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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/26828-8.txt b/26828-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..61659af --- /dev/null +++ b/26828-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,19309 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Red Wallflower, by Susan Warner + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Red Wallflower + +Author: Susan Warner + +Release Date: October 7, 2008 [EBook #26828] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A RED WALLFLOWER *** + + + + +Produced by Daniel Fromont + + + + + + + + + +[Transcriber's note: Susan Warner, _A red wallflower_, (1884), Nisbet +1913 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 a +true story. I beg to observe, in particular, that the denominational +feeling described in both families, with the ways it showed itself, is +part 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 from +the old country and established itself in one of the small villages +that are scattered along the shore of Connecticut. Why they came was +not clearly understood, neither was it at all to be gathered from their +way of life or business. Business properly they had none; and their way +of life seemed one of placid contentment and unenterprising domestic +pleasure. The head of the family was a retired army officer, now past +the prime of his years; tall, thin, grey, and grave; but a gentleman +through and through. Everybody liked Colonel Gainsborough, although +nobody could account for a man of his age leading what seemed such a +profitless life. He was doing really nothing; staying at home with his +wife and his books. Why had he come to Connecticut at all? If he lived +for pleasure, surely his own country would have been a better place to +seek it. Nobody could solve this riddle. That Colonel Gainsborough had +anything to be ashamed of, or anything to be afraid of, entered +nobody's head for a moment. Fear or shame were unknown to that grave, +calm, refined face. The whisper got about, how, it is impossible to +say, that his leaving home had been occasioned by a disagreement with +his relations. It might be so. No one could ask him, and the colonel +never volunteered to still curiosity on the subject. + +The family was small. Only a wife and one little girl came with the +colonel to America; and they were attended by only two old retainers, a +man 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 were +quite enough to look after three; the man outside and the woman inside +the house. Christopher Bounder took care of the garden and the cow, and +cut 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 the +combined duties of housekeeper, cook, lady's maid, and housemaid, which +she fulfilled to everybody's satisfaction, including her own. However, +after two or three years in Seaforth these duties were somewhat +lessened; the duties of Mrs. Barker's hands, that is, for her head had +more to do. Mrs. Gainsborough, who had been delicate and failing for +some time, at last died, leaving an almost inconsolable husband and +daughter behind her. I might with truth say quite inconsolable; for at +the 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 her +kitchen, and called to her brother to come in to breakfast. Christopher +slowly obeyed the summons, leaving his spade stuck upright in the bed +he was digging, and casting loving looks as he came at the budding +gooseberry bushes. He was a typical Englishman; ruddy, fair-skinned, +blue-eyed, of very solid build, and showing the national tendency to +flesh. He was a handsome man, and not without a sufficiency of +self-consciousness, both as regarding that and other things. Mrs. +Barker was a contrast; for she was very plain, some years older than +her brother, and of rather spare habit though large frame. Both faces +showed sense, and the manner of both indicated that they knew their own +minds. + +'Season's late,' observed Mrs. Barker, as she stepped back from the +door and lifted her coffee-pot on the table. + +'Uncommon late,' answered her brother. 'Buds on them gooseberry bushes +only just showin' green. Now everything will be coming all together in +a heap in two weeks more. That's the way o' this blessed climate! And +then when everything's started, maybe a frost will come and slap down +on 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 at +this time o' year, and I'd try him with 'em. But la! he don't care no +more 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 the +while in a business manner. 'When a man don't care no more what he +eats, the next thing'll be that he'll stop it; and then there's only +one thing more he will do.' + +'What's that?' + +'Die, to be sure!' + +'He ain't dyin' yet,' said Mrs. Barker thoughtfully, 'but he ain't +doin' the best he can wi's life, for certain. Can ye get me some +greens, Christopher?' + +'Nothing in _my_ department. I can take a knife and a basket and find +you some dandelions.' + +'Will ye go fur to find 'em?' + +'No furder'n I can help, you may make your affidavit, with all there is +to 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 no +chance for no diversion whatsomever when young Mr. Dallas don't come +along. She just mopes, she do; and it's on my mind, and master he don't +see it. I wish he would.' + +'The little one does wear an uncommon solemn countenance,' said the +gardener, who was in his way quite an educated man, and used language +above his station. + +'It do vex me,' repeated the housekeeper. + +'But young Mr. Dallas comes along pretty often. If Miss Esther was a +little older, now, we should see no more of her solemnity. What 'ud +master say to that?' + +'It's good things is as they be, and we've no need to ask. I don't want +no more complications, for my part. It's hard enough to manage as it +is.' + +'But things won't stay as they be,' said the gardener, with a twinkle +of his shrewd blue eye as he looked at his sister. 'Do you expect they +will, Sarah? Miss Esther's growin' up fast, and she'll be an uncommon +handsome girl too. Do you know that?' + +'I shouldn't say she was what you'd go fur to call handsome,' returned +the housekeeper. + +'I doubt you haven't an eye for beauty. Perhaps one ought to have a bit +of 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 no +more 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 another +twinkle of his own. 'But I tell you, there ain't two such eyes as Miss +Esther's between here and Boston. Look out; other folk will find it out +soon if you don't. There ain't but three years between twelve and +fifteen; 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 a +long time. And Miss Esther ain't twelve yet, neither. Then when'll ye +be 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 their +quest after greens. Yet it was still early, for the kitchen breakfast +was had betimes. The gardener carried a basket, and Esther too did the +like; in hers there was a small trowel, for 'she might find something,' +she said. Esther always said that, although hitherto her 'findings' had +amounted to nothing of any account; unless, indeed, I correct that, and +say, in any eyes but her own. For in Esther's eyes every insignificant +growth of the woods or the fields had a value and a charm +inexpressible. Nothing was 'common' to her, and hardly anything that +grew was relegated to the despised community of 'weeds.' + +'What are you going for now, Christopher?' she asked as they trudged on +together. + +'Well, miss, my old woman there has sent me for some greens. She has a +wild 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 the +herbs of the field are good for eating, at the different times o' the +year; even here in this country; and I do suppose there ain't a poorer +on 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 see +England once, Miss Esther! That's the place for gardens; and the fields +is 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 there +is no denying it, there do nevertheless come days of bewitching, +entrancing, delicious beauty, in the midst of the rest. Days when the +air and sky and sunlight are in a kind of poise of delight, and earth +beneath them, is, as it were, still with pleasure. I suppose the spring +may be more glorious in other lands,--more positively glorious; whether +relatively, I do not know. With such contrasts before and behind +them,--contrasts of raw, chill air, and rough, cutting winds, with +skies of grey and gloom,--one of these perfect days of a lost Paradise +stands in a singular setting. It was such a day when Esther and +Christopher went after dandelions. Still, balmy air, a tender sky +slightly veiled with spring mistiness, light and warmth so gentle that +they were a blessing to a weary brain, yet so abundant that every bud +and leaf and plant and flower was unfolding and out-springing and +stretching upward and dispensing abroad all it had of sweetness. The +air was filled with sweetness; not the heavy odours of the blossoms of +summer, or the South, but a more delicate and searching fragrance from +resinous buds and freshly-opened tree flowers and the young green of +the shooting leaf. I don't know where spring gets it all, but she does +fling abroad her handfuls of perfume such as summer has no skill to +concoct, or perhaps she lacks the material. Esther drew in deep breaths +for the mere pleasure of breathing, and looked on all the world of +nature before her with an eye of quiet but intense content. + +Christopher had been quite right in his hint about Esther's eyes. They +were of uncommon character. Thoughtful, grave, beautiful eyes; large, +and fine in contour and colour; too grave for the girl's years. But +Esther had lived all her life so far almost exclusively with grown +people, and very sober grown people too; for her mother's last years +had been dulled with sickness, and her father's with care, even if he +had not been--which he was--of a taciturn and sombre deportment in the +best of times. And this last year past had been one heavy with +mourning. So it was no wonder if the little girl's face showed undue +thoughtfulness, and a shade of melancholy all premature. And +Christopher was honestly glad to see the melancholy at least vanish +under the influence of the open earth and sky. The thoughtfulness, he +hoped, would go too some day. + +The walk in itself offered nothing remarkable. Fields where the grass +was very green and fast growing; other fields that were rocky and +broken, and good for little except the sheep, and sometimes rose into +bare ridges and heights where spare savins were mingled with a variety +of 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, grey +and green and brown; the buds and young leafage of the trees were of +every lovely hue and shade that young vegetation can take; and here and +there Esther found a wild flower. When she found one, it was very apt +to be taken up by the roots with her little trowel, and bestowed in her +basket for careful transport home; and on the so endangered beauties in +her basket Esther looked down from time to time with fond and delighted +eyes. + +'Are you going for cresses, Christopher?' + +'No, Miss Esther, not at this time. Sarah has set her mind that she +must have boiled greens for dinner; and her will must be done. And here +is the article--not boiled yet, however.' + +He stopped and stooped, and with a sharp knife cut a bunch of +stout-looking leaves growing in the grass; then made a step to another +bunch, 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 yellow +blossoms to guide him. + +'How can you be sure, Christopher, that you are always getting the +right 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 far +off 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 at +these 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 rocky +height which rose at one side of it; such as one is never very far from +in New England. Here there were no dandelions, but Esther eagerly +sought for something more ornamental. And she found it. With +exclamations of deep delight she endeavoured to dig up a root of +bloodroot which lifted its most delicate and dainty blossom a few +inches above the dead leaves and moss with which the ground under the +trees 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 is +freaky,' said he. 'They has notions. Now the _Sanguinaria_ likes just +what 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 a +lady.' + +'_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 dead +leaves and sticks from a little low bunch of purple flowers. She +stretched 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 he +bared the whole little tuft. + +Esther's sigh came from the depths of her breast, as she looked at it +lovingly. + +'This is _Hepatica acutiloba_. I dare say we'd find the other, if we +had 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 in +the 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 to +find 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, reaching +up to the branches of a young tree, the red blossoms of which were not +quite out of reach; 'here's something pretty for you; here's _Acer +rubrum_.' + +'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 it +would take all one man's life to know just the orchids of South +America; 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 the +question; 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 has +no manners.' + +'But some good plants have no manners,' said Esther, amused. 'I know +I've heard you say, they ran over everything, and wouldn't stay in +their places. You said it of moss pink, and lily of the valley. Don't +you remember?' + +'Yes mum, I've cause to remember; by the same token I've been trimming +the 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, and +holds 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 garden +ground. She planted it with all care in the shadow of a rose-bush; and +then 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 do +where people live who know how to live. The room, and the house, no +doubt, owed its character to the rule and influence of Mrs. +Gainsborough, who was there no longer, and to a family life that had +passed away. The traces abode still. The chintz hangings and the carpet +were of soft colours and in good harmony; chairs and lounges were +comfortable; a great many books lined the walls, so many indeed that +the room might have been styled the library. A portfolio with +engravings 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 was +sleeping on the rug before the fire; for the weather was still cold +enough within doors to make a fire pleasant, and Colonel Gainsborough +was a chilly man. + +He lay on the couch when Esther came in with her flowers; a book in his +hand, 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 the +spiritless, weary, depressed air which had become his habit; there was +a want of spring and life and hope in the features and in the manner +also of the occupant of the sofa. He looked at Esther languidly, as she +came in and busied herself with arranging her maple blossoms, her +Hepatica and one or two delicate stems of the bloodroot in a little +vase. Her father looked at the flowers and at her, in silence. + +'Papa, aren't those _beautiful?_' she asked with emphasis, bringing the +vase, 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 grow +nicely out there in the wood. Papa, what is the difference between a +weed 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, why +isn'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 talking +nonsense.' + +The colonel raised his book again, and Esther took the hint, and went +back 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 a +half-unconscious way, that somehow awakened by degrees almost as much +pain as pleasure. Or else, it was simply that the glow and stir of her +walk was fading away, and allowing the old wonted train of thought to +come in again. The bright expression passed from her face; the features +settled into a melancholy dulness, most unfit for a child and painful +to see; there was a droop of the corners of the mouth, and a lax fall +of the eyelids, and a settled gloom in the face, that covered it and +changed it like a mask. The very features seemed to grow heavy, in the +utter heaviness of the spirit. + +She sat so for a while, musing, no longer busy with such pleasant +things as flowers and weeds; then roused herself. The weariness of +inaction was becoming intolerable. She went to a corner of the room, +where a large mahogany box was half-concealed beneath a table covered +with a cloth; with a good deal of effort she lugged the box forth. It +was 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 Esther +sat down on the floor and unlocked the box. It was filled with casts in +plaster of Paris, of old medals and bas-reliefs; and it had long been a +great amusement of Esther's to take them all out and look at them, and +then carefully pack them all away again between their layers of soft +paper and cotton batting. In the nature of the case, this was an +amusement that would pall if too often repeated; so it rarely happened +that Esther got them out more than three or four times a year. This +time she had hardly begun to take them out and place them carefully on +the table, when Mrs. Barker came in to lay the cloth for dinner. Esther +must put the casts back, and defer her amusement till another time in +the day. + +Meals were served now for the colonel and his daughter in this same +room, which served for sitting-room and library. The dining-room was +disused. Things had come by degrees to this irregularity, Mrs. Barker +finding that it made her less work, and the colonel in his sorrowful +abstraction hardly knowing and not at all caring where he took his +dinner. The dinner was carefully served, however, and delicately +prepared; for there Barker's pride came in to her help; and besides, +little as Colonel Gainsborough attended now to the food he ate, it is +quite possible that he would have rebelled against any disorder in that +department of the household economy. + +The meal times were sorrowful occasions to both the solitary personages +who now sat down to the table. Neither of them had become accustomed +yet to the empty place at the board. The colonel ate little and talked +none at all; and only Esther's honest childish appetite saved these +times from being seasons of intolerable gloom. Even so, she was always +glad when dinner was done. + +By the time that it was over to-day, and the table cleared, Esther's +mood 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 she +should find. At the same time she was in desperate want of something to +amuse her, or at least to pass away the time, which went so slowly if +unaided. She bethought her of trying another box, or series of boxes, +over which she had seen her father and mother spend hours together; but +the contents hitherto had not seemed to her interesting. The key was on +the same chain with the key of the casts; Esther sat down on the floor +by one of the windows, having shoved one of the boxes into that +neighbourhood, turned the key, and opened the cover. Her father was +lying on the couch again and gave her no attention, and Esther made no +call upon him for help. + +An hour or two had passed. Esther had not changed her place, and the +box, which contained a quantity of coins, was still open; but the +child's hands lay idly in her lap, and her eyes were gazing into +vacancy. Looking back, perhaps, at the images of former days; smiling +images of light and love, in scenes where her mother's figure filled +all the foreground. Colonel Gainsborough did not see how the child sat +there, nor what an expression of dull, hopeless sorrow lay upon her +features. All the life and variety of which her face was abundantly +capable had disappeared; the corners of the mouth drawn down, the brow +rigid, the eyes rayless, she sat an image of childish desolation. She +looked even stupid, if that were possible to Esther's features and +character. + +What the father did not see was revealed to another person, who came in +noiselessly at the open door. This new-comer was a young man, hardly +yet arrived at the dignity of young manhood; he might have been +eighteen, but he was really older than his years. His figure was well +developed, with broad shoulders and slim hips, showing great muscular +power and the symmetry of beauty as well. The face matched the figure; +it was strong and fine, full of intelligence and life, and bearing no +trace of boyish wilfulness. If wilfulness was there, which I think, it +was rather the considered and consistent wilfulness of a man. As he +came in at the open door, Esther's position and look struck him; he +paused 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 of +indifferent recognition. + +'How do you do, sir, to-day?' + +'Not very well! my strength seems to be giving way, I think, by +degrees.' + +'We shall have warm weather for you soon again, sir; that will do you +good.' + +'I don't know,' said the colonel. 