than ever, I grant you, after a visit to mylace-mender. Those two things cannot go on together. Shall we walkhome? It is not very far from here. I am afraid I have tired you!'

Betty denied that; but she walked home very silently. 

CHAPTER XLV. 

_THE ABBEY_. 

This interruption of the pleasure sights was alone in its kind. Pittlet the subject that day so thoroughly handled thenceforth drift out ofsight; he referred to it no more; and continually, day after day, hegave himself up to the care of providing new entertainment for hisguests. Drives into the country, parties on the river, visits to grandplaces, to picture galleries, to curiosities, to the British Museum, alternated with and succeeded each other. Pitt seemed untireable. Mrs. Dallas was in a high state of contentment, trusting that all thingswere going well for her hopes concerning her son and Miss Frere; butBetty herself was going through an experience of infinite pain. It wasimpossible not to enjoy at the moment these enjoyable things; the lifeat Pitt's old Kensington house was like a fairy tale for strangenessand prettiness; but Betty was living now under a clear impression ofthe fact that it _was_ a fairy tale, and that she must presently walkout of it. And gradually the desire grew uppermost with her to walk outof it soon, while she could do so with grace and of her own accord. Thepretty house which she had so delighted in began to oppress her. Shewould presently be away, and have no more to do with it; and somebodyelse would be brought there to reign and enjoy as mistress. Ittormented Betty, that thought. Somebody else would come there, wouldhave a right there; would be cherished and cared for and honoured, andhave the privilege of standing by Pitt in his works and plans, helpinghim, and sympathizing with him. A floating image of a fair, statelywoman, with speaking grey eyes and a wonderful pure face, would comebefore her when she thought of these things, though she told herself itwas little likely that _she_ would be the one; yet Betty could think ofno other, and almost felt superstitiously sure at last that Esther itwould be, in spite of everything. Esther it would be, she was almostsure, if she, Betty, spoke one little word of information; would shehave done well to speak it? Now it was too late. 

'I think, Mrs. Dallas, ' she began, one day, 'I cannot stay much longerwith you. Probably you and Mr. Dallas may make up your minds to remainhere all the winter; I should think you would. If I can hear ofsomebody going home that I know, I will go, while the season is good. '

Mrs. Dallas roused up, and objected vehemently. Betty persisted. 

'I am in a false position here, ' she said. 'It was all very well atfirst; things came about naturally, and it could not be helped; and Iam sure I have enjoyed it exceedingly; but, dear Mrs. Dallas, I cannotstay here always, you know. I am ashamed to remember how long it isalready. '

'My dear, I am sure my son is delighted to have you, ' said Mrs. Dallas, looking at her. 

'He is not delighted at all, ' said Betty, half laughing. Poor girl, shewas not in the least light-hearted; bitterness can laugh as easily aspleasure sometimes. 'He is a very kind friend, and a perfect host; butthere is no reason why he should care about my coming or going, youknow. '

'Everybody must care to have you come, and be sorry to have you go, Betty. '

'"Everybody" is a general term, ma'am, and always leaves room forimportant exceptions. I shall have his respect, and my own too, betterif I go now. '

'My dear, I cannot have you!' said Mrs. Dallas uneasily, but afraid toask a question. 'No, we shall not stay here for the winter. Wait alittle longer, Betty, and we will take you down into the country, andmake the tour of England. It is more beautiful than you can conceive. Wait till we have seen Westminster Abbey; and then we will go. You cangrant me that, my dear?'

Betty did not know how to refuse. 

'Has Pitt got over his extravagancies of last year?' the older ladyventured, after a pause. 

'I do not think he gets over anything, ' said Betty, with inward bitterassurance. 

The day came that had been fixed for a visit to the Abbey. Pitt had notbeen eager to take them there; had rather put it off. He told hismother that one visit to Westminster Abbey was nothing; that two visitswere nothing; that a long time and many hours spent in study andenjoyment of the place were necessary before one could so much as beginto know Westminster Abbey. But Mrs. Dallas had declared she did notwant to _know_ it; she only desired to see it and see the monuments;and what could be answered to that? So the visit was agreed upon andfixed for this day. 

'You did not want to bring us here, because you thought we would notappreciate it?' Betty said to Pitt, in an aside, as they were aboutentering. 

'Nobody can appreciate it who takes it lightly, ' he answered. 

That day remained fixed in Betty's memory for ever, with all itsdetails, sharp cut in. The moment they entered the building, thegreatness and beauty of the place seemed to overshadow her, and rousedup all the higher part of her nature. With that, it stirred into keenlife the feeling of being shut out from the life she wanted. The Abbey, with the rest of all the wonders and antiquities and rich beauties ofthe city, belonged to the accessories of Pitt's position and home;belonged so in a sort to him; and the sense of the beauty which shecould not but feel met in the girl's heart with the pain which shecould not bid away, and the one heightened the other, after the strangefashion that pain and pleasure have of sharpening each other's powers. Betty took in with an intensity of perception all the riches of theAbbey that she was capable of understanding; and her capacity in thatway was far beyond the common. She never in her life had been quickerof appreciation. The taste of beauty and the delight of curiosity wereat times exquisite; never failing to meet and heighten that underlyingpain which had so moved her whole nature to sentient life. For thecommonplace and the indifferent she had to-day no toleration at all;they were regarded with impatient loathing. Accordingly, the progressround the Poets' corner, which Mrs. Dallas would make slowly, was toBetty almost intolerable. She must go as the rest went, but she wentmaking silent protest. 

'You do not care for the poets, Miss Betty, ' remarked Mr. Dallasjocosely. 

'I see here very few names of poets that I care about, ' she responded. 'To judge by the rest, I should say it was about as much of an honourto be left out of Westminster Abbey as to be put in. '

'Fie, fie, Miss Betty! what heresy is here! Westminster Abbey! why, itis the one last desire of ambition. '

'I am beginning to think ambition is rather an empty thing, sir. '

'See, here is Butler. Don't you read _Hudibras?_'

'No, sir. '

'You should. It's very clever. Then here is Spenser, next to him. Youare devoted to _The Faerie Queene_, of course!'

'I never read it. '

'You might do worse, ' remarked Pitt, who was just before them with hismother. 

'Does anybody read Spenser now?'

'It is a poor sign for the world if they do not. '

'One cannot read everything, ' said Betty. 'I read Shakspeare; I am gladto see _his_ monument. '

It was a relief to pass on at last from the crowd of literary folk intothe nobler parts of the Abbey; and yet, as the impression of itswonderful beauty and solemn majesty first fully came upon Miss Frere, it was oddly accompanied by an instant jealous pang: 'He will bringsomebody else here some day, who will come as often as she likes, be athome here, and enjoy the Abbey as if it were her own property. ' AndBetty wished she had never come; and in the same inconsistent breathwas exceedingly rejoiced that she had come. Yes, she would take all ofthe beauty in that she could; take it and keep it in her memory forever; taste it while she had it, and live on the after-taste for therest of her life. But the taste of it was at the moment sharp with pain. 

Pitt had procured from one of the canons, who had been his uncle'sfriend, an order which permitted them to go their own way and taketheir own time, unaccompanied and untrammelled by vergers. No showmanwas necessary in Pitt's presence; he could tell them all, and much morethan they cared about knowing. Mrs. Dallas, indeed, cared for littlebeyond the tokens of England's antiquity and glory; her interest wasmostly expended on the royal tombs and those connected with them. Forwas not Pitt now, virtually, one of the favoured nation, by habit andconnection as well as in blood? and did not England's greatness senddown a reflected light on all her sons?--only poetical justice, as itwas earlier sons who had made the greatness. But of that Mrs. Dallasdid not think. 'England' was an abstract idea of majesty and power, embodied in a land and a government; and Westminster Abbey was in asort the record and visible token of the same, and testimony of it, inthe face of all the world. So Mrs. Dallas enjoyed Westminster Abbey, and her heart swelled in contemplation of its glories; but its realglories she saw not. Lights and shadows, colouring, forms of beauty, associations of tenderness, majesties of age, had all no existence forher. The one feeling in exercise, which took its nourishment from allshe looked upon, was pride. But pride is a dull kind of gratification;and the good lady's progress through the Abbey could not be calledsatisfactory to one who knew the place. 

Mr. Dallas was neither proud nor pleased. He was, however, anEnglishman, and Westminster Abbey was intensely English, and to gothrough and look at it was the right thing to do; so he went; doing hisduty. 

And beside these two went another bit of humanity, all alive andquivering, intensely sensitive to every impression, which must needs bemore or less an impression of suffering. Her folly, she told herself, it was which had so stripped her of her natural defences, and exposedher to suffering. The one only comfort left was, that nobody knew it;and nobody should know it. The practice of society had given hercommand over herself, and she exerted it that day; all she had. 

They were making the tour of St. Edmund's chapel. 

'Look here, Betty, ' cried Mrs. Dallas, who was still a little apartfrom the others with her son, --'come here and see this! Look here--thetomb of two little children of Edward III. !'

'After going over some of the other records, ma'am, I can but call themhappy to have died little. '

'But isn't it interesting? Pitt tells me there were _six_ of the littleprincess's brothers and sisters that stood here at her funeral, theBlack Prince among them. Just think of it! Around this tomb!'

'Why should it be more interesting to us than any similar gathering ofcommon people? There is many a spot in country graveyards at home wheremore than six members of a family have stood together. '

'But, my dear, these were Edward the Third's children. '

'Yes. He was something when he was alive; but what is he to us now? Andwhy should we care, '--Betty hastily went on to generalities, seeing theastonishment in Mrs. Dallas's face, --'why should we be more interestedin the monuments and deaths of the great, than in those of lesserpeople? In death and bereavement all come down to a common humanity. '

'Not a _common_ humanity!' said Mrs. Dallas, rather staring at Betty. 

'All are alike on the other side, mother, ' observed Pitt. 'The king'sdaughter and the little village girl stand on the same footing, whenonce they have left this state of things. There is only one nobilitythat can make any difference then. '

'"One nobility!"' repeated Mrs. Dallas, bewildered. 

'You remember the words, --"Whosoever shall do the will of my Fatherwhich is in heaven, the same is _my mother_, _and my sister_, _andbrother_. " The village girl will often turn out to be the daughter ofthe King then. '

'But you do not think, do you, ' said Betty, 'that _all_ that one hasgained in this life will be lost, or go for nothing?Education--knowledge--refinement, --all that makes one man or womanreally greater and nobler and richer than another, --will _that_ be allas though it had not been?--no advantage?'