'I doubt it; I doubt it. Unless it +could 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 looking +down at him, the features, however, retaining their composed gravity. + +'Perhaps shad will tempt you. We shall have them very soon now. Can't +you eat shad?' + +'Shad,' repeated the colonel. 'That's your New England piscatory +dainty? I have never found out why it is so reckoned.' + +'You cannot have eaten them, sir; that's all. That is, not cooked +properly. 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 of +the fire comes to be the spirit of the fish. It is difficult to put +anything so ethereal into words.' This was spoken with the utmost +seriousness. + +'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 one +lives, one must try to do something. Bring your book here, William, if +you please. I can listen, lying here.' + +The hour that followed was an hour of steady work. The colonel liked +his young neighbour, who belonged to a family also of English +extraction, though not quite so recently moved over as the colonel's +own. Still, to all intents and purposes, the Dallases were English; had +English connections and English sympathies; and had not so long mingled +their blood with American that the colour of it was materially altered. +It was natural that the two families should have drawn near together in +social and friendly relations; which relations, however, would have +been closer if in church matters there had not been a diverging power, +which kept them from any extravagance of neighbourliness. This young +fellow, however, whom the colonel called 'William,' showed a +carelessness as to church matters which gave him some of the advantages +of a neutral ground; and latterly, since his wife's death, Colonel +Gainsborough had taken earnestly to the fine, spirited young man; +welcomed his presence when he came; and at last, partly out of +sympathy, partly out of sheer loneliness and emptiness of life, he had +offered to read the classics with him, in preparation for college. And +this for several months now they had been doing; so that William was a +daily 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 his +sofa and went out, and young Dallas turned to Esther. During this hour +Esther had been sitting still in her corner by her boxes; not doing +anything; and her face, which had brightened at William's first coming +in, had fallen back very nearly to its former heavy expression. Now it +lighted up again, as the visitor left his seat and came over to her. He +had not been so taken up with his reading but he had noticed her from +time to time; observed the drooping brow and the dull eye, and the sad +lines of the lips, and the still, spiritless attitude. He was touched +with pity for the child, whom he had once been accustomed to see very +different from this. He came and threw himself down on the floor by her +side. + +'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 you +going to do with these old things, eh?' + +'Nothing,' said Esther hopelessly. 'I used to hear papa talk about +them; 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 the +grave 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 us +see what you have got here. May I look?' + +He lifted a small piece of metal out of its nest, in a shallow tray +which was made by transverse slips of wood to be full of such nests, or +little square compartments. The trays were beautifully arranged, one +fitting close upon another till they filled the box to its utmost +capacity. + +'What have we here? This piece has seen service. Here is a tree, Queen +Esther,--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 is +plain,--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 us +try the other side. Ha! here we have it. "Lud. xvi."--two letters I +can't make out--then "Fr. and Nav. Rex." Louis the Sixteenth, king of +France and Navarre.' + +'I know him, I believe,' said Esther. 'He was beheaded, wasn't he, in +the 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 been +wise enough for that. You see, the people of France were mad; and when +a people get mad, they don't listen to reason, naturally. Here's +another, now; what's this? "Zeelandia, 1792," not so very old. On the +other side--here's a shield, peculiar too; with the motto plain +enough,--"Luctor et emergo." A good motto that.' + +'What does it mean?' + +'It means, something like--"Struggle and come out," or "come +through,"--literally, "emerge." Our English word comes from it. Colonel +Gainsborough does not teach you Latin, then?' + +'No,' said Esther, sighing. 'He doesn't teach me much lately, of +anything.' + +Dallas cast a quick look at the girl, and saw again the expression of +quiet hopelessness that had moved him. He went on turning over the +coins. + +'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 not +expected 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 lions +rampant--shield surmounted by a crown; motto, "Sp. nos in Deo." _Let us +hope in God_.' + +'Whose motto was that?' + +'Just what I can't make out. I don't know the shield--which I ought to +know; and the reverse of the coin has only some unintelligible letters: +D. Gelriae, 1752. Let us try another, Queen Esther. Ha! here's a coin +of William and Mary--both their blessed heads and names; and on the +reverse a figure three, and the inscription claiming that over Great +Britain, _France_ and Ireland, they were "Rex and Regina." Why, this +box 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 of +England--that's all. Mother gave me that. But when I read, there are so +many 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 of +France, and the name of the luckless Louis XVI. "Roi de France and de +Navarre" but no date. On the other side, "Isles de France and de +Bourbon." These coins seem to belong to European history.' + +'There's another box with Greek and Roman coins, and, the names of +Roman 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 the +other side "Justitia." Queen Esther, this box is a first-rate place to +study history.' + +'Is it?' + +'It is. What do you say? Suppose you let me come here and study history +with you over these old coins; and then you come over to my house and +learn 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 conceal +one's thoughts. I hope you are not labouring under the impression that +such 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 Böhmen, that is Bohemia. This old piece of +copper 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 want +another. 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 find +the columbine, but it must be out. Christopher calls them all sorts of +hard 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 the +Crowfoots--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 or +juice, exogenous plants, with many stamens. These are the stamens, do +you know? They have calyx and corolla both, and the corolla has +separate petals, see; and the Ranunculaceae have the petals and sepals +deciduous, and the leaves generally cut, as you see these are. They are +what you may call a bitter family; it runs in the blood, that is to +say, in the juice of them; and a good many of the members of the family +are 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 of +the 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 every +plant from the royal cedar to the hyssop on the wall; and I am sure a +queen ought to know as much. Now the blood of the Papaveraceae has a +taint 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 so +fast 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, or +opium?' + +'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 for +medicine 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 colour +in the cheeks, the brow busy with stirring thoughts. Esther's face was +a grave face still, for a child of her years; but now it was a noble +gravity, showing intelligence and power and purpose; indicating +capacity, and also an eager sympathy with whatever is great and worthy +to take and hold the attention. Whether it were history that Dallas +touched upon, or natural science; the divisions of nations or the +harmonies of plants; Esther was ready, with her thoughtful, intent +eyes, taking in all he could give her; and not merely as a snatch-bite +of curiosity, but as the satisfaction of a good healthy mental appetite +for mental food. + +Until to-day the young man had never concerned himself much about +Esther. Good nature had moved him to-day, when he saw the dullness that +had come over the child and recognised her forlorn solitude; and now he +began to be interested in the development of a nature he had never +known before. Young Dallas was a student of everything natural that +came in his way, but this was the first bit of human nature that had +consciously interested him. He thought it quite worth investigating a +little more. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +_LEARNING_. + + +They had a most delightful walk. It was not quite the first they had +taken together; however, they had had none like this. They roved +through the meadows and over the low rocky heights and among the +copsewood, searching everywhere for flowers, and finding a good variety +of the dainty and delicate spring beauties. Columbine, most elegant, +stood in groups upon the rocks; _Hepatica_ hid under beds of dead +leaves; the slender _Uvularia_ was met with here and there; anemone and +bloodroot and wild geranium, and many another. And as they were +gathered, Dallas made Esther observe their various features and family +characteristics, and brought her away from Christopher's technical +phraseology to introduce her instead to the living and everlasting +relations of things. To this teaching the little girl presently lent a +very delighted ear, and brought, he could see, a quick wit and a keen +power of discrimination. It was one thing to call a delicate little +plant arbitrarily _Sanguinaria canadensis;_ it was another thing to +find it its place among the floral tribes, and recognise its kindred +and associations and family character. + +On their way home, Dallas proposed that Esther should stop at his house +for a minute, and become a little familiar with the place where she was +to come to study Latin; and he led her in as he spoke. + +The Dallases' house was the best in the village. Not handsome in its +exterior, which bore the same plain and somewhat clumsy character as +all the other buildings in its neighbourhood; but inside it was +spacious, and had a certain homely elegance. Rooms were large and +exceedingly comfortable, and furnished evidently with everything +desired by the hearts of its possessors. That fact has perhaps more to +do with the pleasant, _liveable_ air of a house than aesthetic tastes +or artistic combinations apart from it. There was a roomy verandah, +with settees and cane chairs, and roses climbing up the pillars and +draping the balustrade. The hall, which was entered next, was wide and +homelike, furnished with settees also, and one or two tables, for +summer occupation, when doors could be set open front and back and the +wind play through. Nobody was there to-day, and Dallas turned to a door +at the right and opened it. This let them into a large room where a +fire was burning, and a soft genial warmth met them, along with a +certain odour, which Esther noticed and felt without knowing what it +was. It was very faint, yet unmistakeable; and was a compound probably +made up from the old wood of the house, burning coals in the chimney, +great cleanliness, and a distant, hidden, secret store of all manner of +delicate good things, fruits and sweets and spices, of which Mrs. +Dallas's store closet held undoubtedly a great stock and variety. The +brass of the old-fashioned grate glittered in the sunlight, it was so +beautifully kept; between the windows hung a circular mirror, to the +frame of which were appended a number of spiral, slim, curling +branches, 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 over +it. The place made a peculiar agreeable impression upon any one +entering 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 hardly +been in the house since the death of her mother, and it struck her +almost as a stranger. So did the lady sitting there, in state, as it +seemed to the girl. + +For Mrs. Dallas was a stately person. Handsome, tall, of somewhat large +and full figure and very upright carriage; handsomely dressed; and with +a calm, superior air of confidence, which perhaps had more effect than +all the other good properties mentioned. She was sitting in an +easy-chair, with some work in her hands, by a little work-table on +which lay one or two handsomely bound books. She looked up and reviewed +Esther 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 to +the child, who touched it as somewhat embodying a condescension rather +than 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 was +a pity, of course, that her father did not feel well. 'Where have you +been all this while?' the lady went on, addressing her son. + +'Where?--well, in reality, walking over half the country. See our +flowers! In imagination, over half the world. Do you know what a +collection 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, which +when it was current was worth only perhaps a farthing or two, now when +its currency is long past would sell maybe for fifty or a hundred +pounds.' + +'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 are +to 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 head +back laughingly as he went. + +'Lessons! In what?' + +'Anything she wants to learn, that I can teach her. We have been +studying history and botany to-day. Come along, Esther. We shall not +take our lessons _here_.' + +He led the way, going out into the hall and at the further end of it +passing into a verandah which there too extended along the back of the +house. The house on this side had a long offset, or wing, running back +at right angles with the main building. The verandah also made an angle +and followed the side of this wing, which on the ground floor contained +the kitchen and offices. Half way of its length a stairway ran up, on +the outside, to a door nearer the end of the building. Up this stair +young Dallas went, and introduced Esther to a large room, which seemed +to her presently the oddest and also the most interesting that she had +ever in her life seen. Its owner had got together, apparently, the old +bits of furniture that his mother did not want any longer; there was an +old table, devoid of all varnish, in the floor, covered, however, with +a nice green cloth; two or three chairs were the table's +contemporaries, to judge by their style, and nothing harder or less +accommodating to the love of ease ever entered surely a cabinetmaker's +brain. The wood of which they were made had, however, come to be of a +soft brown colour, through the influence of time, and the form was not +inelegant. The floor was bare and painted, and upon it lay here an old +rug and there a great thick bearskin; and on the walls there were +several heads of animals, which seemed to Esther very remarkable and +extremely ornamental. One beautiful deer's head, with elegant horns; +and one elk head, the horns of which in their sweep and extent were +simply 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 in +large numbers; a flower press was in one place, a microscope on the +table, a kind of _étagère_ was loaded with papers; and there were +boxes, and glasses, and cases; and a general air of a place where a +good deal of business was done, and where a variety of tastes found at +least attempted gratification. It was a pleasant room, though the +description may not sound like it; the heterogeneous articles were in +nice order; plenty of light blazed in at the windows, and the bearskin +on the floor looked eminently comfortable. If that were luxurious, it +was the only bit of luxury in the room. + +'Where will you sit?' asked its owner, looking round. 'There isn't +anything nice enough for you. I must look up a special chair for you to +occupy when you come here. How do you like my room?' + +'I like it--very much,' said Esther slowly, turning her eyes from one +strange 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 straight +through the house, out on the piazza, and up these stairs, with out +asking anybody; and then you will turn the handle of the door and come +in, 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 I +have 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 the +chance. 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 the +great European lammergeyer.' + +Esther had placed herself on one of the hard wooden chairs, but now she +rose and went nearer the birds, standing before them in great +admiration. Slowly then she went from one thing in the room to another, +pausing to contemplate each. A beautiful white owl, very large and +admirably mounted, held her eyes for some time. + +'That is the Great Northern Owl,' observed her companion. 'They are +found far up in the regions around the North Pole, and only now and +then 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 hosts +of smaller fry--squirrels, mice, and birds.' + +'He looks cruel,' observed Esther, with an abhorrent motion of her +shoulders. + +'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, for +instance, 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 other +part of creation--except that respectable number that are granivorous, +and herbivorous, and graminivorous.' + +Esther stood before the owl, musing; and Dallas, who was studying the +child now, watched her. + +'But what I want to know, is,' began Esther, as if she were carrying on +an argument, '_why_ those that eat flesh look so much more wicked than +the 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 are +sheep and cows and rabbits, and doves and chickens'-- + +'Halt there!' cried Dallas. 'Chickens are as good flesh-eaters as +anybody, and as cruel about it, too. See two chickens pulling at the +two ends of one earthworm.' + +'Oh, don't!' said Esther. 'I remember they do; and they haven't nice +eyes 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's +service; 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 is +something in it.' + +'Then don't you think there must be a _real_ difference, to make them +look 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 been +carried into a system. Meanwhile, suppose we come from what I cannot +teach, to what I can? Here's a Latin grammar for you.' + +Esther came to his side immediately, and listened with grave attention +to 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 put +a sudden irrelevant question. 'Pitt, why didn't you tell Mrs. Dallas +what you were going to teach me?' + +The young man looked at her, somewhat amused, but not immediately ready +with 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 who +am going to give you the lessons, not she. And now for a lesson in +botany.' + +He brought out a quantity of his dried flowers, beautifully preserved +and arranged; and showed Esther one or two groups of plants, giving her +various initiatory instruction by the way. It was a most delightful +half hour to the little girl; and she went home after it, with her +Latin grammar in her hands, very much aroused and wakened up and +cheered from her dull condition of despondency; just what Pitt had +intended. + + + + +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 with +his success. In his room, over Latin and botany, at her own home, over +history and the boxes of coins, he and Esther daily spent a good deal +of time together. They were pleasant enough hours to him; but to her +they were sources of life-giving nourishment and delight. The girl had +been leading a forlorn existence; mentally in a desert and alone; and, +added to that, with an unappeased longing for her departed mother, and +silent, quiet, wearing grief for the loss of her. Even now, her +features often settled into the dulness which had so struck Dallas; but +gradually there was a lightening and lifting of the cloud: when +studying she was wholly intent on her business, and when talking or +reciting or examining flowers there was a play of life and thought and +feeling in her face which was a constant study to her young teacher, as +well as pleasure, for the change was his work. He read indications of +strong capacity; he saw the tokens of rare sensitiveness and delicacy; +he saw there was a power of feeling as well as a capacity for suffering +covered 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 as +education, that her young teacher's estimation constantly grew, and to +interest was soon added liking. He had half expected that when the +novelty was off the pleasure of study would be found to falter; but it +was no such matter. Esther studied as honestly as if she had been a +fifth form boy at a good school; with a delight in it which boys at +school, in any form, rarely bring to their work. She studied +absorbedly, eagerly, persistently; whatever pleasure she might get by +the way, she was plainly bent on learning; and she learned of course +fast. And in the botanical studies they carried on together, and in the +historical studies which had the coins for an illumination, the child +showed as keen enjoyment as other girls of her age are wont to feel in +a story-book or in games and plays. Of games and plays Esther knew +nothing; she had no young companions, and never had known any; her +intercourse had been almost solely with father and mother, and now only +the father was left to her. She would have been in danger of growing +morbid in her sorrow and loneliness, and her whole nature might have +been permanently and without remedy dwarfed, if at this time of her +life 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 of +both to develop them to their full richness and fragrance; and Esther +was one of these. The loss of her mother had threatened to be an +irreparable injury to her. Colonel Gainsborough was a tenderly +affectionate father: still, like a good many men, he did not understand +child nature, could not adapt himself to it, had no sort of notion of +its wants, and no comprehension that it either needed or could receive +and return his sympathy. So he did not give sympathy to his child, nor +dreamed that she was in danger of starving for want of it. Indeed, he +had never in his life given much sympathy to anybody, except his wife; +and in the loss of his wife, Colonel Gainsborough thought so much of +himself was lost that the remainder probably would not last long. He +thought himself wounded to death. That it might be desirable, and that +it might be duty to live for his daughter's sake, was an idea that had +never entered his very masculine heart. Yet Colonel Gainsborough was a +good man, and even had the power of being a tender one; he had been +that towards his wife; but when she died he felt that life had gone +from him. + +All this, more or less, young Dallas came to discern and understand in +the course of his associations with the father and daughter. And now it +was with a little pardonable pride and a good deal of growing +tenderness 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's +presence; truly she was quiet as a mouse everywhere; but under the +outward quiet Dallas could see now the impulse and throb of the strong +and 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 of +great power and beauty. It was no wonder that the face through which +this nature shone was one of rare power and beauty too. Others could +see that, besides him. + +'What a handsome little girl that is!' remarked the elder Dallas one +evening. 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 a +pause. 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 are +rather 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 husband +repeated 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 his +head since his wife died. He fancies he is going after her as fast as +he 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 a +sort of outward care of her, and so far it is very particular care; but +there 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 he +thinks he is, which comes to the same thing. But I should say, that +child might better be in any other hands than his.' + +'Well, she is not shut up to them,' said young Dallas, 'since I have +taken her in hand.' + +He strolled out of the room as he spoke, and the two elder people were +left together. Silence reigned between them till the sound of his steps +had quite ceased to be heard. + +Mrs. Dallas was working at some wool embroidery, and taking her +stitches with a thoughtful brow; her husband in his easy-chair was +carelessly turning over the pages of a newspaper. They were a contrast. +She had a tall, commanding figure, a gracious but dignified manner, and +a very handsome, stately face. There was nothing commanding, and +nothing gracious, about Mr. Dallas. His figure was rather small, and +his manner insignificant. He was not a handsome man, either, although +he may be said to have but just missed it, for his features were +certainly 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 air +was unsympathetic. It was courteous enough; and he was careful and +particular in his dress. Indeed, Mr. Dallas was careful of all that +belonged to him. He wore long English whiskers of sandy hair, the head +crop being very thin and kept very close. + +'Hildebrand,' said Mrs. Dallas when the sound of her son's footsteps +had died away, 'when are you going to send Pitt to college?' + +Mr. Dallas turned another page of his newspaper, and did not hurry his +answer. + +'Why?' + +'And _where_ are you going to send him?' + +'Really,' said Mr. Dallas, without ceasing his contemplation of the +page before him, 'I do not know. I have not considered the matter +lately.' + +'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 on +presently. 'He is ready for college. All this pottering over the +classics with Colonel Gainsborough doesn't amount to anything. It keeps +him out of idleness,--if Pitt ever could be idle,--but he has got to go +to college after all, sooner or later. He must go!' she repeated with +another sigh. + +'No special hurry, that I see.' + +'What's gained by delay? He's eighteen. That's long enough for him to +have lived in a place like this. If I had my way, Hildebrand, I should +send 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 want +Pitt to be formed upon the model of things in this country. You would +not 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 educating +this girl, now.' + +'Educating her!' + +'Yes, he is with her and her father a great piece of every day; reading +and talking and walking and drying flowers and giving lessons. I don't +know what all they are doing. But in my opinion Pitt might be better +employed.' + +'That won't last,' said the father with a half laugh. + +'What ought not to last, had better not be begun,' Mrs. Dallas said +sententiously. + +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 you +stood in the way.' + +'He was not wasting his time until lately. He was as well at home. But +there must come an end to that,' the mother said, with another slight +sigh. 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 of +this country for a while; forget some of his American notions, and get +right English ones. Pitt is a little too independent.' + +The elder Dallas caressed his whiskers and pondered. If the truth were +told, he had been about as unwilling to let his son go away from home +as ever his mother could be. Pitt was simply the delight and pride of +both their hearts; the one thing they lived for; the centre of all +hopes, 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 was +a son for parents to be proud of. He had the good qualities of both +father 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,' the +father remarked. 'Oh, well! there's no raging hurry, wife.' + +'Husband, it would be a good thing for him to see the English Church as +it is in England, before he gets much older.' + +'What then?' + +'He would learn to value it. The cathedrals, and the noble services in +them, and the bishops; and the feeling that everybody around him goes +the same way; there's a great deal of power in that. Pitt would be +impressed by it.' + +'By the feeling that everybody around him goes that way? Not he. That's +quite 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, and +without 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 enough +left in him for proselyting.' + +'I am not speaking of anybody in particular. I am afraid of the air +here.' + +Mr. Dallas laughed a little, but his face took a shade of gravity it +had not worn. Must he send his son away? What would the house be +without him? + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +_GOING TO COLLEGE_. + + +Whatever thoughts were harboured in the elder heads, nothing was spoken +openly, and no steps were taken for some time. All through the summer +the pleasant intercourse went on, and the lessons, and the botanizing, +and the study of coins. And much real work was done; but for Esther one +invaluable and abiding effect of a more general character was gained. +She was lifted out of her dull despondency, which had threatened to +become stagnation, and restored to her natural life and energy and the +fresh spring of youthful spirits. So, when her friend really went away +to college in the fall, Esther did not slip back to the condition from +which he had delivered her. + +But the loss of him was a dreadful loss to the child, although Pitt was +not going over the sea, and would be home at Christmas. He tried to +comfort 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 was +saying. 'I will show you what to do, and when I come home I shall go +into a very searching examination to see whether you have done it all +thoroughly.' + +'Will you?' she said, lifting her eyes to him with a gleam of sudden +hope. + +'Certainly! I shall give you lessons just as usual whenever I come +home; indeed, I expect I shall do it all your life. I think I shall +always be teaching and you always be learning. Don't you think that is +how 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 her +face. Yet it was plain Esther was not cheated out of her perception of +the truth. She was going to lose her friend; and his absence would be +very different from his presence; and the bits of vacation time would +not help, or help only by anticipation, the long stretches of months in +which there would be neither sight nor sound of him. Esther's looks had +brightened for a moment, but then her countenance fell again and her +face 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 their +burden of sorrow. + +'Well, perhaps three years; unless I enter Junior, and then it would be +only 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 old +will you be in two years?' + +'Almost fourteen.' + +'Fourteen. Well, you see you will have a great deal to do before you +can afford to be fourteen years old; so much that you will not have +time to miss me.' + +Esther made no answer. + +'I'll be back at Christmas anyhow, you know; and that's only three +months away, or a little more.' + +'For how long?' + +'Never mind; we will make a little do the work of a great deal. It will +seem 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 much +about me. I don't deserve all that.' + +'I am not crying,' said the girl, rising with a sort of childish +dignity; 'but I shall be alone.' + +They had been sitting on a rock, resting and talking, and now set out +again to go home. Esther spoke no more; and Pitt was silent, not +knowing what to say; but he watched her, and saw that if she had not +been crying at the time she had made that declaration, the tears had +taken their revenge and were coming now. Yet only in a calm, repressed +way; now and then he saw a drop fall, or caught a motion of Esther's +hand which could only have been made to prevent a drop from falling. +She walked along steadily, turning neither to the right hand nor the +left; she who ordinarily watched every hedgerow and ran to explore +every group of plants in the corner of a field, and was keen to see +everything that was to be seen in earth or heaven. Pitt walked along +silently too. He was at a careless age, but he was a generous-minded +fellow; and to a mind of that sort there is something exceedingly +attractive and an influence exceedingly powerful in the fact of being +trusted and depended on. + +'Mother,' he said when he got home, 'I wish you would look after that +little 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, nor +anybody 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 was +about a week after Pitt's departure. She found father and daughter very +much as her son had found them the day he was introduced to the box of +coins. Esther was on the floor, beside the same box, and the colonel +was on his sofa. Mrs. Dallas did take the effect of the picture for +that moment before the colonel sprang up to receive her. Then she had +to do with a somewhat formal but courtly host, and the picture was +lost. The lady sat there, stately in her silks and laces, carrying on a +stiff conversation; for she and Colonel Gainsborough had few points of +sympathy or mutual understanding; and for a while she forgot Esther. +Then her eye again fell upon the child in her corner, sitting by her +box with a sad, uninterested air. + +'And how is Esther?' she said, turning herself a little towards that +end of the room. 'Really I came to see Esther, colonel. How does she +do?' + +'She is much obliged to you, and quite well, madam, I believe.' + +'But she must want playmates, colonel. Why don't you send her to +school?' + +'I would, if there were a good school at hand.' + +'There are schools at New Haven, and Hartford, and Boston,--plenty of +schools that would suit you.' + +'Only that, as you observe, they are at New Haven, and Hartford, and +Boston; 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, that +the other has.' + +'Pitt used to give you lessons, didn't he?' the lady went on, turning +more 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 this +handsome, stately, commanding woman. Yet it would have been impossible +to the girl to say why she had an instant unwillingness to answer this +simple question. She did not answer it, except under protest. + +'It began with the coins,' she said vaguely. 'He said we would study +history with them.' + +'And did you?' + +'Yes, ma'am.' + +'How did you manage it? or how did he? He has original ways of doing +things.' + +'Yes, ma'am. We used to take only one or two of the coins at once, and +then 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, and +Rollin, 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. 'Sounds +rather heterogeneous!' she said. + +It was on Esther's lips to justify her teacher, and say how far from +heterogeneous, how connected, and how thorough, and how methodical, the +reading and the study had been; and how enriched with talk and +explanations and descriptions and discussions. How delightful those +conversations were, both to herself and Pitt; how living the truth had +been made; how had names and facts taken on them the shape and +colouring of nature and reality. It rushed back upon Esther, and her +lips opened; and then, an inexplicable feeling of something like +caution 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 at +the child standing before her; a child truly, with childlike innocence +and ignorance in her large eyes and pure lips. But the eyes were eyes +of beauty; and the lips would soon and readily take to themselves the +sweetness and the consciousness of womanhood, and a new bloom would +come upon the cheek. The colonel had never yet looked forward to all +that; but the wise eyes of the matron saw it as well as if already +before 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, in +so far, at least, as Esther's further and future relations with her son +were 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 of +human nature as they came before her; but she was conscious of a +disagreeable, troubled sensation left by this visit of Mrs. Dallas. It +had not been pleasant. It ought to have been pleasant: she was Pitt's +mother; she came on a kind errand; but Esther felt at once repelled and +put at a distance. + +The child had not gone back to the dull despondency of the time before +Pitt busied himself with her; she was striving to fulfil all his +wishes, and working hard in order to accomplish more than he expected +of her. With the cherished secret hope of doing this, Esther was +driving at her books early and late. She went from the coins to the +histories Pitt had told her would illustrate them; she fagged away at +the dry details of her Latin grammar; she even tried to push her +knowledge of plants and see further into their relations with each +other, though in this department she felt the want of her teacher +particularly. From day to day it was the one pressing desire and +purpose in Esther's mind, to do more, and if possible much more, than +Pitt wanted her to do; so that she might surprise him and win his +respect and approbation. She thought, too, that she was in a fair way +to do this, for she was gaining knowledge fast, she knew; and it was a +great help towards keeping up spirit and hope and healthy action in her +mind. Nevertheless, she missed her companion and friend, with an +intense longing want of him which nobody even guessed. All the more +keen it was, perhaps, because she could speak of it to nobody. It +consumed the girl in secret, and was only saved from being disastrous +to her by the transformation of it into working energy, which +transformation daily went on anew. It did not help her much, or she +thought so, to remember that Pitt was coming home at the end of +December. He would not stay; and Esther was one of those thoughtful +natures that look all round a subject, and are not deceived by a first +fair show. He could not stay; and what would his coming and the delight +of it do, after all, but renew this terrible sense of want and make it +worse than ever? When he went away again, it would be for a long, long +time,--an absence of months; how was it going to be borne? + +The problem of life was beginning early for Esther. And the child was +alone. Nobody knew what went on in her; she had nobody to whom she +could open her heart and tell her trouble; and the troubles we can tell +to nobody else somehow weigh very heavy, especially in young years. The +colonel loved his child with all of his heart that was not buried in +his wife's grave; still, he was a man, and like most men had little +understanding 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 her +books; and it never crossed his thoughts that such is not the natural +condition and wholesome manner of life for twelve years old. He knew +nothing for himself so good as books; why should not the same be true +for Esther? She was a studious child; he was glad to see her so +sensible. + +As for Pitt, he had fallen upon a new world, and was busily finding his +feet, as it were. Finding his own place, among all these other +aspirants for human distinction; testing his own strength, among the +combatants in this wrestling school of human life; earning his laurels +in the race for learning; making good his standing and trying his power +amid the waves and currents of human influence. Pitt found his standing +good, and his strength quite equal to the call for it, and his power +dominating. At least it would have been dominating, if he had cared to +rule; all he cared for, as it happened, in that line, was to be +independent 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, his +abilities were unquestioned, and put him at once at the head of his +fellows. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +_COMING HOME_. + + +Without being at all an unfaithful friend, it must be confessed Pitt's +mind during this time was full of the things pertaining to his own new +life, and he thought little of Esther. He thought little of anybody; he +was 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 the +college behind him, and was on his journey home, that Esther's image +rose before his mental vision; the first time perhaps for months. It +smote him then with a little feeling of compunction. He recollected the +child's sensitive nature, her clinging to him, her lonely condition; +and the grave, sad eyes seemed to reproach him with having forgotten +her. He had not forgotten her; he had only not remembered. He might +have taken time to write her one little letter; but he had not thought +of it. Had she ceased to think of _him_ in any corresponding way? Pitt +was very sure she had not. Somehow his fancy was very busy with Esther +during this journey home. He was making amends for months of neglect. +Her delicate, tender, faithful image seemed to stand before +him;--forgetfulness would never be charged upon Esther, nor +carelessness 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 little +token of remembrance in all this time. He recalled the girl's eagerness +in study, her delight in learning, her modest, well-bred manner; her +evident though unconscious loving devotion to himself, and her profound +grief at his going away. There were very noble qualities in that young +girl that would develop--into what might they develop? and how would +those beautiful thoughtful eyes look from a woman's soul by and by? Had +his mother complied with his request and shown any kindness to the +child? Pitt had no special encouragement to think so. And what a life +it must be for such a creature, at twelve years old, to be alone with +that taciturn, reserved, hypochondriac colonel? + +It was near evening when the stage-coach brought Pitt to his native +village 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. The +mother and father were sitting at the two sides of the fireplace, busy +with keeping up the fire to an unmaintainable standard of brilliancy, +and looking at the clock; now and then exchanging a remark about the +weather, the way, the distance, and the proper time of the expected +arrival,--till that sharp sound of a step on the gravel came to their +ears, and both parents started up and rushed to the door. There was a +general confusion of kisses and hand-clasps and embraces, from which +Pitt 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 plank +floor; 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 supper +table stood ready, and all eyes could meet eyes, and read tokens each +of 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 home +is jolly, mother. That's the use of going away, I suppose,' said the +young 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 at +him 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 knew +it. I made sure you would.' + +'He hasn't worked too hard either,' said the mother, with a careful eye +of examination. 'He looks as he ought to look.' + +A bright glance of the eye came to her. 'I tell you I never had enough +to do yet,' he said. + +'And, Pitt, do you like it?' + +'Like what, mother?' + +'The place, and the work, and the people?--the students and the +professors?' + +'That's what I should call a comprehensive question! You expect one yes +or 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 have +something of a variety of material, don't you see? The people are all +sorts. 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 man +has 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 the +first 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 and +butter, 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 the +fire, that is.' + +The supper was a royal one, for Mrs. Dallas was a good housekeeper; and +the tone of it was festive, for the spirits of them all were in a very +gay and Christmas mood. So it was with a good deal of surprise as well +as chagrin that Mrs. Dallas, after supper, saw her son handling his +greatcoat 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; but +there's somebody else there that would like to see me. I'll be back +soon, 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,' said +Pitt, 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 behind +him. Mrs. Dallas went back to the supper room with a very discomfited +face. + +'Hildebrand,' she said, in a tone that made her husband look up, 'there +is 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 North +wind!--and no more to be held.' + +'That's nothing new. He never could be held. Pity we didn't name him +Boreas.' + +'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. And +that little girl is a child yet.' + +'You forget how soon she will be not a child. And she is going to be a +very remarkable-looking girl, I can tell you. And you must not forget +another thing, husband; that Pitt is as persistent as he is wilful.' + +'He's got a head, I think,' said Mr. Dallas, stroking his whiskers +thoughtfully. + +'_That_ won't save him. It never saved anybody. Men with heads are just +as much fools, in certain circumstances, as men without them.' + +'He might fancy some other child in England, if we sent him there, you +know.' + +'Yes; but at least she would be a Churchwoman,' said Mrs. Dallas, with +her 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 Colonel +Gainsborough's house. There he was told that the colonel had a bad +headache and was already gone to his room. + +'Is Miss Esther up?' + +'Oh yes, sir,' said Mrs. Barker doubtfully, but she did not invite the +visitor in. + +'Can I see her for a moment?' + +'I haven't no orders, but I suppose you can come in, Mr. Dallas. It is +Mr. Dallas, ain't it?' + +'Yes, it's I, Mrs. Barker,' said Pitt, coming in and beginning at once +to throw off his greatcoat. 'In the usual room? Is the colonel less +well 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. He +had a certain vague expectation of the delight his appearance would +give, and was a little eager to see it. So he went in with a bright +face to surprise Esther. + +The girl was sitting by the table reading a book she had laid close +under the lamp; reading with a very grave face, Pitt saw too, and it a +little sobered the brightness of his own. It was not the dulness of +stagnation or of sorrow this time; at least Esther was certainly busily +reading; but it was sober, steady business, not the absorption of happy +interest or excitement. She looked up carelessly as the door opened, +then half incredulously as she saw the entering figure, then she shut +her book and rose to meet him. But then she did not show the lively +pleasure 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 more +dignity and less eagerness than he was accustomed to from her. Pitt was +astonished, and piqued, and curious. However, he followed her lead, in +a 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 oddest +mingling of reserve and doubt in her manner; and the great grave eyes +were lifted to his face for a moment, with, it seemed to him, something +of 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 and +half-laughing, but wholly determined not to be kept at a distance in +this manner. 'I am not going to sit down, if you are going to treat me +like that.' + +'Treat you how?' + +'Why, as if I were a stranger, that you didn't care a pin about. What's +the matter, Queen Esther?' + +Esther was silent. Pitt was half-indignant; and then he caught the +shimmer of something like moisture in the eyes, which were looking away +from him to the fire, and his mood changed. + +'What is it, Esther?' he said kindly. 'Take a seat, your majesty, and +I'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 up +another 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 the +eyes, and rolled over. Esther brushed them hastily away. + +'And I hadn't the decency to write to you? Had that something to do +with it?' + +'I thought--if you _had_ remembered me, you would perhaps have written, +just a little word,' Esther confessed, with some hesitation and +difficulty. Pitt was more touched and sorry than he would have supposed +before that such a matter could make him. + +'Look here, Esther,' he said. 'There are two or three things I want you +to take note of. The first is, that you must never judge by +appearances.' + +'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'--(Esther +got the words out with some difficulty, without, however, breaking +down)--'and I thought, I had to get accustomed to doing without +you--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: 'I +told you, in the first place, you are not to judge by appearances. Do +you see that you have been mistaken in judging me?' + +She looked at him, a look that moved him a good deal, there was so much +wistfulness in it; so much desire revealed to find him what she had +found him in times past, along with the dawning hope that she might. + +'Yes,' said he, nodding, 'you have been mistaken, and I did not expect +it of you, Queen Esther. I don't think I am changeable; but anyhow, I +haven't changed towards you. I have but just got home this evening; and +I ran away from home and my mother as soon as we had done supper, that +I 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 much +more 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 time +to England; about that I can't tell; but if I go, I shall come back +again, supposing I am alive. And now, do you see that it would be very +foolish of you to try to get accustomed to doing without me? for I +shall not let you do it.' + +'I don't want to do it,' said Esther confidingly; 'for you know I have +nobody else except you and papa.' + +'What put such an absurd notion in your head! You a Stoic, Queen +Esther! You look like it!' + +'What is a Stoic?' + +'The sort of people that bite a nail in two, and smile as if it were a +stick 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 not +think 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 not +care.' + +'Did you! You did me honour. Now, Queen Esther, let us understand this +matter. I do care, and I am going to care, and I shall always care. Do +you believe it?' + +'I always believe what you say,' said the girl, with a happy change in +her face, which touched Pitt again curiously. Somehow, the contrast +between his own strong, varied, rich, and active life, with its +abundance of resources and enjoyments, careless and satisfied,--and +this little girl alone at home with her cranky father, and no variety +or change or outlook or help, struck him painfully. It would hardly +have struck most young men; but Pitt, with all his rollicking +waywardness and self-pleasing, had a fine fibre in him which could feel +things. Then Esther's nature, he knew, was one rich in possibilities; +to which life was likely to bring great joy or great sorrow; more +probably 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 say +it 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, and +holding it while he looked into her eyes. + +'I don't know--papa had gone to bed, and I was alone--and somehow it +seemed lonesome.' + +'Will you go with me to-morrow after Christmas greens?' + +'Oh, may I?' cried the girl, with such a flush of delight coming into +eyes and cheeks and lips, that Pitt was almost startled. + +'I don't think I could enjoy it unless you came. And then you will help +me dress the rooms.' + +'What rooms?' + +'Our rooms at home. And now, what have you been doing since I have been +away?' + +All shadows were got rid of; and there followed a half-hour of most +eager intercourse, questions and answers coming thick upon one another. +Esther was curious to hear all that Pitt would tell her about his life +and doings at college; and, nothing loath, Pitt gave it her. It +interested him to watch the play of thought and interest in the child's +features as he talked. She comprehended him, and she seemed to take in +without difficulty the strange nature and conditions of his college +world. + +'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 distinguish +yourself.' + +'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. People +sometimes hold opinions they have no business to hold, and that they +would not hold, if they were not perverse-minded.' + +Esther's face had all changed since he came in. The premature gravity +and sadness was entirely dispersed; the eyes were full of beautiful +light, the mouth taking a great many curves corresponding to as many +alternations and shades of sympathy, and a slight colour of interest +and pleasure had risen in the cheeks. If Pitt had vanity to gratify, it +was gratified; but he had something better, he had a genuine kindness +and liking for the little girl, which had suffered absolute pain, when +he saw how his absence and silence had worked. Now the two were in full +enjoyment of the old relations and the old intercourse, when the door +opened, 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?' said +Pitt, 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,' said +Esther. + +'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 and +kissing it. 'But this is what I call a very summary proceeding. Queen +Esther, does your majesty always do what you are expected to do, and +take orders from everybody!' + +'No; only from papa and you. Good-night, Pitt. Yes, I'll be ready +to-morrow.' + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +_A NOSEGAY_. + + +Pitt walked home, half amused at himself that he should take so much +pains about this little girl, at the same time very firmly resolved +that nothing should hinder him. Perhaps his liking for her was deeper +than he knew; it was certainly real; while his kindly and generous +temper responded promptly to every appeal that her affection and +confidence made upon him. Affection and confidence are very winning +things, even if not given by a beautiful girl who will soon be a +beautiful woman; but looking out from Esther's innocent eyes, they went +down into the bottom of young Dallas's heart. And besides, his nature +was not only kind and noble; it was obstinate. Opposition, to him, in a +thing 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 at +home, that night and the next morning; but then he went with Esther +after cedar and hemlock branches. It may be asked, what opposition had +he hitherto found to his intercourse with the colonel's daughter? And +it must be answered, none. Nevertheless, Pitt felt it in the air, and +it had the effect on him that the north wind and cold are said to have +upon timber. + +It was a day of days for Esther. First the delightful roving walk, and +cutting the greens, which were bestowed in a cart that attended them; +then the wonderful novelty of dressing the house. Esther had never seen +anything of the kind before, which did not hinder her, however, from +giving very good help. The hall, the sitting-room, the drawing-room, +and even Pitt's particular, out-of-the-way work-room, all were wreathed +and adorned and dressed up, each after its manner. For Pitt would not +have one place a repetition of another. The bright berries of the +winterberry and bittersweet were mingled with the dark shade of the +evergreens in many ingenious ways; but the crowning triumph of art, +perhaps, to Esther's eyes, was a motto in green letters, picked out +with brilliant partridge berries, over the end of the +sitting-room,--'Peace on earth.' Esther stood in delighted admiration +before it, also pondering. + +'Pitt,' she said at last, 'those partridge berries ought not to be in +it.' + +'Why not?' said Pitt, in astonishment. 'I think they set it off +capitally.' + +'Oh, so they do. I didn't mean that. They are beautiful, very. But you +know 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. No +partridge will get at them.' + +'Oh no, it isn't that, Pitt; but I was thinking--Poison shouldn't be in +that message of the angels.' + +Pitt's face lighted up. + +'Queen Esther,' said he solemnly, 'are you going to be _that_ sort of +person?' + +'What sort of person?' + +'One of those whose spirits are attuned to finer issues than their +neighbours? They are the stuff that poets are made of. You are not a +poet, are you?' + +'No, indeed!' said Esther, laughing. + +'Don't! I think it must be uncomfortable to have to do with a poet. You +may notice, that in nature the dwellers on the earth have nothing to do +with the dwellers in the air.' + +'Except to be food for them,' said Esther. + +'Ah! Well,--leaving that,--I should never have thought about the +partridge berries in that motto, and my mother would never have thought +of 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 the +earth; the wild beasts will not be wild, and so I suppose poison will +not 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 the +doorway. 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 swallow +them, I suppose.' + +'Esther finds in them an emblem of the time when the message of peace +shall have neutralized all the hurtful things in the world, and made +them harmless.' + +Mrs. Dallas's eye fell coldly upon Esther. 'I do not think the Church +knows of any such time,' she answered, as she turned away. Pitt +whistled 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 greens +and putting them up had taken both the morning and the afternoon to +accomplish. 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 the +stir and freshness and prettiness of life in the Dallases's house. It +struck Esther rather painfully. The room where she and her father took +their supper was pleasant and homely indeed; a bright fire burned on +the hearth, or in the grate, rather, and a bright lamp shone on the +table; Barker had brought in the tea urn, and the business of preparing +tea for her father was one that Esther always liked. But, nevertheless, +the place approached too nearly a picture of still life. The urn hissed +and bubbled, a comfortable sound; and now and then there was a falling +coal or a jet of gas flame in the fire; but I think these things +perhaps made the stillness more intense and more noticeable. The +colonel sat on his sofa, breaking dry toast into his tea and +thoughtfully swallowing it; he said nothing, unless to demand another +cup; and Esther, though she had a healthy young appetite, could not +quite stay the mental longing with the material supply. Besides, she +was 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 at +all. 