'What we know of the human mind forbids us to think so. Also, theanalogy of God's dealings forbids it. The child and the fully developedphilosopher do not enter the other world on an intellectual level; wecannot suppose it. _But_, all the gain on the one side will go toheighten his glory or to deepen his shame, according to the fact of hishaving been a servant of God or no. '

'I don't know where you are getting to!' said Mrs. Dallas a littlevexedly. 

'If we are to proceed at this rate, ' suggested her husband, 'we may aswell get leave to spend all the working days of a month in the Abbey. It will take us all that. '

'After all, ' said Betty as they moved, 'you did not explain why weshould be so much more interested in this tomb of Edward the Third'schildren than in that of any farmer's family?'

'My dear, ' said Mrs. Dallas, 'I am astonished to hear you speak so. Arenot _you_ interested?'

'Yes ma'am; but why should I be? For really, often the farmer's familyis the more respectable of the two. '

'Are you such a republican, Betty? I did not know it. '

'There is a reason, though, ' said Pitt, repressing a smile, 'which evena republican may allow. The contrast here is greater. The glory andpomp of earthly power is here brought into sharp contact with thenothingness of it, So much yesterday, --so little to-day. Those upliftedhands in prayer are exceedingly touching, when one remembers that alltheir mightiness has come down to that!'

'It is not every fool that thinks so, ' remarked Mr. Dallas ambiguously. 

'No, ' said Betty, with a sudden impulse of championship; 'fools do notthink at all. '

'Here is a tablet to Lady Knollys, ' said Pitt, moving on. 'She was aniece of Anne Boleyn, and waited upon her to the scaffold. '

'But that is only a tablet, ' said Mrs. Dallas. 'Who is this, Pitt?' Shewas standing before an effigy that bore a coronet; Betty beside her. 

'That is the Duchess of Suffolk; the mother of Lady Jane Grey. '

'I see, ' said Betty, 'that the Abbey is the complement of the Tower. Her daughter and her husband lie there, under the pavement of thechapel. How comes she to be here?'

'Her funeral was after Elizabeth came to the throne. But she had beenin miserable circumstances, poor woman, before that. '

'I wonder she lived at all, ' said Betty, 'after losing husband anddaughter in that fashion! But people do bear a great deal and livethrough it!'

Which words had an application quite private to the speaker, and whichno one suspected. And while the party were studying the details of thetomb of John of Eltham, Pitt explaining and the others trying to takeit in, Betty stood by with passionate thoughts. '_They_ do not care, 'she said to herself; 'but he will bring some one else here, some day, who will care; and they will come and come to the Abbey, and delightthemselves in its glories, and in each other, alternately. What do Ihere? and what is the English Abbey to me?'

She showed no want of interest, however, and no wandering of thought;on the contrary, an intelligent, thoughtful, gracious attention toeverything she saw and everything she heard. Her words, she knew, though she could not help it, were now and then flavoured withbitterness. 

In the next chapel Mrs. Dallas heard with much sympathy and wonder theaccount of Catharine of Valois and her remains. 

'I don't think she ought to lie in the vault of Sir George Villiers, ifhe _was_ father of the Duke of Buckingham, ' she exclaimed. 

'That Duke of Buckingham had more honour than belonged to him, in lifeand in death, ' said Betty. 

'It does not make much difference now, ' said Pitt. 

They went on to the chapel of Henry VII. And here, and on the waythither, Betty almost for a while forgot her troubles in the exceedingmajesty and beauty of the place. The power of very exquisite beauty, which always and in all forms testifies to another world where itssource and its realization are, came down upon her spirit, and hushedit as with a breath of balm; and the littleness of this life, of anyone individual's life, in the midst of the efforts here made to denyit, stood forth in most impressive iteration. Betty was awed andquieted for a minute. Mr. And Mrs. Dallas were moved differently. 

'And this was Henry the Seventh's work!' exclaimed Mr. Dallas, makingan effort to see all round him at once. 'Well, I didn't know they couldbuild so well in those old times. Let us see; when was heburied?--1509? That is pretty long ago. This is a beautiful building!And that is his tomb, eh? I should say this is better than anything hehad in his lifetime. Being king of England was not just so easy to himas his son found it. Crowns are heavy in the best of times; and his wasspecially. '

'It is a strange ambition, though, to be glorified so in one's funeralmonument, ' said Betty. 

'A very common ambition, ' remarked Pitt. 'But this chapel was to bemuch more than a monument. It was a chantry. The king ordered tenthousand masses to be said here for the repose of his soul; andintended that the monkish establishment should remain for ever toattend to them. Here around his tomb you see the king's particularpatron saints, --nine of them, --to whom he looked for help in time ofneed; all over the chapel you will find the four national saints, if Imay so call them, of the kingdom; and at the end there is the VirginMary, with Peter and Paul, and other saints and angels innumerable. Thewhole chapel is like those touching folded hands of stone we werespeaking of, --a continual appeal, through human and angelic mediation, fixed in stone; though at the beginning also living in the chants ofthe monks. '

'Well, I am sure that is being religious!' said Mrs. Dallas. 'If such aplace as this does not honour religion, I don't know what does. '

'Mother, Christ said, "_I_ am the door. "'

'Yes, my dear, but is not all this an appeal to Him?'

'Mother, he said, "He that believeth on me hath everlasting life. " Whathave saints and angels to do with it? "He that _belieth_. "'

'Surely the builder of all this must have believed, ' said Mrs. Dallas, 'or he would never have spent so much money and taken so much painsabout it. '

'If he had believed on Christ, mother, he would have known he had noneed. Think of those ten thousand masses to be said for him, that hissins might be forgiven and his soul received into heaven; you see howmiserably uncertain the poor king felt of ever getting there. '

'Well, ' said Mrs. Dallas, 'every one must feel uncertain! He cannot_know_--how can he know?'

'How can he live and not know?' Pitt answered in a lowered tone. 'Uncertainty on that point would be enough to drive a thinking man mad. Henry the Seventh, you see, could not bear it, and so he arranged tohave ten thousand masses said for him, and filled his chapel withintercessory saints. '

'But I do not see how any one is to have certainty, Mr. Pitt, ' Bettysaid. 'One cannot see into the future. '

'It is only necessary to believe, in the present. '

'Believe what?'

'The word of the King, who promised, --"Whosoever liveth and believethin me _shall never die_. " The love that came down here to die for uswill never let slip any poor creature that trusts it. '

'Yes; but suppose one cannot trust _so?_' objected Betty. 

'Then there is probably a reason for it. Disobedience, even partialdisobedience, cannot perfectly trust. '

'How can sinful creatures do anything perfectly, Pitt?' his motherasked, almost angrily. 

'Mamma, ' said he gravely, 'you trust _me_ so. '

Mrs. Dallas made no reply to that; and they moved on, surveying thechapels. The good lady bowed her head in solemn approbation when shownthe place whence the bodies of Cromwell and others of his family andfriends were cast out after the Restoration. 'They had no business tobe there, ' she assented. 

'Where were they removed to?' Betty asked. 

'Some of them were hanged, as they deserved, ' said Mr. Dallas. 

'Cromwell, Ireton, and Bradshaw, at Tyburn, ' Pitt added. 'The otherswere buried, not honourably, not far off. One of Cromwell's daughters, who was a Churchwoman and also a royalist, they allowed to remain inthe Abbey. She lies in one of the other chapels, over yonder. '

'Noble revenge!' said Betty quietly. 

'Very proper, ' said Mrs. Dallas. 'It seems hard, but it is proper. People who rise up against their kings should be treated withdishonour, both before and after death. '

'How about the kings who rise up against their people?' asked Betty. 

She could not help the question, but she was glad that Mrs. Dallas didnot seem to hear it. They passed on, from one chapel to another, goingmore rapidly; came to a pause again at the tomb of Mary, Queen of Scots. 

'I am beginning to think, ' said Betty, 'that the history of England isone of the sorrowfullest things in the world. I wonder if all othercountries are as bad? Think of this woman's troublesome, miserablelife; and now, after Fotheringay, the honour in which she lies in thistemple is such a mockery! I suppose Elizabeth is here somewhere?'

'Over there, in the other aisle. And below, the two Tudor queens, Elizabeth and Mary, lie in a vault together, alone. Personal rivalries, personal jealousies, political hatred and religious enmity, --they areall composed now; and all interests fade away before the one supreme, eternal; they are gone where "the honour that cometh from God" is theonly honour left. Well for them if they have that! Here is the Countessof Richmond, the mother of Henry VII. She was of kin or somehowconnected, it is said, with thirty royal personages; the grand-daughterof Catharine of Valois, grandmother of Henry VIII. , Elizabeth'sgreat-grandmother. She was, by all accounts, a noble old lady. Now allthat is left is these pitiful folded hands. '

Mrs. Dallas passed on, and they went from chapel to chapel, and fromtomb to tomb, with unflagging though transient interest. But for Betty, by and by the brain and sense seemed to be oppressed and confused bythe multitude of objects, of names and stories and sympathies. Thenovelty wore off, and a feeling of some weariness supervened; andtherewith the fortunes and fates of the great past fell more and moreinto the background, and her own one little life-venture absorbed herattention. Even when going round the chapel of Edward the Confessor andviewing the grand old tombs of the magnates of history who areremembered there, Betty was mostly concerned with her own history; anda dull bitter feeling filled her. It was safe to indulge it, foreverybody else had enough beside to think of, and she grew silent. 

'You are tired, ' said Pitt kindly, as they were leaving the Confessor'schapel, and his mother and father had gone on before. 

'Of course, ' said Betty. 'There is no going through the ages withoutsome fatigue--for a common mortal. '

'We are doing too much, ' said Pitt. 'The Abbey cannot be properly seenin this way. One should take part at a time, and come many times. '

'No chance for me, ' said Betty. 'This is my first and my last. ' Shelooked back as she spoke towards the tombs they were leaving, andwished, almost, that she were as still as they. She felt her eyessuffusing, and hastily went on. 'I shall be going home, I expect, in afew days--as soon as I find an opportunity. I have stayed too long now, but Mrs. Dallas has over-persuaded me. I am glad I have had this, atany rate. '

She was capable of no more words just then, and was about to moveforward, when Pitt by a motion of his hand detained her. 

'One moment, ' said he. 'Do you say that you are thinking of returningto America?'

'Yes. It is time. '

'I would beg you, if I might, to reconsider that, ' he said. 'If youcould stay with my mother a while longer, it would be, I am sure, agreat boon to her; for _I_ am going away. I must take a run over toAmerica--I have business in New York--must be gone several weeks atleast. Cannot you stay and go down into Westmoreland with her?'