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 is +nothing to me.' + +'But, papa, why then does anybody make much of it? Mrs. Dallas has her +house 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 so +beautifully! You can't think how pretty it all is. Is there any harm in +that, 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 was +born; and so in Romish times a special Popish mass was said on that +day; and from that the twenty-fifth of December got its present +name--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 was +the time of our Lord's coming into the world. The shepherds were +watching their flocks by night; that could not have been in the depth +of 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 of +ignorance, I suppose; and as all it means now is a time of feasting and +jollity, the dead of winter will do as well as another time. But it is +a Popish observance, my child; it is a Popish observance.' + +'There's no harm in it, papa, is there? if it means only feasting and +jollity, as you say.' + +'There is always harm in superstition. This is no more the time of +Christ's birth than any other day that you could choose; but there is a +superstition about it; and I object to giving a superstitious reverence +to 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 be +of the Popish church or any other, on a level with what the Bible +commands.' + +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 the +plays.' + +'Godless ways,' said the colonel, settling himself to his +reading,--'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 on +pondering, unsatisfied. In any question which put Mrs. Dallas and her +father on opposite sides, she had no doubt whatever that her father +must be in the right; but it was a pity, for surely in the present case +Mrs. Dallas's house had the advantage. The Christmas decorations had +been so pretty! the look of them was so bright and festive! the walls +she had round her at home were bare and stiff and cold. No doubt her +father must be right, but it was a pity! + +The next day was Christmas day. Pitt being in attendance on his father +and mother, busied with the religious and other observances of the +festival, Esther did not see him till the afternoon. Late in the day, +however, he came, and brought in his hands a large bouquet of hothouse +flowers. If the two had been alone, Esther would have greeted him and +them with very lively demonstrations; as it was, it amused the young +man to see the sparkle in her eye, and the lips half opened for a cry +of joy, and the sudden flush on her cheek, and at the same time the +quiet, unexcited demeanour she maintained. Esther rose indeed, but then +stood silent and motionless and said not a word; while Pitt paid his +compliments to her father. A new fire flashed from her eye when at last +he approached her and offered her the flowers. + +'Oh, Pitt! Oh, Pitt!' was all Esther with bated breath could say. The +colonel eyed the bouquet a moment and then turned to his book. He was +on his sofa, and seemingly gave no further heed to the young people. + +'Oh, Pitt, where _could_ you get these?' The girl's breath was almost +taken away. + +'Only one place where I could get them. Don't you know old Macpherson's +greenhouse?' + +'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 the +names. This beautiful white geranium with purple lines?' + +'It's a _Pelargonium;_ belongs to the Geraniaceae; this one they call +Mecranthon. It's a beauty, isn't it? This little white blossom is +myrtle; don't you know myrtle?' + +'And this geranium--this purple one?' + +'That is Napoleon, and this Louise, and this Belle. This red +magnificence is a _Metrosideros;_ this white flower, is--I forget its +name; but _this_, this sweet one, is Daphne. Then here are two heaths; +then this thick leaf is _Laurustinus_, and this other, with the red +bud, _Camellia japonica_.' + +'Oh, how perfectly beautiful!' exclaimed the delighted child. 'Oh, how +perfectly 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 the +cardinal flower; _that_ is _Lobelia cardinalis;_ these are _Lobelia +erinus_ and _Lobelia gracilis_.' + +He watched the girl, for under the surprise and pleasure of his gift +her face was itself but a nobler flower, all glowing and flashing and +fragrant. With eyes dewy with delight she hung over the bouquet, almost +trembling in her eagerness of joy. She set the flowers carefully in a +vase, with tender circumspection, lest a leaf might be wronged by +chance crowding or inadvertent handling. Pitt watched and read it all. +He felt a great compassion for Esther. This creature, full of life and +sensibility, receptive to every influence, at twelve years old shut up +to 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 his +child. Nobody cared, or was anywhere to sympathize with her. And if she +grew up so, shut up to herself, every feeling and desire repressed for +want of expression or of somebody to express it to, how would her +nature ever develop? would it not grow stunted and poor, compared with +what it might be? He was sorry for his little playmate and friend; and +it did the young fellow credit, I think, for at his age boys are not +wont to be tenderly sympathetic towards anything, unless it be a +beloved mother or sister. Pitt silently watched the putting the flowers +in water, speculating upon the very unhopeful condition of this little +human plant, and revolving schemes in his mind. + +After he had gone, Colonel Gainsborough bade Esther show him her +flowers. She brought the dish to his sofa. The colonel reviewed them +with a somewhat jealous eye, did not seem to perceive their beauty, and +told her to take them away again. But the next day, when Esther was not +in the room, he examined the collection carefully, looking to see if +there were anything that looked like contraband 'Christmas greens.' +There were some sprigs of laurel and holly, that served to make the +hues of the bouquet more varied and rich. _That_ the colonel did not +think of; all he saw was that they were bits of the objectionable +'Christmas.' Colonel Gainsborough carefully pulled them out and threw +them in the fire; and nothing, I fear, saved the laurustinus and +japonica from a like fate but their exquisite large blossoms. Esther +was not slow to miss the green leaves abstracted from her vase. + +'Papa,' she said, in some bewilderment, 'I think somebody has been at +my flowers; there is some green gone.' + +'I took out some sprigs of laurel and holly,' said her father. 'I +cannot 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 eyes +after that time. However, there was no more meddling; the brilliant +blossoms were allowed to adorn the place and Esther's life as long as +they would, or could. She cherished them to the utmost of her +knowledge, all the rather that Pitt was gone away again; she gave them +fresh water, she trimmed off the unsightly dry leaves and withered +blossoms; but all would not do; they lasted for a time, and then +followed the law of their existence and faded. What Esther did then, +was to fetch a large old book and lay the different sprigs, leaves or +flowers, carefully among its pages and put them to dry. She loved every +leaf of them. They were associated in her mind with all that pleasant +interlude of Christmas: Pitt's coming, his kindness; their going after +greens together, and dressing the house. The bright interlude was past; +Pitt had gone back to college; and the little girl cherished the faded +green 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, and +asked 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 the +great book to the side of the sofa, and turned over the pages +carefully, showing the dried and drying leaves. She had a great love to +them; what did her father want with them? + +'What do you propose to do with those things, when they are dry? They +are 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 here +permanently?' + +'Oh, no, sir; they are only put here to dry. I put a weight on the +book. 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? I +do not think that is worth while.' + +'_Some_ of their beauty is gone,' said Esther, with a certain +tenderness for the plants manifested in her manner,--'but I love them +yet, papa.' + +'That is not wise, my child. Why should you love a parcel of dry +leaves? Love what is worthy to be loved. I think I would throw them all +in the fire.' + +'Oh, papa!' + +'That's the best, my dear. They are only rubbish. I object to the +hoarding of rubbish. It is a poor habit.' + +The colonel turned his attention again to his book, and perhaps did not +even remark how Esther sat with a disconsolate face on the floor, +looking at her condemned treasures. He would not have understood it if +he had seen. In his nature there was no key to the feeling which now +was driving the tears into Esther's eyes and making her heart swell. +Like many men, and many women, for the matter of that, Colonel +Gainsborough had very little power of association. He would indeed have +regarded with sacred reverence anything that had once belonged to his +wife, down to her shoe; in that one instance the tension of feeling was +strong enough to make the chords tremble under the lightest touch. In +other relations, what did it matter? They were nothing to him; and if +Colonel Gainsborough made his own estimate the standard of the worth of +things, he only did what I am afraid we all do, more or less. At any +rate, his was not one of those finer strung natures which recognise the +possibility of worlds of knowledge and feeling not open to themselves. +It is also just possible that he divined his daughter's sentiment in +regard to the flowers enough to be jealous of it. + +But Esther did not immediately move to obey his order. She sat on the +floor with the big book before her, the open page showing a half dry +blossom of the Mecranthon geranium which was still to her eyes very +beautiful. And all the associations of that pleasant Christmas +afternoon when Pitt had brought it and told her what its name was, rose +up before her. She was exceedingly unwilling to burn it. The colonel +perhaps had a guess that he had given a hard command; for he did not +look again at Esther or speak to her, or take any notice of her delay +of obedience. That she would obey he knew; and he let her take her +time. So he did not see the big tears that filled her eyes, nor the +quiet way in which she got rid of them; while the hurt, sorrowful, +regretful look on her face would have certainly moved Pitt to +indignation if he had been where he could see it. I am afraid, if the +colonel had seen it, _he_ would have been moved quite in a different +way. Not to anger, indeed; Colonel Gainsborough was never angry with +his child, as truly she never gave him cause; but I think he would +privately have applauded the wisdom of his regulation, which removed +such objects of misplaced sentiment out of the way of doing further +harm. And Esther sat and looked at the Mecranthon, brushed away her +tears softly, swallowed her regrets and unwillingness, and finally rose +up, 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 the +Encyclopaedia again, to look at _the marks her flowers had left_ on the +pages. For they _had_ stained the book a little, and here and there she +could discern the outline of a sprig, and trace a faint dash of colour +left behind by the petals of some flower rich in its dyes. If it +appears from this that the colonel was right in checking the feeling +which ran to such extremes, I cannot help that; I am reporting the +facts. Esther turned over the book from one place to another where her +flowers had lain. Here had been heath; there coronilla; here--oh, here +was _still_ the wallflower! Dried beautifully; delicate and unbroken, +and perfect and sweet. There was nothing else left, but here was the +wallflower. A great movement of joy filled Esther's heart; then came a +doubt. Must this be burned too? Would this one little sprig matter? She +had obeyed her father, and destroyed all the rest of the bouquet; and +this wallflower had been preserved without her knowledge. Since it had +been saved, might it not be saved? Esther looked, studied, hesitated; +and finally could not make up her mind without further order to destroy +this last blossom. She never thought of asking her father's mind about +it. The child knew instinctively that he would not understand her; a +sorrowful 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 to +favour it. She kept the wallflower, took it away from its exposed +situation in the Encyclopaedia, and put it in great safety among her +own private possessions. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +_WANT OF COMFORT_. + + +The months were many and long before there came another break in the +monotony of Esther's life. The little girl was thrown upon her own +ressources, and that is too hard a position for her years, or perhaps +for any years. She had literally no companion but her father, and it is +a stretch of courtesy to give the name to him. Another child would have +fled to the kitchen for society, at least to hear human voices. Esther +did not. The instincts of a natural high breeding restrained her, as +well as the habits in which she had been brought up. Mrs. Barker waited +upon her at night and in the morning, at her dressing and undressing: +sometimes Esther went for a walk, attended by Christopher; the rest of +the time she was either alone, or in the large, orderly room where +Colonel Gainsborough lay upon the sofa, and there Esther was rather +more alone than anywhere else. The colonel was reading; reverence +obliged her to keep quiet; he drew long breaths of weariness or sadness +every now and then, which every time came like a cloud over such +sunshine as she had been able to conjure up; and besides all that, +notwithstanding the sighs and the reading, her father always noticed +and knew what she was doing. Now it is needless to say that Colonel +Gainsborough had forgotten what it was to be a child; he was therefore +an 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 Esther +was hardly old enough to busy herself exclusively with history and +geography; and the little innocent amusements to which she had recourse +stood but a poor chance under his censorship. 'A waste of time, my +daughter,' he would say, when he saw Esther busy perhaps with some +childish fancy work, or reading something from which she promised +herself entertainment, but which the colonel knew promised nothing +more. A word from him was enough. Esther would lay down her work or put +away the book, and then sit in forlorn uncertainty what she should do +to make the long hours drag less heavily. History and geography and +arithmetic she studied, in a sort, with her father; and Colonel +Gainsborough was not a bad teacher, so far as the progress of his +scholar was concerned. So far as her pleasure went, the lessons were +very far behind those she used to have with Pitt. And the recitations +were short. Colonel Gainsborough gave his orders, as if he were on a +campaign, and expected to see them fulfilled. Seeing them fulfilled, he +turned his attention at once to something else. + +Esther longed for her former friend and instructor with a longing which +cannot 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 rather +a deep and aching sense of want. She never forgot him. If Pitt's own +mother thought of him more constantly, she was the only person in the +world of whom that was true. Pitt sometimes wrote to Colonel +Gainsborough, and then Esther treasured up every revelation and detail +of the letter and added them to what she knew already, so as to piece +out as full an image as possible of Pitt's life and doings. But how the +child wanted him, missed him, and wept for him! Though of the latter +not 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 the +colonel's quiet house. Mr. Dallas did come sometimes of an evening and +sat 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 had +begun to be mooted publicly, whether Pitt should go to England to +finish 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 had +set their hearts on Oxford or Cambridge. Colonel Gainsborough heartily +approved. 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 very +burdened 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 in +want 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 to +know how.' + +'Did she?' said the colonel with grave thoughtfulness. But he said no +more. Esther waited. Her father's tone had changed; he seemed to have +gone back into regions of the past, and to have forgotten her. The +minutes ran on, without her daring to remind him that her question was +still unanswered. The colonel at last, with a long sigh, took up his +book 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 was +attending 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 I +could 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 went +to 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 when +missus died.' + +'_She_ said, one could find comfort in the Bible,' Esther went on, with +a tender thrill in the voice that uttered the beloved pronoun. + +'Most likely it's so, Miss Esther. What my mistress said was sure and +certain true; but myself, it is something which I have no knowledge of.' + +'How do you suppose one could find comfort in the Bible, Barker? How +should one look for it?' + +''Deed, Miss Esther, your questions is too hard for me. I'd ask the +colonel, 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 know +where a thing is, Miss Esther, I allays begins at one end and goes +clean through to the other end; and then, if the thing ain't there, why +I knows it, and if it is there, I gets it.' + +'It would take a good while,' said Esther musingly, 'to go through the +whole Bible from one end to the other.' + +'That's which I am thinkin', Miss Esther. I'm thinkin' one might forget +what one started to look for, before one found it. But there! the Bible +ain't just like a store closet, neither, with all the things ticketed +on 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 sich +matters; but I was thinkin' the folks I've seen, as took comfort in +their Bibles, they was allays saints.' + +'Saints! What do you mean by that?' + +'That's what they was,' said Barker decidedly. 'They was saints. I +never was no saint myself, but I've seen 'em. You see, mum, I've allays +had summat else on my mind, and my hands, I may say; and one can't +attend to more'n one thing at once in this world. I've allays had my +bread to get and my mistress to serve; and I've attended to my business +and 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, and +the subject was dropped. Whether Esther pursued the search after +comfort, no one knew; indeed, no one knew she wanted it. The colonel +certainly not; he had taken her question to be merely a speculative +one. 