It seemed to Betty that she became suddenly cold, all over. Yet she wassure there was no outward manifestation in face or manner of what shefelt. She answered mechanically, indifferently, that she 'would see';and they went forward to rejoin their companions. But of the rest ofthe objects that were shown them in the Abbey she simply saw nothing. The image of Esther was before her; in New York, found by Pitt; inWestminster Abbey, brought thither by him, and lingering where her ownfeet now lingered; in the house at Kensington, going up the beautifulstaircase, and standing before the cabinet of coins in the library. Above all, found by Pitt in New York. For he would find her; perhapseven now he had news of her; _she_ would be coming with hope andgladness and honour over the sea, while she herself would be returning, crossing the same sea the other way, --in every sense the other way, --inmortification and despair and dishonour. Not outward dishonour, and yetthe worst possible; dishonour in her own eyes. What a fool she hadbeen, to meddle in this business at all! She had done it with her eyesopen, trusting that she could exercise her power upon anybody and yetremain in her own power. Just the reverse of that had come to pass, andshe had nobody to blame but herself. If Pitt was leaving his father andmother in England, to go to New York, it could be on only one business. The game, for her, was up. 

There were weeks of torture before her, she knew, --slowtorture, --during which she must show as little of what she felt as anIndian at the stake. She must be with Mrs. Dallas, and hear the wholematter talked of, and from point to point as the history went on; andmust help talk of it. For if Pitt was going to New York now, Betty wasnot; that was a fixed thing. She must stay for the present where shewas. 

She was a little pale and tired, they said on the drive home. And thatwas all anybody ever knew. 

CHAPTER XLVI. 

_A VISIT_. 

Pitt sailed for America in the early days of Autumn; and September hadnot yet run out when he arrived in New York. His first researches, ason former occasions, amounted to nothing, and several days passed withno fruit of his trouble. The intelligence received at the post officegave him no more than he had been assured of already. They believed aletter did come occasionally to a certain Colonel Gainsborough, but theoccasions were not often; the letters were not called for regularly;and the address, further than that it was 'New York, ' was not known. Pitt was thrown upon his own resources, which narrowed down pretty muchto observation and conjecture. To exercise the former, he perambulatedthe streets of the city; his brain was busy with the latter constantly, whenever its energies were not devoted to seeing and hearing. 

He roved the streets in fair weather and foul, and at all hours. Hewatched keenly all the figures he passed, at least until assured theyhad no interest for him; he peered into shops; he reviewed equipages. In those days it was possible to do this to some purpose, if a man werelooking for somebody; the streets were not as now filled with aconfused and confusing crowd going all ways at once; and no policemanwas needed, even for the most timid, to cross Broadway where it wasbusiest. What a chance there was then for the gay part of the world toshow itself! A lady would heave in sight, like a ship in the distance, and come bearing down with colours flying; one all alone, or twotogether, having the whole sidewalk for themselves. Slowly they wouldcome and pass, in the full leisure of display, and disappear, givingplace to a new sail just rising to view. No such freedom of display andmonopoly of admiration is anywhere possible any longer in the city ofGotham. 

Pitt had been walking the streets for days, and was weary of watchingthe various feminine craft which sailed up and down in them. None ofthem were like the one he was looking for, neither could he seeanything that looked like the colonel's straight slim figure andsoldierly bearing. He was weary, but he persevered. A man in hisposition was not open to the charge of looking for a needle in ahaystack, such as would now be justly brought to him. New York was notquite so large then as it is now. It is astonishing to think what alittle place it was in those days; when Walker Street was not yet builton its north side, and there was a pond at the corner of Canal Street, and Chelsea was in the country; when the 'West End' was at StateStreet, and St. George's Church was in Beekman Street, and BeekmanStreet was a place of fashion. The city was neither so dingy nor sosplendid as it is now, and the bright sun of our climate was pouringall the gold it could upon its roofs and pavements, those Septemberdays when Pitt was trying to be everywhere and to see everything. 

One of those sunny, golden days he was sauntering as usual downBroadway, enjoying the clear aether which was troubled by neither smokenor cloud. Sauntering along carelessly, yet never for a momentforgetting his aim, when his eye was caught by a figure which came upout of a side street and turned into Broadway just before him. Pitt hadbut a cursory glance at the face, but it was enough to make him followthe owner of it. He walked behind her at a little distance, scrutinizing the figure. It was not like what he remembered Esther. Hehad said to himself, of course, that Esther must be grown up beforenow; nevertheless, the image in his mind was of Esther as he had knownher, a well-grown girl of thirteen or fourteen. This was no suchfigure. It was of fair medium height, or rather more. The dress was asplain as possible, yet evidently that of a lady, and as unmistakeablewas the carriage. Perhaps it was that more than anything which fixedPitt's attention; the erect, supple figure, the easy, gliding motion, and the set of the head. For among all the multitude that walk, a trulybeautiful walk is a very rare thing, and so is a truly fine carriage. Pitt could not take his eye from this figure. A few swift stridesbrought him near her, and he followed, watching; balancing hopes anddoubts. That was not Esther as he remembered her; but then years hadgone by; and was not that set of the head on the shoulders preciselyEsther's? He was meditating how he could get another sight of her face, when she suddenly turned and ran up a flight of steps and went in at adoor, without ever giving him the chance he wanted. She had a littleportfolio under her arm, like a teacher, and she paused to speak to theservant who opened the door to her; Pitt judged that it was not her ownhouse. The lady was probably a teacher. Esther could not be a teacher. But at any rate he would wait and get another sight of her. If she wentin, she would probably come out again. 

But Pitt had a tiresome waiting of an hour. He strolled up and down orstood still leaning against a railing, never losing that door out ofhis range of vision. The hour seemed three; however, at the end of itthe lady did come out again, but just when he was at his farthest, andshe turned and went up the street again the way she had come, walkingwith a quick step. Pitt followed. Where she had turned into Broadwayshe turned out of it, and went down an unattractive side street;passing from that into another and another, less and less promisingwith every corner she turned, till she entered the one which we knowwas not at all eligible where Colonel Gainsborough lived. Pitt's hopeshad been gradually falling, and now when the quarry disappeared fromhis sight in one of the little humble houses which filled the street, he for a moment stood still. Could she be living here? He would havethought she had come merely to visit some poor prot�g�, but that shehad certainly seemed to take a latch-key from her pocket and letherself in with it. Pitt reviewed the place, waited a few minutes, andthen went up himself the few steps which led to that door, and knocked. Bell there was none. People who had bells to their doors did not livein that street. 

But as soon as the door was opened Pitt knew where he was; for herecognised Barker. She was not the one, however, with whom he wishedfirst to exchange recognitions; so he contented himself with asking inan assured manner for Colonel Gainsborough. 

'Yes, sir, he's in, ' said Barker doubtfully; as he stood in the doorwayshe could not see the visitor well. 'Who will I say wants to see him, sir?'

'A gentleman on business. '

Another minute or two, and Pitt stood in the small room which was thecolonel's particular room, and was face to face with his old friend. Esther was not there; and without looking at anything Pitt felt in amoment the change that must have come over the fortunes of the family. The place was so small! There did not seem to be room in it for thecolonel and him. But the colonel was like himself. They stood and facedeach other. 

'Have I changed so much, colonel?' he said at last. 'Do you not knowme?'

'William Dallas?' said the colonel. 'I know the voice! But yes, youhave changed, --you have changed, certainly. It is the differencebetween the boy and the man. What else it is, I cannot see in thislight, --or this darkness. It grows dark early in this room. Sit down. So you have got back at last!'

The greeting was not very cordial, Pitt felt. 

'I have come back, for a time; but I have been home repeatedly beforethis. '

'So I suppose, ' said the colonel drily. 'Of course, hearing nothing ofyou, I could not be sure how it was. '

'I have looked for you, sir, every time, and almost everywhere. '

'Looked for us? Ha! It is not very difficult to find anybody, when youknow where to look. '

'Pardon me, Colonel Gainsborough, that was precisely not my case. I didnot know where to look. I have been here for days now, looking, till Iwas almost in despair; only I knew you must be somewhere, and I wouldnot despair. I have looked for you in America and in England. I wentdown to Gainsborough Manor, to see if I could hear tidings of youthere. Every time that I came home to Seaforth for a visit I took aweek of my vacation and came here and hunted New York for you; alwaysin vain. '

'The shortest way would have been to ask your father, ' said thecolonel, still drily. 

'My father? I asked him, and he could tell me nothing. Why did you notleave us some clue by which to find you?'

'Clue?' said the colonel. 'What do you mean by clue? I have not hidmyself. '

'But if your friends do not know where you are?'

'Your father could have told you. '

'He did not know your address, sir. I asked him for it repeatedly. '

'Why did he not give it to you?' said the colonel, throwing up his headlike a war-horse. 

'He said you had not given it to him. '

'That is true since we came to this place. I have had no intercoursewith Mr. Dallas for a long time; not since we moved into our presentquarters; and our address _here_ he does not know, I suppose. He ceasedwriting to me, and of course I ceased writing to him. From you we havenever heard at all, since we came to New York. '

'But I wrote, sir, ' said Pitt, in growing embarrassment andbewilderment. 'I wrote repeatedly. '

'What do you suppose became of your letters?'

'I cannot say. I wrote letter after letter, till, getting no answer, Iwas obliged to think it was in vain; and I too stopped writing. '

'Where did you direct your letters?'

'Not to your address here, which I did not know. I enclosed them to myfather, supposing he did know it, and begged him to forward them. '

'I never got them, ' said the colonel, with that same dry accentuation. It implied doubt of somebody; and could Pitt blame him? He kept amortified silence for a few minutes. He felt terribly put in the wrong, and undeservedly; and--but he tried not to think. 

'I am afraid to ask, what you thought of me, sir?'

'Well, I confess, I thought it was not just like the old William Dallasthat I used to know; or rather, not like the _young_ William. Isupposed you had grown old; and with age comes wisdom. That is thenatural course of things. '

'You did me injustice, Colonel Gainsborough. '

'I am willing to think it. But it is somewhat difficult. '

'Take my word at least for this. I have never forgotten. I have neverneglected. I sought for you as long as possible, and in every way thatwas possible, whenever I was in this country. I left off writing, butit was because writing seemed useless. I have come now in pursuance ofmy old promise; come on the mere chance of finding you; which, however, I was determined to do. '

'Your promise?'

'You surely remember? The promise I made you, that I would come to lookfor you when I was free, and if I was not so happy as to find _you_, would take care of Esther. '

'Well, I am here yet, ' said the colonel meditatively. 'I did not expectit, but here I am. You are quit of your promise. '

'I have not desired that, sir. '

'Well, that count is disposed of, and I am glad to see you. ' (But Pittdid not feel the truth of the declaration. ) 'Now tell me aboutyourself. '

In response to which followed a long account of Pitt's past, present, and future, so far as his worldly affairs and condition were concerned, and so far as his own plans and purposes dealt with both. The colonellistened, growing more and more interested; thawed out a good deal inhis manner; yet maintained on the whole an indifferent apartness whichwas not in accordance with the old times and the liking he thencertainly cherished for his young friend. Pitt could not help thefeeling that Colonel Gainsborough wished him away. It began to growdark, and he must bring this visit to an end. 

'May I see Esther?' he asked, after a slight pause in the considerationof this fact, and with a change of tone which a mother's ear would havenoted, and which perhaps Colonel Gainsborough's was jealous enough tonote. The answer had to be waited for a second or two. 

'Not to-night, ' he said a little hurriedly. 'Not to-night. You may seeher to-morrow. '

Pitt could not understand his manner, and went away with half a frownand half a smile upon his face, after saying that he would call in themorning. 

It had happened all this while that Esther was busy up-stairs, and sohad not heard the voices, nor even knew that her father had a visitor. She came down soon after his departure to prepare the tea. The lamp waslit, the little fire kindled for the kettle, the table brought up tothe colonel's couch, which, as in old time, he liked to have so; andEsther made his toast and served him with his cups of tea, in just theold fashion. But the way her father looked at her was _not_ just in theold fashion. He noticed how tall she had grown, --it was no longer thelittle Esther of Seaforth times. He noticed the lovely lines of hersupple figure, as she knelt before the fire with the toasting-fork, andraised her other hand to shield her face from the blaze. His eyelingered on her rich hair in its abundant coils; on the delicate hands;but though it went often to the face it as often glanced away and didnot dwell there. Yet it could not but come back again; and thecolonel's own face took a grim set as he looked. Oddly enough, he saidnever a word of the event of the afternoon. 

'You had somebody here, papa, a little while ago, Barker says?'

'Yes. '

'Who was it?'

'Called himself a gentleman on business. '

'What business, papa? It is not often that business comes here. Itwasn't anything about taxes?'

'No. '

'I've got all _that_ ready, ' said Esther contentedly, 'so he may comewhen he likes, --the tax man, I mean. What business was this then, papa?'

'It was something about an old account, my dear, that he wanted to setright. There had been a mistake, it seems. '

'Anything to pay?' inquired Esther with a little anxiety. 

'No. It's all right; or so he says. '

Esther thought it was somewhat odd, but, however, was willing to letthe subject of a settled account go; and she had almost forgotten it, when her father broached a very different subject. 

'Would you like to go to live in Seaforth again, Esther?'

'Seaforth, papa?' she repeated, much wondering at the question. 'No, Ithink not. I loved Seaforth once--dearly!--but we had friends therethen; or we thought we had. I do not think it would be pleasant to bethere now. '

'Then what do you think of our going back to England? You do not like_this_ way of life, I suppose, in this pitiful place? I have kept youhere too long!'

What had stirred the colonel up to so much speculation? Estherhesitated. 

'Papa, I know our friends there seem very eager to have us; and so farit would be good; but--if we went back, have we enough to live upon andbe independent?'

'No. '

'Then I would rather be here. We are doing very nicely, papa; you arecomfortable, are you not? I am very well placed, and earningmoney--enough money. Really we are not poor any longer. And it is sonice to be independent!'

'Not poor!' said the colonel, between a groan and a growl. 'What do youcall poor? For you and for me to be in this doleful street is to be allthat, I should say. '

'Papa, ' said Esther, her lips wreathing into a smile, 'I think nobodyis poor who can live and pay his debts. And we have no debts at all. '

'By dint of hard work on your part, and deprivation on mine!'

'Papa, ' said Esther, the smile fading away, --what did he mean bydeprivation?--'I thought--I hoped you were comfortable?'

'Comfortable!' groaned and growled the colonel again. 'I believe, Esther, you have forgotten what comfort means. Or rather, you neverknew. For _us_ to be in a prison like this, and shut out from theworld!'

'Papa, I never thought you cared for the world. And this does not feellike a prison to me. I have been very happy here, and free, and oh, sothankful! If you remember how we were before, papa. '

'All the same, ' said the colonel, 'it is not fitting that those who aremeant for the world should live out of it. I wish I had taken you homeyears ago. You see nobody. You have seen nobody all your life but onefamily; and I wish you had never seen them!'

'The Dallases? Oh, why, papa?'

'You do not care for them, I suppose, _now?_'

'I do not care for them at all, papa. I did care for one of them verymuch, once; but I have given him up long ago. When I found he hadforgotten us, it was not worth while for me to remember. That is alldead. His father and mother, --I doubt if ever they were real friends, to you or to me, papa. '

'I am inclined to think William was not so much to blame. It was hisfather's fault, perhaps. '

'It does not make much difference, ' said Esther easily. 'If anythingcould make him forsake us--after the old times--he is not worththinking about; and I do not think of him. That is an ended thing. '

There was a little something in the tone of the last words whichallowed the hearer to divine that the closing of that chapter had notbeen without pain, and that the pain had perhaps scarcely died out. Buthe did not pursue the subject, nor say any more about anything. He onlywatched his daughter, uninterruptedly, though stealthily. Watched everyline of her figure; glanced at the sweet, fair face; followed everyquiet graceful movement. Esther was studying, and part of the time shewas drawing, absorbed in her work; yet throughout, what most struck herfather was the high happiness that sat on her whole person. It was inthe supreme calm of her brow; it was in a half-appearing smile, whichhardly broke, and yet informed the soft lips with a constant sweetness;it seemed to the colonel to appear in her very positions and movements, and probably it was true, for the lines of peace are not seen in anuneasy figure, nor do the movements of grace come from a restlessspirit. The colonel's own brow should have unbent at the sweet sight, but it did not. He drew his brows lower and lower over his watchingeyes, and now and then set his teeth, in a grim kind of way for whichthere seemed no sort of provocation. 'The heart knoweth his ownbitterness;' no doubt Colonel Gainsborough's tasted its own particulardraught that night, which he shared with nobody. 

CHAPTER XLVII. 

_A TALK_. 

The next day began for Esther quite in its wonted wise, and it will beno harm to see how that was. She was up very early, a long while beforethe sun; and after a somewhat careful dressing, for it was not inEsther's nature to do anything imperfectly, she went down-stairs, toher father's little study or dwelling room. It was free for her use atthis time of day; the colonel took a late breakfast, and was never uplong before it. This had grown to be his invalid habit; in the earlydays of his life and of military service, no doubt it had beendifferent. The room was empty and still at this hour; even Mrs. Barkerwas not yet astir, and a delightful sense of privacy and securityencompassed the temporary occupant. The weather was still warm; no firewould be needed till it was time for the colonel's toast. Moving like amouse, or better, like a gentle domestic spirit, Esther lit a lamp, opened a window to let the morning air in, and sat down to her book. 

Do you think it was philosophy, or science, or languages, or schoolwork? Nay, it was something which with Esther went before all these, and if need were would have excluded all of them. She had time for themtoo, as things were, but this must come first. She must 'draw waterfrom the wells of salvation, ' before she felt freshened up for therather weary encounters and dry routine of school life; she must feelthe Rock under her feet, and breathe the air of heaven a bit before sheventured forth into the low-lying grounds and heavy vapours of earthlybusiness and intercourse; and she must have her armour well on, andbright, before she dared to meet the possible dangers and temptationswhich might come to her in the course of the day. It is true, this daywas a free day, but that made no difference. Being at home had itstrials and difficulties as well as being abroad. 

But drawing from those wells, and breathing that air, Esther thoughtnothing of trials or difficulties; and, in matter of fact, for her theyhardly seemed to exist, or were perceived, as it were, dimly, and theircontact scarce felt. I suppose it is true in all warfares, that awell-armed and alert soldier is let alone by the foes that would haveswallowed him up if he had been defenceless or not giving heed. And ifyou could have seen Esther's face during that hour, you wouldunderstand that all possible enemies were, at least for the time, ashushed as the lions in Daniel's den; so glad, so grave, so pure andsteadfast, so enjoying, was the expression which lay upon it. Readingand praying--praying and reading--an hour good went by. Then Estherrose up, ready for the work of the day. 

She threw open all the windows and put out her lamp. Then she gave boththe rooms a careful cleaning and dusting and putting in order; set thetable in the one for breakfast, and laid the fire in the other, to belit whenever her father might desire it. All this done and inreadiness, she sat down again to study. This time it was study of alower grade; partly preparation for school work, partly reading for herown advancement, though there was not much time for this latter. It waslong past eight, and Mrs. Barker came with the chafing-dish of redcoals and the tea-kettle. She stood by while Esther made the tea, looking on or meditating; and then began to blow the coals in thechafing-dish. She blew the coals and looked at Esther. 

'Miss Esther, ' she began, 'did master say anything about the visitorthat came to see him yesterday?'

'Not much. Why? He said it was somebody on business. '

'Well, mum, he didn't look like that sort o' pusson at all. '

'Why not? Any sort of person might come on business, you know. '

'True, mum, but this wasn't that sort o' pusson. If Christopher hadopened the door for him, he'd ha' knowed; but my eyes is that poor, when I'm lookin' out into the light, I can't seem to see nothin' that'snearer me. But howsomever, mum, what I did see of him, somehow, it putme in mind of Seaforth. '

'Seaforth! Why? Who did you think it was?'

'I am sure, mum, I don't know. I couldn't see good, with the lightbehind him, and he standin' in the doorway. And I can't say how it was, but what he made me think of, it was Seaforth, mum. '

'I am afraid you have been thinking of Seaforth, Barker, ' said Esther, with half a sigh. 'It could not have been anybody we used to know. Papawent there, you know, last summer, to see old friends, or to see whathad become of them; and Mr. And Mrs. Dallas were gone to England, totheir son, and with them the young lady he is to marry. I daresay hemay be married by this time, or just going to be married. He has quiteforgotten us, you may be sure. I do not expect ever to see him again. Was this man yesterday young or old?'

'Young, mum, and tall and straight, and very personable. I'd like tosee his face!--but it may be as you say. '

Perhaps Esther would have put some further question to her father atbreakfast about his yesterday's visit, but as it happened she had otherthings to think of. The colonel was in a querulous mood; not altogetheruncommon in these days, but always very trying to Esther. When heseemed contented and easy, she felt repaid for all labours ordeprivations; but when that state of things failed, and he made himselfuncomfortable about his surroundings, there would come a miserable _cuibono_ feeling. If _he_ were not satisfied, then what did she work for?and what was gained by it all? This morning she was just about to put aquestion, when Colonel Gainsborough began. 