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 right +to;' but it was not her business, and she had spoken truly: her +business 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 her +childish mind. What sort of a character would grow up in this way, in +such a close mental atmosphere and such absence of all training or +guiding influences, was an interesting question, which, however, never +presented itself before Colonel Gainsborough's mind. That his child was +all right, he was sure; indeed how could she go wrong? She was her +mother'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, out +of her family, or I should say the two persons, sometimes speculated +about her; for to them the subject had a disagreeable practical +interest. Mr. Dallas came now and then to sit and have a chat with the +colonel; and more rarely Mrs. Dallas called for a civil visit of +enquiry; 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 everything +that 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? You +started 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 head +to replace father and mother, and be her good genius. I leave you to +judge if that is not a dangerous part for him to play. He writes to me +every now and then about her.' + +Not very often; but Mrs. Dallas wanted to scare her husband. And so +there came to be more and more talk about Pitt's going abroad; and +Esther felt as if the one spot of brightness in her sky were closing up +for ever. If Pitt did go,--what would be left? + +It was a token of the real strength and fine properties of her mental +nature, that the girl did not, in any true sense, _mope_. In want of +comfort she was; in sad want of social diversion and cheer, and of +variety in her course of thought and occupation; she suffered from the +want; but Esther did not sink into idleness and stagnation. She worked +like a beaver; that is, so far as diligence and purpose characterize +those singular animals' working. She studied resolutely and eagerly the +things she had studied with Pitt, and which he had charged her to go on +with. 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 then +he would want to see what she had done. Esther was not quite alone, so +long 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. Now +she studied, at any rate, having that spur; and she studied things also +with which Pitt had had no connection; her Bible, for instance. The +girl busied herself with fancy work too, every kind which Mrs. Barker +could teach her, and her father did not forbid. And in one other +pleasure her father was helpful to her. Esther had been trying to draw +some little things, working eagerly with her pencil and a copy, +absorbed in her endeavours and in the delight of partial success; when +one day her father came and looked over her shoulder. That was enough. +Colonel Gainsborough was a great draughtsman; the old instinct of his +art stirred in him; he took Esther's pencil from her hand and showed +her how she ought to use it, and then went on to make several little +studies for her to work at. From that beginning, the lessons went +forward, to the mutual benefit of father and daughter. Esther developed +a great aptitude for the art, and an enormous zeal. Whatever her father +told her it would be good for her to do, in that connection, Esther did +untiringly--ungrudgingly. It was the one exquisite pleasure which each +day contained for her; and into it she gathered and poured her whole +natural, honest, childlike desire for pleasure. No matter if all the +rest of the day were work, the flower of delight that blossomed on this +one stem was sweet enough to take the place of a whole nosegay, and it +beautified Esther's whole life. It hardly made the child less sober +outwardly, 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 forgotten +his friends. Once in a while he wrote to Colonel Gainsborough, and sent +a message or maybe included a little note for Esther herself. These +messages and notes regarded often her studies; but toward the end of +term there began to be mention made of England also in them; and +Esther's heart sank very low. What would be left when Pitt was gone to +England? + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +_THE BLESSING_. + + +So spring came, and then high summer, and the time when the collegian +was expected home. The roses were blossoming and the pinks were sweet, +in the old-fashioned flower garden in front of the house; and the smell +of the hay came from the fields where mowers were busy, and the trill +of a bob-o'-link sounded in the meadow. It was evening when Pitt made +his way from his father's house over to the colonel's; and he found +Esther sitting in the verandah, with all this sweetness about her. The +house was old and country fashioned; the verandah was raised but a step +above the ground,--low, and with slim little pillars to support its +roof; and those pillars were all there was between Esther and the +flowers. At one side of the house there was a lawn; in front, the space +devoted to the flowers was only a small strip of ground, bordered by +the paling fence and the road. Pitt opened a small gate, and came up to +the house, through an army of balsams, hollyhocks, roses, and +honeysuckles, and balm and southernwood. Esther had risen to her feet, +and with her book in her hand, stood awaiting him. Her appearance +struck him as in some sense new. She looked pale, he thought, and the +mental tension of the moment probably made it true, but it was not +merely that. There was a refined, ethereal gravity and beauty, which it +is very unusual to see in a girl of thirteen; an expression too +spiritual for years which ought to be full of joyous and careless +animal life. Nevertheless it was there, and it struck Pitt not only +with a sense of admiration, but almost with compassion; for what sort +of apart and introverted life could it be which had called forth such a +look upon so young a face? No child living among children could ever be +like that; nor any child living among grown people who took proper care +of her; unless indeed it were an exceptional case of disease, which +sets 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 a +very lovely smile of welcome. 'I have been looking for you ever so +long.' + +I don't know what made Pitt do it, and I do not think he knew; he had +never done it before; but as he took the hand, and met the smile, he +bent down and pressed his lips to those innocent, smiling ones. I +suppose it was a very genuine expression of feeling; the fact that he +might not know _what_ feeling is nothing to the matter. + +Esther coloured high, and looked at him in astonishment. It was a flush +that 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 a +headache. 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 is +never 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 other +people in the world whose business it is to do the thinking. Leave it +to them. You cannot do it, besides.' + +'Who will do my thinking for me?' asked Esther, with a look and a smile +which would have better fitted twice her years; a look of wistful +inquiry, 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. He +allowed her to know of his successes, which Pitt was too genuinely +modest and manly to enlarge upon even to his father and mother; but to +these childish eyes and this implicit trusting, loving, innocent +spirit, he gave the infinite pleasure of knowing what he had secretly +enjoyed alone, in the depths of his own mind. It pleased him to share +it 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 wonderful +stage of life, 'where the brook and river meet,' she had hardly yet +reached; she was really a little girl still, or certainly ought to be. +What was then this delicate, grave, spiritual look in the face, the +thoughtful intelligence, the refinement of perception, so beyond her +years? No doubt it was due to her living alone, with a somewhat gloomy +father, and being prematurely thrown upon a woman's needs and a woman's +resources. Pitt recognised the fact that his own absence might have had +something to do with it. So long as he had been with her, teaching her +and making a daily breeze in her still life, Esther had been in a +measure drawn out of herself, and kept from brooding. And then, beyond +all, the natural organization of this fine creature was of the rarest; +strong and delicate at once, of large capacities and with +correspondingly large requirements; able for great enjoyment, and open +also 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 their +sensitiveness. Pitt looked, and wondered, and admired. This child's +face was taking on already a fascinating power of expression, quite +beyond her years; and that was because the inner life was developing +too soon into thoughtfulness and tenderness, and too early realizing +the meaning of life. Nothing could be more innocent of +self-consciousness than Esther; she did not even know that Pitt was +regarding her with more attention than ordinary, or, if she knew, she +took it as quite natural. He saw that, and so indulged himself. What a +creature this would be, by and by! But in the meantime, what was to +become 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 of +her? 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 to +exhaustion, or lack the right hardening processes, and so be unhealthy. + +The colonel awoke after a while, and welcomed his visitor as truly, if +not as warmly, as Esther had done. He always had liked young Dallas; +and now, after so long living alone, the sight of him was specially +grateful. Pitt must stay and have tea; and the talk between him and the +colonel went on unflaggingly. Esther said nothing now; but Pitt watched +her, and saw how she listened; saw how her eyes accompanied him, and +her lips gave their silent tokens of understanding. Meanwhile she +poured out tea for the gentlemen; did it with quiet grace and neatness, +and was quick to see and attend to any little occasion for hospitable +care. + +The old life began again now in good measure. Esther had no need to beg +Pitt to come often; he came constantly. He took up her lessons, as of +old, and carried them on vigorously; rightly thinking that good sound +mental work was wholesome for the child. He joined her in drawing, and +begged the colonel to give him instruction too; and they studied the +coins in the boxes with fresh zeal. And they had glorious walks, and +most delightful botanizing, in the early summer mornings, or when the +sun had got low in the western sky. Sometimes Pitt came with a little +tax-cart and took Esther a drive. It was all delight; I cannot tell +which thing gave her most pleasure. To study with Pitt, or to play with +Pitt, one was as good as the other; and the summer days of that summer +were not fuller of fruit-ripening sun, than of blessed, warm, healthy, +and happy influences for this little human plant. Her face grew bright +and joyous, though in moments when the talk took a certain sober tone +Pitt could see the light or the shadow, he hardly knew which to call +it, of that too early spiritual insight and activity come over it. + +One day, soon after his arrival, he asked her what she had been +thinking about so much. They were sitting on the verandah again, to be +out of the way of the colonel; they were taking up lessons, and had +just finished an examination in history. Pitt let the book fall. + +'You said the other day, Queen Esther, that you were under the +necessity 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 quite +comfortably without doing any thinking at all.' + +'One might as well be a squash,' said Esther gravely. 'I don't see how +they 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 to +it.' + +'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 little +with the air of one who is rousing herself up to give a confidence. 'I +was 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 the +Bible; but I did not know how to look for it.' + +'Comfort, Queen Esther!' said Pitt, rousing himself now; 'you were not +in 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 other +people.' + +'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 have +known. And he did know; however, he thought it advisable to have things +brought out into the full light and put into form; hoping they might so +be 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 the +times 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 already +learned. 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 did +not 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 asked +Barker.' + +'Was she any wiser?' + +'No. She said her way of finding anything was to begin at one end and +go through to the other; so I tried that. I began at the beginning; and +I read on; but I found nothing until--I'll show you,' she said, +suddenly breaking off and darting away; and in two minutes more she +came 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 the +end of which is the prescribed form for the blessing of the children of +Israel. Pitt read the words to himself. + + +'The Lord bless thee, and keep thee. 'The Lord make His face shine upon +thee, and be gracious unto thee. 'The Lord lift up His countenance upon +thee, 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 thee +peace." What does "lift up his countenance upon thee" mean?' + +What _did_ it mean? Pitt asked himself the question for the first time +in his life. He was quite silent. + +'You see,' said Esther quaintly, after a pause,--'you see, _that_ would +be comfort.' + +Pitt was still silent. + +'Do you understand it, Pitt?' + +'_Understand_ it, Esther!' he said, knitting his brows, 'No. Nobody +could do that, except--the people that had it. But I think I see what +it 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 of +comfort, 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 I +would ask you.' + +'You ought to have a better counsellor. However, perhaps I can tell +what you want to know, in part. Queen Esther, was your mother, or your +father, 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 it +would be, to have either of them refuse to look at you or smile upon +you?--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 what +the "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 to +what 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 to +shine upon thee." They are very fine words.' + +'Then I suppose,' said Esther slowly, 'if anybody had _that_, he +wouldn't want comfort?' + +'He wouldn't be without it, you mean? Well, I should think he would +not. "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 described +here; but of course it would not give peace, unless the person +receiving 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 over +the 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 a +tone 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 looks +which were older than her years; far-reaching, spiritual, with an +intense mixture of pathos and hope in her eyes. + +'I shall go on trying to get it,' she said. 'You know, Pitt, it is +different with you. You go out into the world, and you have everything +you want; but I am here quite alone.' + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +_DISSENT_. + + +The summer months were very rich in pleasure, for all parties; even +Colonel Gainsborough was a little roused by the presence of his young +friend, and came much more than usual out of his reserve. So that the +conversations round the tea-table, when Pitt made one of their number, +were often lively and varied; such as Esther had hardly known in her +life before. The colonel left off his taciturnity; waked up, as it +were; told old campaigning stories, and gave out stores of information +which few people knew he possessed. The talks were delightful, on +subjects natural and scientific, historical and local and picturesque. +Esther luxuriated in the new social life which had blossomed out +suddenly at home, perhaps with even an intensified keen enjoyment from +the fact that it was so transient a blossoming; a fact which the child +knew 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. And +Pitt made the days full. With a mixture of motives, perhaps, which his +own mind did not analyze, he devoted himself very much to the lonely +little girl. She went with him in his walks and in his drives; he sat +on the verandah with her daily and gave her lessons, and almost daily +he went in to tea with her afterwards, and said that Christopher grew +the biggest raspberries in 'town.' Pitt professed himself very fond of +raspberries. And then would come one of those rich talks between him +and the colonel; and when Pitt went home afterwards he would reflect +with satisfaction that he had given Esther another happy day. It was +true; and he never guessed what heart-aches the little girl went +through, night after night, in anticipation of the days that were +coming. She did not shed tears about it, usually; tears might have been +more wholesome. Instead, Esther would stand at her window looking out +into the moonlit garden, or sit on the edge of her bed staring down at +the floor; with a dry ache at her heart, such as we are wont to say a +young thing like her should not know. And indeed only one here and +there has a nature deep and fine-strung enough to be susceptible of it. + +The intensification of this pain was the approaching certainty that +Pitt was going to England. Esther did not talk of it, rarely asked a +question; nevertheless she heard enough now and then to make her sure +what was corning. And, in fact, if anything had been wanting to sharpen +up Mrs. Dallas's conviction that such a step was necessary, it would +have been the experience of this summer. She wrought upon her husband, +till himself began to prick up his ears and open his eyes; and between +them they agreed that Pitt had better go. Some evils are easier nipped +in the bud; and this surely was one, for Pitt was known to be a +persistent 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 Pitt +should make his next term at Oxford. The thought was not for a moment +to be entertained, that all Mr. Dallas's money, and all the pretensions +properly growing out of it, should be wasted on the quite penniless +daughter of a retired army officer. For in this world the singular rule +obtaining 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 was +afternoon of a warm day in August, and Esther had gone with Mrs. Barker +to get blackberries, and was not yet returned. The air came in faintly +through the open windows, a little hindered by the blinds which were +drawn to moderate the light. + +'How do you do, sir, to-day?' the young man asked, coming in with +something of the moral effect of a breeze. 'This isn't the sort of +weather 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 much +the 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 to +you, Pitt.' + +He did not go on at once to say it, and the young man waited +respectfully. The colonel sighed, passed his hand over his brow once or +twice, sighed again. + +'You are going to England, William?' + +'They say so, sir. My father and mother seem to have set their minds on +it.' + +'Quite right, too. There's no place in the world like Oxford or +Cambridge 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 to +get there? Will you go this year?' + +'Oh yes, sir; that seems to be the plan. My father is possessed with +the fear that I may grow to be not enough of an Englishman--or too much +of an American; I don't know which.' + +'I think you will be a true Englishman. Yet, if you live here +permanently, you will have to be the other thing too. A man owes it to +the country of his adoption; and I think your father has no thought of +returning 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 a +ship bound for Lisbon; from there I could make my way somehow to +London.' + +For, it may be mentioned, the time was the time of the last American +struggle with England, early in the century; and the high seas were not +safe and quiet as now. + +The colonel sighed again once or twice, and repeated that gesture with +his hand over his brow. + +'I suppose there is no telling how long you will be gone, if you once +go?' + +'I cannot come home every vacation,' said Pitt lightly. 'But since my +father and mother have made up their minds to that, I must make up +mine.' + +'So you will be gone years,' said the colonel thoughtfully. 