'Is this the best butter one can get in this town?'

'Papa, I do not know!' said Esther, brought back from yesterday toto-day with a sudden pull. 'It is Mrs. Bounder's butter, and we havealways found it very good; and she lets us have it at a lower rate thanwe could get it in the stores. '

'Nothing is good that is got "at a low rate. " I do not believe in thatplan. It is generally a cheat in the end. '

'It has been warm weather, you know, papa; and it is difficult to keepthings so nice without a cool cellar. '

'That is one of the benefits of living in Major Street. It ought to becalled "Minor, "--for we are "minus" nearly everything, I think. '

What could Esther say?

'My dear, what sort of bread is this?'

'It is from the baker's, papa. Is it not good?'

'Baker's bread is never good; not fit to nourish life upon. How comesit we have baker's bread? Barker knows what I think of it. '

'I suppose she was unable to bake yesterday. '

'And of course to-day her bread will be too fresh to be eatable! Mydear, cannot you bring a little system into her ways?'

'She does the very best she can, papa. '

'Yes, yes, I know that; as far as the intention goes; but all suchpeople want a head over them. They know nothing whatever about system. By the way, can't she fry her bacon without burning it? This is done toa crisp. '

'Papa, I am very sorry! I did not mean to give you a burnt piece. Mineis very good. Let me find you a better bit. '

'It doesn't matter!' said the colonel, giving his plate an unlovingshove. 'A man lives and dies, all the same, whether his bacon is burntor not. I suppose nothing matters! Are you going to that party, atMrs. -- I forget her name?'

'I think not, papa. '

'Why not?'

Esther hesitated. 

'Why not? Don't you like to go?'

'Yes, sir. I like it very well. '

'Then why don't you go? At least you can give a reason. '

'There are more reasons than one, ' said Esther. She was extremelyunwilling to reveal either of them. 

'Well, go on. If you know them, you can tell them to me. What are they?'

'Papa, it is really of no consequence, and I do not mind in the least;but in truth my old silk dress has been worn till it is hardly fit togo anywhere in. '

'Can't you get another?'

'I should not think it right, papa. We want the money for other things. '

'What things?'

Did he not know! Esther drew breath to answer. 

'Papa, there are the taxes, which I agreed with Mrs. Bounder I wouldpay, you know, as part of the rent. The money is ready, and that is agreat deal more pleasure than a dress and a party would be to me. Andthen, winter is coming on, and we must lay in our fuel. I think to doit now, while it is cheaper. '

'And so, for that, you are to stay at home and see nobody!'

'Isn't it right, papa? and whatever is right is always pleasant in theend. '

'Deucedly pleasant!' said the colonel grimly, and rising from thetable. 'I am going to my room, Esther, and I do not wish to be calledto see any body. If business comes, you must attend to it. '

'Called to see anybody'! Who ever came to that house, on business orotherwise, but at the most rare intervals! And now one business visithad just come yesterday, there might not be another in months. Estherlooked a little sorrowful, for her father's expression, most unwontedfrom his mouth, showed his irritation to be extreme; but what hadirritated him? However, she was somewhat accustomed to this sort ofdemonstration, which nevertheless always grieved her; and she was gladthat she had escaped telling her father her second reason. The truthwas, Esther's way of life was so restricted and monotonousoutwardly--she lived so by herself and to herself--that the stimulusand refreshment of a social occasion like that one when she had metMiss Frere a year ago was almost too pleasant. It made Esther feel alittle too sensibly how alone and shut out from human intercourse wasthe nobler part of herself. A little real intellectual converse andcontact was almost too enjoyable; it was a mental breath of fresh air, in which life seemed to change and become a different thing; andthen--we all know how close air seems after fresh--the routine ofschool teaching, and the stillness and uniformity of her homeexistence, seemed to press upon her painfully, till after a time shebecame wonted to it again. So, on the whole, she thought it not amissthat her old party dress had done all the service it decently could, and that she had no means to get another. And now, after a few moments'grave shadow on her face, all shadows cleared away, as they usuallydid, and she set herself to the doing of what this holiday at home gaveher to do. There was mending, making up accounts, a drawing to finishfor a model; after that, if she could get it all done in time, theremight be a bit of blessed reading in a new book that her old friendMiss Fairbairn had lent her. Esther set her face bravely to her day'swork. 

The morning was not far advanced, and the mending was not finished, when the unwonted door-knocker sounded again. This time the door wasopened by some one whom Pitt did not know, and who did not know him;for Mrs. Bounder had come into town, and, as Barker's hands were justin her bread, had volunteered to go to the door for her. Pitt wasushered into the little parlour, in which, as nobody was there, he hadleisure to make several observations. Yesterday he had had no leisurefor them. Now he looked about him. That the fortunes of the family musthave come down very much it was evident. Such a street, in the firstplace; then this little bit of a house; and then, there was more thanthat; he could see tokens unmistakeable of scantness of means. Thedrugget was well worn, had been darned in two places--very neatly, butdarned it was, and the rest of it threatened breaches. The carpetbeyond the drugget was old and faded, and the furniture?--Pitt wonderedif it could be the same furniture, it looked so different here. Therewas the colonel's couch, however; he recognised that, although in itschintz cover, which was no longer new, but faded like the carpet. Bookson the table were certainly the colonel's books; but no pictures wereon the walls, no pretty trifles lying about; nothing was there thatcould testify of the least margin of means for anything that was notstrictly necessary. Yet it was neat and comfortable; but Pitt felt thatexpenditures were very closely measured, and no latitude allowed toease or to fancy. He stood a few minutes, looking and taking all thisin; and then the inner door opened, and he forgot it instantly. At onestroke, as it were, the mean little room was transformed into a sacredtemple, and here was the priestess. The two young people stood a secondor two silent, facing each other. 

But Esther knew him at once; and more, as she met the frank, steadfasteyes that she had known and trusted so long ago, she trusted them atonce again and perfectly. There was no mistaking either their truth ortheir kindness. In spite of his new connections and alienated life, herold friend had not forgotten her. She extended her hand, with a flashof surprise and pleasure in her face, which was not a flash but a dawn, for it grew and brightened into warmer kindliness. 

'Pitt Dallas!' she said. 'It is really you!'

The two hands met and clasped and lay in each other, but Pitt had nowords for what went on within him. With the first sight of Esther heknew that he had met his fate. Here was all that he had left six orseven years ago, how changed! The little head, so well set on itsshoulders, with its wealth of beautifully ordered hair; those wonderfulgrave, soft, sweet, thoughtful eyes; the character of the quiet mouth;the pure dignity and grace of the whole creature, --all laid a spellupon the man. He found no words to speak audibly; but in his mind wordsheaped on words, and he was crying to himself, 'Oh, my beauty! Oh, mygazelle! My fair saint! My lily! My Queen!' What right he had to thepersonal pronoun does not appear; however, we know that appropriationis an instinct of humanity for that which it likes. And it may also benoted, that Pitt never thought of calling Esther a _rose_. Nor wouldany one else. That was not her symbol. Roses are sweet, sweeter thananything, and yielding in fairness to nothing; but--let me be pardonedfor saying it--they are also common. And Esther was rather somethingapart, rare. If I liken her to a lily, I do not mean those fair whitelilies which painters throw at the feet of Franciscan monks, anddedicate also to the Virgin, --Annunciation lilies, so called. They arecommon too, and rather specially emblems of purity. What I am thinkingof, and what Pitt was thinking of, is, on the contrary, one of thoseunique exotic lilies, which are as much wonders of colour as marvels ofgrace; apart, reserved, pure, also lofty, and delicate to the lastdegree; queening it over all the rest of the flowers around, not somuch by official pre-eminence of beauty as by the superiority of thespiritual nature. A difference internal and ineffable, which sets themof necessity aside of the crowd and above it. 

Pitt felt all this in a breath, which I have taken so many wordsclumsily to set forth. He, as I said, took no words, and only gave suchexpression to his thoughts as he could at the moment by bowing very lowover Esther's hand and kissing it. Something about the action hurtEsther; she drew her hand away. 

'It is a great surprise, ' she said quietly. 'Won't you sit down?'

'The surprise ought to have been, that you did not see me before; notthat I am here now. '

'I got over _that_ surprise a great while ago, ' said Esther. 'At leastI thought I did; but it comes back to me now that I see you. How wasit? How could it be?'

In answer to which, Pitt gave her a detailed account of his variousefforts in past years to discover the retreat of his old friends. Thiswas useful to him; he got his breath, as it were, which the sight ofEsther had taken away; was himself again. 

Esther listened silently, with perfect faith in the speaker and hisstatements, with a little undefined sort of regretfulness. So, then, Pitt need not have been lost to them, if only they could have beenfound! Just what that thought meant she had no time then to inquire. She hardly interrupted him at all. 

'What do you suppose became of your letters?' she asked when he haddone. For Pitt had not said that they went to his father's hands. 

'I suppose they shared the fate of all letters uncalled for; if not thedead-letter office, the fire. '

'It was not very strange that you could not find us when you came toNew York. We really troubled the post office very little, having aftera while nothing to expect from it, and that was the only place whereyou could hope to get a clue. ' Neither would Esther mention Mr. Dallas. With a woman's curious fine discernment, she had seen that all was notright in that quarter; indeed, had suspected it long ago. 

'But you got some letters from me?' Pitt went on, 'while you were inSeaforth? One or two, I know. '

'Yes, several. Oh yes! while we were in Seaforth. '

'And I got answers. Do you remember one long letter you wrote me, thesecond year after I went?'

'Yes, ' she said, without looking at him. 

'Esther, that letter was worth everything to me. It was like a sunbeamcoming out between misty clouds and showing things for a moment intheir true colours. I never forgot it. I never could forget it, thoughI fought for some years with the truth it revealed to me. I believedwhat you told me, and so I knew what I ought to do; but I struggledagainst my convictions. I knew from that time that it was the happiestthing and the worthiest thing to be a saint; all the same, I wanted tobe a sinner. I wanted to follow my own way and be my own master. Iwanted to distinguish myself in my profession, and rise in the world, and tower over other men; and I liked all the delights of life as wellas other people do, and was unwilling to give up a life ofself-indulgence, which I had means to gratify. Esther, I fought hard! Ifought for years--can you believe it?--before I could make up my mind. '

'And now?' she said, looking at him. 

'Now? Now, ' said he, lowering his voice a little, --'now I have come toknow the truth of what you told me; I have learned to know Christ; andI know, as you know, that all things that may be desired are not to becompared with that knowledge. I understand what Paul meant when he saidhe had suffered the loss of all things for it and counted them lessthan nothing. So do I; so would I; so have I, as far as the giving upof myself and them to their right owner goes. _That_ is done. '

Esther was very glad; she knew she ought to be very glad, and she was;and yet, gladness was not precisely the uppermost feeling thatpossessed her. She did not know what in the world could make her thinkof tears at that moment; but there was a strange sensation as if, hadshe been alone, she would have liked to cry. No shadow of such asoftness appeared, however. 

'What decided you at last?' she said softly. 

'I can scarce tell you, ' he answered. 'I was busy studying the matter, arguing for and against; and then I saw of a sudden that I was lightinga lost battle; that my sense and reason and conscience were all gainedover, and only my will held out. Then I gave up fighting any more. '

'You came up to the subject on a different side from what I did, 'Esther remarked. 

'And you, Esther? have you been always as happy as you were when youwrote that letter?'

'Yes, ' she said quietly. 'More happy. ' But she did not look up. 

'The happiness in your letter was the sunbeam that cleared upeverything for me. Now I have talked enough; tell me of yourself andyour father. '

'There is not much to tell, ' said Esther, with that odd quietness. Shefelt somehow oppressed. 'We are living in the old fashion; have beenliving so all along. '

'But-- _Quite_ in the old fashion?' he said, with a swift glance at thelittle room where they were sitting. 'It does not look so, Esther. '

'This is not so pleasant a place as we were in when we first came toNew York, ' Esther confessed. 'That was very pleasant. '

'Why did you change?'

'It was necessary, ' she said, with a smile. 'You may as well know it;papa lost money. '

'How?'

'He invested the money from the sale of the place at Seaforth in somestocks that gave out somehow. He lost it all. So then we had nothingbut the stipend from England; and I think papa somehow lost part ofthat, or was obliged to take part of it to meet obligations. '

'And you?'

'We did very well, ' said Esther, with another smile. 'We are doing verywell now. We are out of debt, and that is everything. And I think papais pretty comfortable. '

'And Esther?'

'Esther is happy. '

'But--I should think--forgive me!--that this bit of a house wouldhardly hold you. '

'See how mistaken you are! We have two rooms unused. '

Pitt's eye roved somewhat restlessly over the one in which they were, as he remarked, --

'I never comprehended just why you went away from Seaforth. '

'For my education, I believe. '

'You were getting a very good education when I was there!'

'When _you_ were there, ' repeated Esther, smiling; but then she went onquickly: 'Papa thought he could not give me all the advantages hewished, if we stayed in Seaforth. So we came to New York. And now, yousee, I am able to provide for him. The education is turning to account. '

'How?' asked Pitt suddenly. 

'I help out his small income by giving lessons. '

'_You_, giving lessons? Not that, Esther!'

'Why not?' she said quietly. 'The thing given one to do is the thing todo, you know; and this certainly was given me. And by means of that weget along nicely. '

Again Pitt's eye glanced over the scanty little apartment. What sort of'getting along' was it which kept them here?

'What do you teach?' he asked, speaking out of a confusion of thoughtsthe one thing that occurred which it was safe to say. 

'Drawing, and music, and some English branches. '

'Do you _like_ it?'

She hesitated. 'I am very thankful to have it to do. I do not fancythat teaching for money is just the same as teaching for pleasure. ButI am very glad to be able to do it. Before that, there was a time whenI did not know just what was going to become of us. Now I am veryhappy. '

Pitt could not at the moment speak all his thoughts. Moreover, therewas something about Esther that perplexed him. She was so unmovedlyquiet in her manner. It was kind, no doubt, and pleasant, and pleased;and yet, there was a smooth distance between him and her that troubledhim. He did not know how to get rid of it. It was so smooth, there wasnothing to take hold of; while it was so distant, or put her rather atsuch a distance, that all Pitt's newly aroused feelings were stimulatedto the utmost, both by the charm and by the difficulty. How exquisitewas this soft dignity and calm! but to the man who was longing to bepermitted to clasp his arms round her it was somewhat aggravating. 

'What has become of Christopher?' he asked after a pause. 

'Oh, Christopher is happy!' said Esther, with a smile that was only toofrank and free. Pitt wished she would have shown a little embarrassmentor consciousness. 'Christopher is happy. He has become a householderand a market-gardener, and, above all, a married man. Married amarket-gardener's widow, and set up for himself. '

'What do you do without him?'

'Oh, we could not afford him now, ' said Esther, with another smile. 'Itwas very good for us, almost as good for us as for him. Christopher hasbecome a man of substance. We hire this house of him, or rather of hiswife. '

'Are the two not one, then?'

Esther laughed. 'Yes, ' she said; 'but you know, _which_ one it isdepends on circumstances. '

And she went on to tell about her first meeting with the present Mrs. Bounder, and of all the subsequent intercourse and long chain ofkindnesses, to which Pitt listened eagerly though with a some whatdistracted mind. At the end of her story Esther rose. 

CHAPTER XLVIII. 

_A SETTLEMENT_. 

'Will you excuse me, if I leave you for one moment to go down into thekitchen?'

'What for, ' said Pitt, stopping her. 

'I want to see if Mrs. Barker has anything in the house for lunch. '

'Sit down again. She certainly will. She always does. '

'But I want to let her know that there will be one more at tableto-day. '

'Never mind. If the supplies fall short, I will go out and get someoysters. I know the colonel likes oysters. Sit still, and let us talkwhile we can. '

Esther sat down, a little wondering, for Pitt was evidently in earnest;too much in earnest to be denied. But when she had sat down he did notbegin to talk. He was thinking; and words were not ready. It was Estherwho spoke first. 

'And you, Pitt? what are you going to do?'

It was the first time she had called him by his name in the oldfashion. He acknowledged it with a pleased glance. 

'Don't you know all about me?' he said. 

'I know nothing, but what you have told me. And hearsay, ' added Esther, colouring a little. 

'Did your father not tell you?'

'Papa told me nothing. ' And therewith it occurred to Esther how odd itwas that her father should have been so reticent; that he should nothave so much as informed her who his visitor had been. And then it alsooccurred to her how he had desired not to be called down to see anybodythat morning. Then it must be that he did not want to see Pitt? Had hetaken a dislike to him? disapproved of his marriage, perhaps? And howwould luncheon be under these circumstances? One thought succeededanother in growing confusion, but then Pitt began to talk, and she wasobliged to attend to him. 

'Then your father did not tell you that I have become a householdertoo?'

'I--no--yes! I heard something said about it, ' Esther answered, stammering. 

'He told you of my old uncle's death and gift to me?'

'No, nothing of that. What is it?'

Then Pitt began and gave her the whole story: of his life with hisuncle, of Mr. Strahan's excellences and peculiarities, of his favour, his illness and death, and the property he had bequeathed intact to hisgrand-nephew. He described the house at Kensington, finding a singularpleasure in talking about it; for, as his imagination recalled the oldchambers and halls, it constantly brought into them the sweet figure ofthe girl he was speaking to, and there was a play of light often, or awarm glow, or a sudden sparkle in his eyes, which Esther could not helpnoticing. Woman-like, she was acute enough also to interpret itrightly; only, to be sure, she never put _herself_ in the place of theperson concerned, but gave all that secret homage to another. 'It islike Pitt!' she thought, with a suppressed sigh which she could notstop to criticize, --'it is like him; as much in earnest in love as inother things; always in earnest! It must be something to be loved so. 'However, carrying on such aside reflections, she kept all the while hercalm, sweet, dignified manner, which was bewitching Pitt, and enteredwith generous interest into all he told her; supplying in her own waywhat he did not tell, and on her part also peopling the halls andchambers at Kensington with two figures, neither of which was her own. Her imagination flew back to the party, a year ago, at which she hadseen Betty Frere, and mixed up things recklessly. How would _she_ fitinto this new life of Pitt, of which he had been speaking a littlewhile ago? Had she changed too, perhaps? It was to be hoped!

Pitt ended what he had to say about his uncle and his house, and therewas a little pause. Esther half wondered that he did not get up and goaway; but there was no sign of that. Pitt sat quietly, thoughtfully, also contentedly, before her, at least so far as appeared; of all histhoughts, not one of them concerned going away. It had begun to be amixed pleasure to Esther, his being there; for she thought now that hewas married he would be taken up with his own home interests, and thefriend of other days, if still living, would be entirely lost. And soevery look and expression of his which testified to a fine and sweetand strong character, which proved him greatly ennobled and beautifiedbeyond what she had remembered him; and all his words, which showed thegentleman, the man of education and the man of ability; while theygreatly delighted Esther, they began oddly to make her feel alone andpoor. Still, she would use her opportunity, and make the most of thisinterview. 

'And what are you going to be, Pitt?' she asked, when both of them hadbeen quite still for a few minutes. He turned his face quick towardsher with a look of question. 

'Now you are a man of property, ' said Esther, 'what do you think to do?You were going to read law. '

'I have been reading law for two or three years. '

'And are you going to give it up?'

'Why should I give it up?'

'The question seems rather, why should you go on with it?'

'Put it so, ' he said. 'Ask the question. Why should I go on with it?'

'I _have_ asked the question, ' said Esther, laughing. 'You seem to cometo me for the answer. '

'I do. What is the answer? Give it, please. Is there any reason why aman who has money enough to live upon should go to the bar?'

'I can think of but one, ' said Esther, grave and wondering now. 'Perhaps there is one reason. '

'And that?' said Pitt, without looking at her. 

'I can think of but one, ' Esther repeated. 'It is not a man's businessview, I know, but it is mine. I can think of no reason why, for itself, a man should plunge himself into the strifes and confusions of the law, supposing that he _need_ not, except for the one sake of righting thewrong and delivering the oppressed. '

'That is my view, ' said Pitt quietly. 

'And is that what you are going to do?' she said with smotheredeagerness, and as well a smothered pang. 

'I do not propose to be a lawyer merely, ' he said, in the same quietway, not looking at her. 'But I thought it would give me an advantagein the great business of righting the wrong and getting the oppressedgo free. So I propose to finish my terms and be called to the bar. '

'Then you will live in England?' said Esther, with a most unaccountablefeeling of depression at the thought. 

'For the present, probably. Wherever I can do my work best. '

'Your work? That is--?'

'Do you ask me?' said he, now looking at her with a very bright andsweet smile. The sweetness of it was so unlike the Pitt Dallas she usedto know, that Esther was confounded. 'Do you ask me? What should be thework in life of one who was once a slave and is now Christ's freeman?'

Esther looked at him speechless. 

'You remember, ' he said, 'the Lord's word--"This is my commandment, that ye love one another, _as I have loved you_. " And then Heimmediately gave the gauge and measure of that love, the greatestpossible, --"that a man _lay down his life for his friends_. "'

'And you mean--?'

'Only that, Queen Esther. I reckon that my life is the Lord's, and thatthe only use of it is to do His work. I will study law for that, andpractise as I may have occasion; and for that I will use all the meansHe may give me: so far as I can, to "break every yoke, and let theoppressed go free;" to "heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise thedead, cast out devils, " so far as I may. Surely it is the least I cando for my Master. '

Pitt spoke quietly, gravely, with the light of a settled purpose in hiseye, and also with the peace of a fixed joy in his face. Indeed, hisface said more than his words, to Esther who knew him and it; she readthere the truth of what he said, and that it was no phantasy of passingenthusiasm, but a lifelong choice, grave and glad, of which he wastelling her. With a sudden movement she stretched out her hand to him, which he eagerly clasped, and their hands lay so in each other for aminute, without other speech than that of the close-held fingers. Esther's other hand, however, had covered her eyes. 

'What is the matter, Queen Esther?' said Pitt, seeing this. 

'I am so glad--so glad!--and so sorry!' Esther took down her hand; shewas not crying. 'Glad for you, --and sorry that there are so very fewwho feel as you do. Oh, how very strange it is!'

He still held her other hand. 

'Yes, ' he said thoughtfully, 'it is strange. What do you think of theold word in the Bible, that it is not good for man to be alone?'

'I suppose it is true, ' said Esther, withdrawing her hand. 'Now, ' shethought, 'he is going to tell me about his bride and his marriage. ' Andshe rather wished she could be spared that special communication. Atthe same time, the wondering speculation seized her again, whetherBetty Frere, as she had seen her, was likely to prove a good helpmeetfor this man. 

'You suppose it is true? There can be no doubt about that, I think, forthe man. How is it for the woman?'

'I have never studied the question, ' said Esther. 'By what people say, the man is the more independent of the two when he is young, and thewoman when she is old. '

'Neither ought to be independent of the other!'

'They seldom are, ' said Esther, feeling inclined to laugh, although notin the least merry. Pitt was silent a few minutes, evidently revolvingsomething in his mind. 

'You said you had two rooms unoccupied, ' he began at last. 'I want tobe some little time in New York yet; will you let me move into them?'

'_You!_' exclaimed Esther. 

'Yes, ' he said, looking at her steadfastly. 'You do not want them, --andI do. '

'I do not believe they would suit you, Pitt, ' said Esther, consumedwith secret wonder. 

'I am sure no other could suit me half so well!'

'What do you think your bride would say to them? you know that must betaken into consideration. '

'_My bride?_ I beg your pardon! Did I hear you aright?'

'Yes!' said Esther, opening her eyes a little. 'Your bride--your wife. Isn't she here?'

'Who is she?'

'Who _was_ she, do you mean? Or are you perhaps not married yet?'

'Most certainly not married! But may I beg you to go on? You were goingto tell me who the lady is supposed to be?'

'Oh, I know, ' said Esther, smiling, yet perplexed. 'I believe I haveseen her. And I admire her too, Pitt, very much. Though when I saw herI do not think she would have agreed with the views you have beenexpressing to me. '

'Where did you see her?'

'Last fall. Oh, a year ago, almost; time enough for minds to change. Itwas at a party here. '

'And you saw--whom?'

'Miss Frere. Isn't she the lady?'

'Miss Frere!' exclaimed Pitt; and his colour changed a little. 'May Iask how this story about me has come to your ears, and been believed?as I see you have accepted it. '

'Why very straight, ' said Esther, her own colour flushing now brightly. 'It was not difficult to believe. It was very natural; at least to me, who have seen the lady. '

'Miss Frere and I are very good friends, ' said Pitt; 'which state ofthings, however, might not long survive our proposing to be anythingmore. But we never did propose to be anything more. What made you thinkit?'

'Did papa tell you that he went up to Seaforth this summer?'

'He said nothing about it. '

'He did go, however. It was a very great thing for papa to do, too; forhe goes nowhere, and it is very hard for him to move; but he went. Itwas in August. We had heard not a word from Seaforth for such a long, long time, --not for two or three years, I think, --and not a word fromyou; and papa had a mind to see what was the meaning of it all, andwhether anybody was left in Seaforth or not. I thought everybody hadforgotten us, and papa said he would go and see. '

'Yes, ' said Pitt, as Esther paused. 

'And, of course, you know, he found nobody. All our friends were gone, at least. And people told papa you had been home the year before, andhad been in Seaforth a long while; and the lady was there too whom youwere going to marry; and that this year they had all gone over to seeyou, that lady and all; and the wedding would probably be before Mr. And Mrs. Dallas came home. So papa came back and told me. '

'And you believed it! Of course. '

'How could I help believing it?' said Esther, smiling; but her eyesavoided Pitt now, and her colour went and came. 'It was a very straightstory. '

'Yet not a bit of truth in it. Oh yes, they came over to see me; but Ihave never thought of marrying Miss Frere, nor any other lady; nor evershall, unless--you have forgotten me, Esther?'

Esther sat so motionless that Pitt might have thought she had not heardhim, but for the swift flashing colour which went and came. She hadheard him well enough, and she knew what the words were meant tosignify, for the tone of them was unmistakeable; but answer, in anyway, Esther could not. She was a very fair image of maidenly modestyand womanly dignity, rather unmistakeable, too, in its way; but shespoke not, nor raised an eyelid. 

'Have you forgotten me, Esther?' he repeated gently. 

She did not answer then. She was moveless for another instant; andthen, rising, with a swift motion she passed out of the room. But itwas not the manner of dismissal or leave-taking, and Pitt waited forwhat was to come next. And in another moment or two she was thereagain, all covered with blushes, and her eyes cast down, down upon anold book which she held in her hand and presently held open. She wasstanding before him now, he having risen when she rose. From the veryfair brow and rosy cheek and soft line of the lips, Pitt's eye at lastwent down to the book she held before him. There, on the somewhat largepage, lay a dried flower. The petals were still velvety and richcoloured, and still from them came a faint sweet breath of perfume. What did it mean? Pitt looked, and then looked closer. 

'It is a Cheiranthus, ' he said; 'the red variety. What does it mean, Esther? What does it say to my question?'

He looked at her eagerly; but if he did not know, Esther could not tellhim. She was filled with confusion. What dreadful thing was this, thathis memory should be not so good as hers! She could not speak; thelovely shamefaced flushes mounted up to the delicate temples and toldtheir tale, but Pitt, though he read them, did not at once read theflower. Esther made a motion as if she would take it away, but heprevented her and looked closer. 

'The red Cheiranthus, ' he repeated. 'Did it come from Seaforth? Iremember, old Macpherson used to have them in his greenhouse. Esther!--did _I_ bring it to you?'

'Christmas'--stammered Esther. 'Don't you remember?'

'Christmas! Of course I do! It was in _that_ bouquet? What became ofthe rest of it?'

'Papa made me burn all the rest, ' said Esther, with her own cheeks nowburning. And she would have turned away, leaving the book in his hands, with an action of as shy grace as ever Milton gave to his Eve; but Pittgot rid of the book and took herself in his arms instead. 

And then for a few minutes there was no more conversation. They hadreached a point of mutual understanding where words would have beensuperfluous. 

But words came into their right again. 

'Esther, do you remember my kissing you when I went away, six or sevenyears ago?'

'Certainly!'

'I think that kiss was in some sort a revelation to me. I did not fullyrecognise it then, what the revelation was; but I think, ever since Ihave been conscious, vaguely, that there was an invisible silken threadof some sort binding me to you; and that I should never be quite righttill I followed the clue and found you again. The vagueness is gone, and has given place to the most daylight certainty. '

'I am glad of that, ' said Esther demurely, though speaking with alittle effort. 'You always liked certainties. '

'Did you miss me?'

'Pitt, more than I can possibly tell you! Not then only, but all thetime since. Only one thing has kept me from being very downheartedsometimes, when time passed, and we heard nothing of you, and I wasobliged to give you up. '

'You should not have given me up. '

'Yes; there was nothing else for it. I found it was best not to thinkabout you at all. Happily I had plenty of duties to think of. Andduties, if you take hold of them right, become pleasures. '

'Doing them for the Master. '

'Yes, and for our fellow-creatures too. Both interests come in. '

'And so make life full and rich, even in common details of it. But, Queen Esther, --my Queen!--do you know that you will be my Queen always?That word expresses your future position, as far as I am concerned. '

'No, ' said Esther a little nervously; 'I think hardly. Where there is aqueen, there is commonly also a king somewhere, you know. '

'His business is to see the queen's commands carried out. '

'We will not quarrel about it, ' said Esther, laughing. 'But, after all, Pitt, that is not like you. You always knew your own mind, and alwayshad your own way, when I used to know you. '

'It is your turn. '

'It would be a very odd novelty in my life, ' said Esther. 'But now, Pitt, I really must go and see about luncheon. Papa will be down, andMrs. Barker does not know that you are here. And it would be a sort ofrelief to take hold of something so commonplace as luncheon; I seem tomyself to have got into some sort of unreal fairyland. '

'I am in fairyland too, but it is real. '

'Let me go, Pitt, please!'

'Luncheon is of no consequence. '

'Papa will think differently. '

'I will go out and got some oysters, to conciliate him. '

'To _conciliate_ him!'

'Yes. He will need conciliating, I can tell you. Do you suppose he willlook on complacently and see you, who have been wholly his possessionand property, pass over out of his hands into mine? It is not humannature. '

Esther stood still and coloured high. 

'Does papa know?'

'He knows all about it, Queen Esther; _except_ what you may have saidto me. I think he understood what I was going to say to you. '

'Poor papa!' said Esther thoughtfully. 

'Not at all, ' said Pitt inconsistently. 'We will take care of himtogether, much better than you could alone. '

Esther drew a long breath. 

'Then you speak to Barker, and I will get some oysters, ' said Pitt witha parting kiss, and was off in a moment. 

The luncheon after all passed off quite tolerably well. The coloneltook the oysters, and Pitt, with a kind of grim acquiescence. He was anold soldier, and no doubt had not forgotten all the lessons oncelearned in that impressive school; and as every one knows, to acceptthe inevitable and to make the best of a lost battle are two of thoselessons. Not that Colonel Gainsborough would seriously have tried tofight off Pitt and his pretensions, if he could; at least, not asthings were. Pitt had told him his own circumstances; and the colonelknew that without barbarity he could not refuse ease and affluence andan excellent position for his daughter, and condemn her toschool-keeping and Major Street for the rest of her life; especiallysince the offer was accompanied with no drawbacks, except the onetrifle, that Esther must marry. That was an undoubtedly bitter pill toswallow; but the colonel swallowed it, and hardly made a wry face. Hewould be glad to get away from Major Street himself. So he ate hisoysters, as I said, grimly; was certainly courteous, if also cool; andPitt even succeeded in making the conversation flow passably well, which is hard to do, when it rests upon one devoted person alone. Esther did everything but talk. 

After the meal was over, the colonel lingered only a few minutes, justenough for politeness, and then went off to his room again, with thedry and somewhat uncalled-for remark, that they 'did not want him. '

'That is true!' said Pitt humorously. 

'Pitt, ' said Esther hurriedly, 'if you don't mind, I want to get mywork. There is something I must do, and I can do it just as well whileyou are talking. '

She went off, and returned with drawing-board and pencils; took herseat, and prepared to go on with a drawing that had been begun. 

'What are the claims of this thing to be considered work?' said Pitt, after watching her a minute or two. 

'It is a copy, that I shall need Monday morning. Only a little thing. Ican attend to you just the same. '

'A copy for whom?'

'One of my scholars, ' she said, with a smile at him. 

'That copy will never be wanted. '

'Yes, I want it for Monday; and Monday I should have no time to do it;so I thought I would finish it now. It will not take me long, Pitt. '

'Queen Esther, ' said he, laying his hand over hers, 'all that is over. '

'Oh no, Pitt!--how should it?' she said, looking at him now, since itwas no use to look at her paper. 

'I cannot have you doing this sort of work any longer. '

'_But!_' she said, flushing high, 'yes, I must. '

'That has been long enough, my queen! I cannot let you do it anylonger. You may give me lessons; nobody else. '

'But!'--said Esther, catching her breath; then, not willing to open thewhole chapter of discussion she saw ahead, she caught at the nearestand smallest item. 'You know, I am under obligations; and I must meetthem until other arrangements are made. I am expected, I am dependedon; I must not fail. I must give this lesson Monday, and others. '

'Then I will do this part of the work, ' said he, taking the pencil fromher fingers. 'Give me your place, please. '

Esther gave him her chair and took his. And then she sat down andwatched the drawing. Now and then her eyes made a swift passage to hisface for a half second, to explore the features so well known and yetso new; but those were a kind of fearful glances, which dreaded to becaught, and for the most part her eyes were down on the drawing and onthe hands busied with it. Hands, we know, tell of character; andEsther's eyes rested with secret pleasure on the shapely fingers, whichin their manly strength and skilful agility corresponded so well towhat she knew of their possessor. The fingers worked on, for a time, silently. 

'Pitt, this is oddly like old times!' said Esther at last. 

'Things have got into their right grooves again, ' said he contentedly. 

'But what are you doing? That is beautiful!--but you are making it agreat deal too elaborate and difficult for my scholar. She is not farenough advanced for that. '

'I'll take another piece of paper, then, and begin again. What do youwant?'

'Just a tree, lightly sketched, and a bit of rock under it; somethinglike that. She is a beginner. '

'A tree and a rock?' said Pitt. 'Well, here you shall have it. But, Queen Esther, this sort of thing cannot go on, you know?'

'For a while it must. '

'For a very little while! In fact, I do not see how it can go on atall. I will go and see your school madam and tell her you have madeanother engagement. '

'But every honest person fulfils the obligations he is under, beforeassuming new ones. '

'That's past praying for!' said Pitt, with a shake of his head. 'Youhave assumed the new ones. Now the next thing is to get rid of the old. I must go back to my work soon; and, Queen Esther, your majesty willnot refuse to go with me?'

He turned and stretched out his hand to her as he spoke. In the action, in the intonation of the last words, in the look which went with them, there was something very difficult for Esther to withstand. It was sofar from presuming, it was so delicate in its urgency, there was somuch wistfulness in it, and at the same time the whole magnetism of hispersonal influence. Esther placed her hand within his, she could nothelp that; the bright colour flamed up in her cheeks; words were notready. 

'What are you thinking about?' said he. 

'Papa, ' Esther said, half aloud; but she was thinking of a thousandthings all at once. 

'I'll undertake the colonel, ' said he, going back to his drawing, without letting go Esther's hand. 'Colonel Gainsborough is not a man tobe persuaded; but I think in this case he will be of my mind. '

He was silent again, and Esther was silent too, with her heart beating, and a quiet feeling of happiness and rest gradually stealing into herheart and filling it; like as the tide at flood comes in upon the emptyshore. Whatever her father might think upon the just mooted question, those two hands had found each other, once and for all. Thoughts wentroving, aimlessly, meanwhile, as thoughts will, in such a flood-tide ofcontent. Pitt worked on rapidly. Then a word came to Esther's lips. 

'Pitt, you have become quite an Englishman, haven't you?'

'No more than you are a Englishwoman. '

'I think, I am rather an American, ' said Esther; 'I have lived herenearly all my life. '

'Do you like New York?'

'I was not thinking of New York. Yes, I like it. I think I like anyplace where my home is. '

'Would you choose your future home rather in Seaforth, or in London?You know, _I_ am at home in both. '

Esther would not speak the woman's answer that rose to her lips, theimmediate response, that where he was would be what she liked best. Itflushed in her cheek and it parted her lips, but it came not forth inwords. Instead came a cairn question of business. 

'What are the arguments on either side?'

'Well, ' said Pitt, shaping his 'rock' with bold strokes of the pencil, 'in Seaforth the sun always shines, or that is my recollection of it. '

'Does it not shine in London?'

'No, as a rule. '

Esther thought it did not matter!

'Then, for another consideration, in Seaforth you would never see, Isuppose, --almost never, --sights of human distress. There are no poorthere. '

'And in London?'

'The distress is before you and all round you; and such distress as Isuppose your heart cannot imagine. '

'Then, ' said Esther softly, 'as far as _that_ goes, Pitt, it seems tome an argument for living in London. '

He met her eyes with an earnest warm look, of somewhat wistfulrecognition, intense with his own feeling of the subject, glad in hersympathy, and yet tenderly cognizant of the way the subject wouldaffect her. 

'There is one point, among many, on which you and Miss Frere differ, 'he said, however, coolly, going back to his drawing. 

'She does not like, or would not like, living in London?'

'I beg your pardon! but she would object to your reason for livingthere. '

Esther was silent; her recollection of Betty quite agreed with thisobservation. 

'You say you have seen her?' Pitt went on presently. 

'Yes. '

'And talked with her?'

'Oh yes. And liked her too, in a way. '

'Did she know your name!' he asked suddenly, facing round. 

'Why, certainly, ' said Esther, smiling. 'We were properly introduced;and we talked for a long while, and very earnestly. She interested me. '

Pitt's brows drew together ominously. Poor Betty! The old Spanishproverb would have held good in her case; 'If you do not want a thingknown of you, _don't do it_. ' Pitt's pencil went on furiously fast, andEsther sat by, wondering what he was thinking of. But soon his browcleared again as his drawing was done, and he flung down the pencil andturned to her. 

'Esther, ' he said, 'it is dawning on me, like a glory out of the sky, that you and I are not merely to live our earthly life together, andserve together, in London or anywhere, in the work given us to do. Thatis only the small beginning. Beyond all that stretches an endless lifeand ages of better service, in which we shall still be together andlove and live with each other. In the light of such a distant glory, isit much, if we in this little life on earth give all we have to Him whohas bought all that, and all this too, for us?'

'It is not much, ' said Esther, with a sudden veil of moisture comingover her eyes, through which they shone like two stars. Pitt took bothher hands. 

'I mean it literally, ' he said. 

'So do I. '

'We will be only stewards, using faithfully everything, and doingeverything, so as it seems would be most for His honour and best forHis work. '

'Yes, ' said Esther. But gladness was like to choke her from speaking atall. 

'In India there is not the poorest Hindoo but puts by from his everymeal of rice so much as a spoonful for his god. That is the utmost hecan do. Shall we do less than our utmost?'

'Not with my good-will, ' said Esther, from whose bright eyes brightdrops fell down, but she was looking steadfastly at Pitt. 

'I am not a very rich man, but I have an abundant independence, withoutasking my father for anything. We can live as we like, Esther; you cankeep your carriage if you choose; but for me, I would like nothing sowell as to use it all for the Lord Christ. '

'Oh Pitt! oh Pitt! so would I!'

'Then you will watch over me, and I will watch over you, ' said he, witha glad sealing of this compact; 'for unless we are strange people weshall both need watching. And now come here and let me tell you aboutyour house. I think you will like that. '

There is no need to add any more. Except only the one fact, that on theday of Esther's marriage Pitt brought her a bunch of red wallflowers, which he made fast himself to her dress. She must wear, he said, noother flower but that on her wedding-day. 

THE END. 

PRINTED BY MORRISON AND GIBB LIMITED EDINBURGH

Typographical errors silently corrected:

chapter 8: =half dry-blossoms= replaced by =half-dry blossoms=

chapter 16: =could get at school= replaced by =could get at school. '=

chapter 17: =I don't know, Miss Esther. = replaced by =I don' know, MissEsther. =

chapter 19: =And how are we going to get it= replaced by =And how arewe goin' to get it=

chapter 25: =Maybe ye don't have none= replaced by =Maybe ye don't hevnone=

chapter 25: =human nature 'd= replaced by =human natur' 'd=

chapter 25: =real oblidged to ye= replaced by =real obleeged to ye=

chapter 26: =not ef I can help it= replaced by =not if I kin help it=

chapter 26: =them foreign notions= replaced by =them furrin notions=

chapter 26: =had a falling out= replaced by =hed a falling out=

chapter 30: =that's what I was thinking;= replaced by =that's what Iwas thinkin';=

chapter 30: =it's been standing empty= replaced by =it's been standin'empty=

chapter 34: =W'hat do you mean= replaced by ='What do you mean=

chapter 36: =the Prayer-book? his mother= replaced by =thePrayer-book?' his mother=

chapitre 38: =son said stedfastly= replaced by =son said steadfastly=

chapter 45: =mother of Henry VIII= replaced by =mother of Henry VII=

chapter 47: =standing in the doorway= replaced by =standin' in thedoorway=

chapter 47: =stedfast eyes= replaced by =steadfast eyes=

chapter 48: =looking stedfastly= replaced by =looking steadfastly=