'Years. I +shall 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 shall +not 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 well +than 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 come +back 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 trust +in this judgment, even although, as he could not deny, the colonel +might be supposed to know best. He doubted the truth of the +prognostication; yet, on the other hand, he could not be sure that it +was false. What if it were not false? + +'I hope you are mistaken, colonel,' he said again; 'but if you are +right--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 house +and of the cooking, as she does now; but Esther would be entirely +alone, 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 take +care 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 of +Mrs. Dallas's kindness; but I shall leave Esther under the care of +Barker and her brother. Christopher will manage the place, and keep +everything right outside; and Barker will do her part faithfully. +Esther will be safe enough so, for a while. She is a child yet. But +then, 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 had +never been in a less pleasant mood towards his friend. In fact he was +entirely 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 want +you to ask Esther for a sealed package of papers, which I shall leave +with her. Then open the package; and the promise I want from you is +that you will do according to the wishes you will find there expressed.' + +Pitt looked at the colonel in much astonishment. 'May I not know what +those wishes regard, sir?' + +'They will regard all I leave behind me.' + +There was in the tone of the colonel's voice, and the manner of +utterance of his words, something which showed Pitt that further +explanations were not to be had from him. He hesitated, not liking to +bind himself to anything in the dark; but finally he gave the promise +as required. He went home, however, in a doubtful mood as regarded +himself, and a very impatient one as concerned the colonel. What +ridiculous, precise notion was this that had got possession of him? How +little was he able to comprehend the nature or the needs of his little +daughter; and what disagreeable office might he have laid upon Pitt in +that connection? Pitt revolved these things in a fever of impatience +with the colonel, who had demanded such a pledge from him, and with +himself, 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. They +had been watching for his return, though they took care not to tell him +so. + +'How's your friend the colonel to-day?' his father asked, willing to +make 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 to +do--that he _must_ do, I mean--it's my belief he would be a well man +to-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 men +who 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 be +the best judge of his own feelings; and perhaps Colonel Gainsborough is +ill, 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 die +within 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 in +so many words.' + +'Then he might not like to send Esther to them. Property quarrels are +embittering.' + +'Do you know any sort of quarrel that isn't? It is impossible to say +beforehand what Colonel Gainsborough might like to do. He's a fidgety +man. If there's a thing I hate, in the human line, it's a fidget. You +can't reason with 'em.' + +'Then what would become of that child, mother, if her father were +really 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 be +dreadfully 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 is +not a common child; she is one that anybody might like to have in the +house. 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 are +right; but for me there is this serious objection, that she is a +dissenter.' + +'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, and +with that, disgustingly radical. That is what it means to be a +dissenter; always did mean.' + +'Underbred! You cannot find, old country or new country, a better-bred +man than Colonel Gainsborough; and Esther is perfect in her manners.' + +'I haven't tried _her_,' said the other; 'but isn't he pig-headed? And +isn't he radical, think you? They all are; they always were, from the +days of Cromwell and Ireton.' + +'But the child?--Esther knows nothing of politics.' + +'It's in the blood,' said Mr. Dallas stroking unmoveably his long +whiskers. 'It's in the blood. I'll have no dissenters in my house. It +is 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 a +dissenter in my family. I should not know how to get on with her. In +chance social intercourse it does not so much matter--though I feel the +difference even there; but in the family-- It is always best for like +to keep to like.' + +'But these are only differences of form, mother.' + +'Do you think so?' said Mrs. Dallas, drawing up her handsome person. 'I +believe in form, Pitt, for my part; and when you get to England you +will find that it is only the nobodies who dispense with it. But the +Church is more than form, I should think. You'll find the Archbishop of +Canterbury is something besides a form. And is our Liturgy a form?' + +Pitt escaped from the discussion, half angry and half amused, but +seriously concerned about Esther. And meanwhile Esther was having her +own thoughts. She had come home from her blackberrying late, after Pitt +had gone home; and a little further on in the afternoon she had +followed him, to get her daily lesson. As the weather was warm all +windows were standing open; and the talkers within the house, being +somewhat eager and preoccupied in their minds, did not moderate their +voices nor pay any attention to what might be going on outside; and so +it happened that Esther's light step was not heard as it came past the +windows; and it followed very easily that one or two half sentences +came to her ear. She heard her own name, which drew her attention, and +then Mr. Dallas's declaration that he would have no dissenters in his +house. Esther paused, not certainly to listen, but with a sudden check +arising from something in the tone of the words. As she stood still in +doubt whether to go forward or not, a word or two more were spoken and +also heard; and with that Esther turned short about, left all thought +of her lesson, and made her way home; walking rather faster than she +had come. + +She laid off her hat, went into the room where her father was, and sat +down 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 for +awhile. Until after au hour or more the colonel's book went down; and +then 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 who +dissents.' + +'From what, sir?' + +'From something that other people believe in.' + +'But, papa, according to that, then, everybody is a dissenter; and that +is 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. She +only asked, + +'What do we dissent from, papa?' + +'We dissent from the notion that form is more than substance, and the +kernel less valuable than the shell.' + +This told Esther nothing. She was mystified; at the same time, her +respect for her father did not allow her to press further a question he +seemed to avoid. + +'Is Pitt a dissenter, papa?' + +'There is no need you should trouble your head with the question of +dissent, my child. In England there is an Established Church; all who +decline 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, and +persecution; by fines and imprisonments and disqualifications. Some +submitted, but a goodly number dissented, and our family has always +belonged to that honourable number. See you do it no discredit. The +Gainsboroughs were always Independents; we fought with Cromwell, and +suffered under the Stuarts. We have an unbroken record of striving for +the 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 something +where power does not reach.' + +'I should think everybody would _like_ Dissenters, papa?' was Esther's +simple 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 passed +away. Ay, there was no holding them, much as Esther tried to make each +one as long as possible. I think Pitt tried too; for he certainly gave +his little friend and playmate all he could of pleasure, and all he +could of himself. Esther shared everything he did, very nearly, that +was not done within his own home. Nothing could have been more +delightful than those days of August and September, if only the vision +of the end of them had not been so near. That vision did not hinder the +enjoyment; it intensified it; every taste of summer and social delight +was made keen with that spice of coming pain; even towards the very +last, nothing could prevent Esther's enjoyment of every moment she and +Pitt spent together. Only to be together was such pleasure. Every word +he spoke was good in her ears; and to her eyes, every feature of his +appearance, and every movement of his person was comely and admirable. +She gave him, in fact, a kind of grave worship, which perhaps nobody +suspected in its degree, because it was not displayed in the manner of +childish effusiveness. Esther was never effusive; her manner was always +quiet, delicate, and dignified, such as a child's can well be. And so +even Pitt himself did not fully know how his little friend regarded +him, though he had sometimes a queer approach to apprehension. It +struck him now and then, the grave, absorbed look of Esther's beautiful +eyes; occasionally he caught a flash of light in them, such as in +nature only comes from heavily-charged clouds. Always she liked to do +what he liked, and gave quick regard to any expressed wish of his; +always listened to him, and watched his doings, and admired his +successes, with the unconditional devotion of an unquestioning faith. +Pitt was half-aware of all this; yet he was at an age when speculation +is apt to be more busy with matters of the head than of the heart; and +besides, he was tolerably well accustomed to the same sort of thing at +home, and took it probably as very natural and quite in order. And he +knew well, and did not forget, that to the little lonely child his +going away would be, even more than it might be to his mother, the loss +of a great deal of brightness out of her daily life. He did even dread +it a little. And as the time drew near, he saw that his fears were +going to be justified. + +Esther did not lament or complain; she never, indeed, spoke of his +going at all; but what was much more serious, she grew pale. And when +the 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, like +a child, much as with all other men he hated tears; it would have been +better than this preternatural gravity with which the large eyes opened +at him, and the soft mouth refused to give way. She seemed to enter +into everything they were doing with no less interest than usual; she +was not abstracted; rather, Pitt got the impression that she carried +about with her, and brought into everything, the perfect recollection +that he was going away. It began to oppress him. + +'I wish I could feel, mother, that you would look a little after that +motherless 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. Now +that Pitt was going away and safe, she could treat the matter without +excitement. 'What would Colonel Gainsborough like me to do for his +daughter, 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. I +never 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's +assertion. All the months of his last term in college had not been +enough 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 ready +to think, of the first water. Only a child's love; but Pitt had too +fine a nature himself to despise a child's love; and full as his head +was of novelties, hopes and plans and purposes, there was space in his +heart for a very tender concern about Esther beside. + +It came to the last evening, and he was sitting with her on the +verandah. It was rather cool there now; the roses and honeysuckles and +the summer moonshine were gone; the two friends chose to stay there +because they could be alone, and nobody overhear their words. Words for +a little while had ceased to flow. Esther was sitting very still, and +Pitt knew how she was looking; something of the dry despair had come +back to her face which had been in it when he was first moved to busy +himself about her. + +'Esther, I shall come back,' he said suddenly, bending down to look in +her face. + +'When?' she said, half under her breath. It was not a question; it was +an answer. + +'Well, not immediately; but the years pass away fast, don't you know +that?' + +'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 a +great 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 a +little. 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 time +to come. + +'Does he need so much care?' he asked. + +'It isn't real _care_,' said Esther, in the same tone; 'but he likes to +have me about, to do things for him.' + +'Queen Esther, aren't you going to carry on your studies for me, all +the same?' + +'For you!' said she, lifting her heavy eyes to him. It hurt him to see +how heavy they were; weighted with a great load of sorrow, too mighty +for tears. + +'For me, certainly. I expect everything to go on just as if I were here +to look after it. I expect everything to go on so, that when I come +again 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 a +question 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 believe +that is part of London, though really I don't know much about it. I +shall 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 the +colleges in America just as good?' + +'I can tell better after I've seen Oxford. But no, Queen Esther; that +is 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 all +accounts--a noble place. And then, you know, we are English, and my +father and mother wish me to be as English as possible. That is +natural.' + +'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 getting +on?' + +She lifted her eyes to him again, for one of those grave, appealing +looks. 'How could I get it to you?' + +'Your father will have my address. I shall write to him, and I shall +write 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. Pitt +was half-glad that just now there came a call for Esther from the room +behind them. Both went in. The colonel wanted Esther to search in a +repository 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 in +the corner among the papers. It gave him more pain than he had thought +to 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 high +seas.' + +'I shall never leave this place again till I leave all that is +earthly,' 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 her +about it?' + +'I have no objection. She will be very much obliged to you. So you are +going? Heaven be with you, my boy. You have lightened many an hour for +me.' + +He rose up and shook Pitt's hand, with a warm grasp and a dignified +manner of leave-taking. But when Pitt would have taken Esther's hand, +she brushed past him and went out into the hall. Pitt followed, with +another bow to the colonel, and courteously shutting the door behind +him, wishing the work well over. Esther, however, made no fuss, hardly +any demonstration. She stood there in the hall and gave him her hand +silently, I might say coldly, for the hand was very cold, and her face +was white with suppressed feeling. Pitt grasped the hand and looked at +the face; hesitated; then opened his arms and took her into them and +kissed her. Was she not like a little sister? and was it possible to +let this heartache go without alleviation? No doubt if the colonel had +been present he would not have ventured such a breach of forms; but as +it was Pitt defied forms. He clasped the sorrowing little girl in his +arms and kissed her brow and her cheek and her lips. + +'I'm coming back again,' said he. 'See that you have everything all +right for me when I come.' + +Then he let her out of his arms and went off without another word. As +he went home, he was ready to smile and shake himself at the warmth of +demonstration into which he had been betrayed. He was not Esther's +brother, and had no particular right to show himself so affectionate. +The colonel would have been, he doubted, less than pleased, and it +would not have happened in his dignified presence. But Esther was a +child, Pitt said to himself, and a very tender child; and he could not +be 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 to +reproach himself with showing more than he felt, for he had no +occasion. 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 hall +door was like a grim kind of barrier, behind which the light of her +life had disappeared. It remained so stolidly closed! Pitt's hand did +not open it again; the hand was already at a distance, and would maybe +never push that door open any more. He was gone, and the last day of +that summer vacation was over. The feeling absorbed Esther for a few +minutes and made her as still as a stone. It _did_ comfort her that he +had taken such a kindly leave of her, and at the same time it sealed +the sense of her loss. For he was the only one in the world in whose +heart it was to give her good earnest kisses like that; and he was +away, away! Her father's affection for her was undoubted, nevertheless +it was not his wont to give it that sort of expression. Esther was not +comparing, however, nor reflecting; only filled with the sense of her +loss, which for the moment chilled and stiffened her. She heard her +father'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 want +the 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 an +indifferent business. She brought the July paper at last. + +'Papa, do you think he will ever come back?' she asked, trembling with +pain and the effort not to show it. + +'Come back? Who? William Dallas? Why shouldn't he come back? His +parents are here; if he lives, he will return to them, no doubt.' + +Esther sat down and said no more. The earth seemed to her dreadfully +empty. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +_LETTERS_. + + +And so life seemed for many days to the child. She could not shake off +the feeling, nor regain any brightness of spirit. Dull, dull, +everything in earth and heaven seemed to be. The taste and savour had +gone out of all her pleasures and occupations. She could not read, +without the image of Pitt coming between her and the page; she could +not study, without an unendurable sense that he was no longer there nor +going 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 done +or said there together; she shunned the box of coins, and hardly cared +to gather one of the few lingering fall flowers. And the last of them +were soon gone, for the pleasant season was ended. Then came rains and +clouds and winds, and Esther was shut up to the house. + +I can never tell how desolate she was. Truly she was only a girl of +thirteen; she ought not to have been desolate, perhaps, for any no +greater matter. She had her father, and her books, and her youth. Bat +Esther had also a nature delicate and deep far beyond what is common; +and then she was unduly matured by her peculiar life. Intercourse with +light-hearted children like herself had not kept her thoughtless and +careless. At thirteen Esther was looking into life, and finding it +already confused and dark. At thirteen also she was learning and +practising self-command. Her father, not much of an observer unless in +the field of military operations, had no perception that she was +suffering; it never occurred to him that she might be solitary; he +never knew that she needed his tenderest care and society and guidance. +He might have replaced everything to Esther, so that she would have +found 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 most +men. He lived to himself in his own deprivation and sorrow, and never +thought but that Esther would in a few days get over the loss of her +young teacher and companion. He hardly thought about it at all. The +idea of filling Pitt's place, of giving her in his own person what left +her when Pitt went away, did not enter his head. Indeed, he had no +knowledge of what Pitt had done for her. If he had known it, there is +little doubt it would have excited his jealousy. For it is quite in +some people's nature to be jealous of another's having what they do not +want themselves. + +And so Esther suffered in a way and to a degree that was not good for +her. Her old dull spiritless condition was creeping upon her again. She +realized, more than it is the way of thirteen years old to realize, +that something more than an ocean of waters--an ocean of +circumstances--had rolled itself between her and the one friend and +companion she had ever had. Pitt said he would return; but four or five +years, for all present purposes, is a sort of eternity at her age; hope +could not leap over it, and expectation died at the brink. Her want of +comfort 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 a +while the two would come to make an evening call upon her father; and +then Esther used to withdraw as far as possible into a corner of the +room and watch and listen; watch the looks of the pair with a kind of +irritated fascination, and listen to their talk with her heart jumping +and throbbing in pain and anxiety and passionate longing. For they were +Pitt's father and mother, and only the ocean of waters lay between him +and them, which they could cross at any time; he belonged to them, and +could not be separated from them. All which would have drawn Esther +very near to them and made them delightful to her, but that she knew +very well they desired no such approach. Whether it were simply because +she and her father were 'dissenters' Esther could not tell; whatever +the reason, her sensitive nature and discerning vision saw the fact. +They made visits of neighbourly politeness to the one English family +that was within reach; but more than politeness they desired neither to +give nor receive. I suppose it was this perception which made the sight +of the pair so irritating to Esther. _They_ were near Pitt, but they +did not wish that _she_ should be. Esther kept well at a distance. But +with all this they talked of their son perpetually: of his voyage, of +his prospects, of his grand-uncle at Kensington, of his career in +college, or at the University rather, and of his possible permanent +remaining in the old country; at any rate, of his studying there for a +profession. The colonel was only faintly interested, and would take up +his book with a sigh of relief when they were gone; but Esther would +sit in passionate misery, not shedding any tears; only staring with her +big eyes at the lire in a sort of fixed gravity most unfit for her +years. + +The months went heavily. Winters were rather severe and very long at +Seaforth; Esther was much shut up to the house. It made things all the +harder for her. To the colonel it made no difference. He lay upon his +couch, summer or winter, and went on with his half-hearted +reading,--half a heart was all he brought to it; while Esther would +stand at the window, watching the snow drive past, or the beating down +of 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 and +flowers and walks and botanizing had ever been out there, where now the +glint 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 his +departure to a month later than the time intended for it. Therefore +news from him could not be looked for until the new year was on its +way. Towards the end of January, however, as early as could possibly be +hoped, a letter came to Colonel Gainsborough, which he immediately knew +to be in Pitt's hand. + +'No postmark,' he said, surveying it. 'I suppose it came by private +opportunity.' + +'Papa, you look a long while at the outside!' said Esther, who stood by +full of excited impatience which she knew better than to show. + +'The outside has its interest too, my dear,' said her father. 'I was +looking for the Lisbon postmark, but there is none whatever. It must +have 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, she +saw, was deep in the contents of his letter, and would not notice her +going, while if she stayed in the room she knew she would be called +upon to read her own letter or to show it before she was ready. She +wanted 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 dirtiest +of all places I ever was in. I realize now why America is called the +New world; for everything here drives the consciousness upon me that +the world on this side is very old--so old, I should say, that it is +past cleansing. I do suppose it is not fair to compare it with +Seaforth, which is as bright in comparison as if it were an ocean shell +shining with pure lights; but I certainly hope things will mend when I +get to London. + +'But I did not mean to talk to you about Lisbon, which I suppose you +know better than I do. My hope is to give you the pleasure of an early +piece 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 let +my 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 that +great? He has lost a hundred thousand men, and is driven back over the +Rhine. Holland has joined the Allies, and the Prince of Orange; and +Lord Wellington has fought such a battle as history hardly tells of; +seven days' fighting; and the victory ranks with the greatest that ever +were gained. + +'That is all I can tell you now, but it is so good you can afford to +wait for further details. It is now more difficult than ever to get +into France, and I don't know yet how I am going to make my way to +England; it is specially hard for Americans, and I must be reckoned an +American, you know. However, money will overcome all difficulties; +money and persistence. I have written to Esther something about my +voyage, which will, I hope, interest her. I will do myself the pleasure +of 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 a +very different sort of pleasure in hers. There was a fire up-stairs in +her room; she lit a candle, and, in the exquisite sense of having her +enjoyment all to herself, went slowly over the lines; as slowly as she +could. + + +'Lisbon, _Christmas Day_, 1813. 'MY DEAR LITTLE ESTHER,--If you think a +voyage over the sea is in anything like a journey by land, you are +mistaken. The only one thing in which they are alike, is that in both +ways you _get on_. But wheels go smoothly, even over a jolty road; and +waves do nothing but toss you. It was just one succession of rollings +and pitchings from the time we left New Bedford till we got sight of +the coast of Portugal. The wind blew all the time _almost_ a gale, +rising at different points of our passage to the full desert of the +name. One violent storm we had; and all the rest of the voyage we were +pitching about at such a rate that we had to fight for our meals; +tables were broken, and coffee and chocolate poured about with a +reckless disregard of economy. For about halt the way it rained +persistently; so altogether you may suppose, Queen Esther, that my +first experience has not made me in love with the sea. But it wasn't +bad, after all. The wind drove us along, that was one comfort; and it +would have driven us along much faster, if our sails had been good for +anything; but they were a rotten set, a match for the crew, who were a +rascally band of Portuguese. However, we drove along, as I said, seeing +nobody to speak to all the way except ourselves; not a sail in sight +nearer than eight or ten miles off. + +'Well, the 23rd we sighted land, to everybody's great joy, you may +suppose. The wind fell, and that night was one of the most beautiful +and delicious you can imagine. A smooth sea without a ripple, a clear +sky without a cloud, stars shining down quietly, and air as soft as May +at Seaforth. I stood on deck half the night, enjoying, and thinking of +five hundred thousand things one after another. Now that I was almost +setting my foot on a new world, my life, past and future, seemed to +rise 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 question +was, what should William Pitt be between them? The question never +looked so big to me before. Somehow, I believe, the utter perfection of +the night suggested to me the idea of perfection generally; what a +mortal may come to when at his best. Such a view of nature as I was +having puts one out of conceit, I believe, with whatever is out of +order, unseemly, or untrue, or what for any reason misses the end of +its existence. _Then_ rose the question, what is the end of +existence?--but I did not mean to give you my moralizings, Queen +Esther; I have drifted into it. I can tell you, though, that my +moralizing got a sharp emphasis the next day. + +'I turned in at last, leaving the world of air and water a very image +of peace. I slept rather late, I suppose; was awakened by the hoarse +voice of the captain calling all hands on deck, in a manner that showed +me there must be urgent cause. I tumbled up as soon as possible. What +do you think I saw? + +'The morning was as fair as the night had been. The sea was smooth, the +sun shining brilliantly. I suppose the colonel would tell you, that +seas may be _too_ smooth; anyhow I saw the fact now. There had been not +wind enough during the night to make our sails of any use; a current +had caught us, and we had been drifting, drifting, till now it appeared +we were drifting straight on to a line of rocks which we could see at a +little distance; made known both to eye and ear: to the former by a +line of white where the waves broke upon the rocks, and to the latter +by the thundering noise the breakers made. Now you know, where waves +break, a ship would stand very little chance of holding together; but +what were we to do? The only thing possible we did,--let out our +anchors; but the question was, would they hold? They did hold, but none +too soon; for we were left riding only about three times our ship's +length from the threatening danger. You see, we had a drunken crew; no +proper watch was kept; the captain was first roused by the thunder of +the waves dashing upon the rocks; and then nothing was ready or in +order, and before the anchors could be got out we were where I tell +you. 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, to +the rocks. There we sat and looked at the view and situation. We +hoisted a signal and fired guns of distress; but we were in front of a +rocky 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 got +into the yawl and went off to find help. We, left behind, stared at the +breakers. After three more hours had gone, I saw the yawl coming back, +followed by another small boat, and further off by four royal pilot +boats with sails. I saw them with the glass, that is, from my station +in the rigging. When they came up, all the passengers except half a +dozen, of whom I was one, were transferred to the pilot boats. You +should 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 time +a slight breeze had sprung up, and I stayed with some of the others to +help in the endeavour. When the rest of the passengers were safe on +board the pilot boats, we set about our critical undertaking. Sails +were spread, one anchor hoisted, the cable of the other cut, and we +stood holding our breath, to see whether wind or water would prove +strongest. But the sails drew; the brig slowly fell off before the +wind, and we edged away from our perilous position. Then, when we were +fairly off, there rose a roar of shouts that rent the air; for the +boats had all waited, lying a few rods off, to see what would become of +us. Queen Esther, I can tell you, if I had been a woman, I should have +sat down and cried; what _I_ did I won't say. As I looked back to the +scene 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 got +comfortable quarters in an English boarding-house. When I can get to +London, I do not yet know. I am here at a great time, to see history as +it is taking shape in human life and experience; something different +from looking at it as cast into bronze or silver in former ages and +packed up in a box of coins; hey, Queen Esther? But that's good too in +its 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, longer +than she knew; whether it gave her most pain or pleasure she could not +have told. Pleasure came in a great wave at first; and then pricks of +pain began to make themselves felt, as if the pleasure wave had been +full of sharp points. Her cheeks glowed, her eyes sent looks, or rather +one steady look, at the paper, which would certainly have bored it +through or set it on fire if moral qualities had taken to themselves +material 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 world +was from hers! Absolutely, Pitt's letter was nothing to him. + +'Well, my dear,' said he, after a while observing her, 'what does he +say?' + +'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 has +gone 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 the +Rhine. 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 I +could,' 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 days +are 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 it +was so precious to her. However, this question was a command, and she +read the letter aloud to her father. With that the matter was disposed +of, in all but her own mind. For the final result of the letter was to +stir up all the pain the writer's absence had caused, and to add to it +some new elements of aggravation. Esther had not realized, till those +letters came, how entirely the writer of them had gone out of her +world. 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 these +pictures of the other world and of Pitt's life in it came like a +bright, sheer blade severing the connection which had until then +subsisted between her life and his. Yes, he was in another world! and +there was no connection any longer. He had not forgotten her yet, but +he would forget; how should he not? how could he help it? In the rich +sweep of variety and change and eager action which filled his +experience, what thought could he have any more for that quiet figure +on the sofa, or this lonely little child, whose life contained no +interest whatever! or how could his thoughts return at all to this dull +room, where everything remained with no change from morning to night +and from one week to another? Always Colonel Gainsborough there on the +sofa; always that same green cloth covering the table in the middle of +the floor, and the view of the snow-covered garden and road and fields +outside the windows, with those everlasting pollard poplars along the +fence. While Europe was in commotion, and armies rolling their masses +over it, and Napoleon fleeing and Lord Wellington chasing, and every +breath was full of eagerness and hope and triumph and purpose in that +world without. + +Esther fell back into a kind of despair. Pitt was gone from her; now +she realized that fact thoroughly; not only gone in person, but moved +far off in mind. Maybe he might write again, once or twice; very likely +he would, for he was kind; but his life was henceforth separated from +Seaforth and from all the other life that had its home there. The old +cry for comfort began to sound in Esther's heart with a terrible +urgency. Where was it to come from? And as the child had only one +possible outlook for comfort, she began to set her face that way in a +kind of resolute determination. That is, she began to shut herself up +with her Bible and search it as a man who is poor searches for a hid +treasure, or as one who is starving looks for something to eat. Nobody +knew. She shut herself up and carried on her search alone, and troubled +nobody with questions. Nobody ever noticed the air of the child; the +grave, far-away look of her eyes; the pale face; the unnaturally quiet +demeanour. At least nobody noticed it to any purpose. Mrs. Barker did +communicate to Christopher her belief that that child was 'mopin' +herself into ninety years old;' and they were both agreed that she +ought to be sent to school. 'A girl don't grow just like one o' my +cabbages,' 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 her +brother. '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 myself +about 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 but +that he might, if he had ever watched her. But he did not watch. It +never occurred to him but that everything went right with Esther. When +she made him his tea, she was attentive and womanly; when she read +aloud to him, she read intelligently; and in the reciting of the few +lessons she did with her father, there was always no fault to find. How +could the colonel suppose anything was wrong? Life had become a dull, +sad story to him; why should it be different to anybody else? Nay, the +colonel would not have said that in words; it was rather the supine +condition into which he had lapsed, than any conclusion of his +intelligence; but the fact was, he had no realization of the fact that +a child's life ought to be bright and gay. He accepted Esther's sedate +unvarying tone and manner as quite the right thing, and found it suit +him perfectly. Nobody else saw the girl, except at church. The family +had not cultivated the society of their neighbours in the place, and +Esther had no friends among them. + +There was a long succession of months during which things went on after +this fashion. Very weary months to Esther; indeed, months covered by so +thick a gloom that part of the child's life consisted in the struggle +to break it. Letters did not come frequently from Pitt, even to his +father and mother; he wrote that it was difficult to get a vessel to +take American letters at all, and that the chances were ten to one, if +accepted, that they would never get to the hands they were intended +for. American letters or American passengers were sometimes held to +vitiate the neutrality of a vessel; and if chased she would be likely +to throw them, that is, the former, overboard. Pitt was detained still +in Lisbon by the difficulty of getting passports, as late as the middle +of March, but expected then soon to sail for England. His passage was +taken. So Mr. and Mrs. Dallas reported on one of their evening visits. +They talked a great deal of politics at these visits, which sometimes +interested Esther and sometimes bored her excessively; but this last +bit 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 is +there, that is one thing; and he is looking about him; and now he will +have time to feel a little at home in England and make all his +arrangements 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 by +post-chaise to London in a day or two. He reported having just got Lord +Byron'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 the +colonel; 'and give his attention to Sophocles and Euclid. Light poetry +does 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 Romans +wrote, if folks say true,' remarked Mr. Dallas slyly. + +'In the dead languages it won't do a young man so much harm,' said the +colonel. 'I hope William will give himself now to his Greek, since you +have afforded him such opportunity.' + +Mrs. Dallas's air, as she rose to take leave, was inimitably expressive +of proud confidence and rejection of the question. Mr. Dallas laughed +carelessly and said, as he shook the colonel's hand, 'No fear!' + +The next news they had came direct. Another letter from Pitt to the +colonel; and, as before, it enclosed one for Esther. Esther ran away +again to have the first reading and indulge herself in the first +impressions of it alone and free from question or observation. She even +locked her door. This letter was written from London, and dated May +1814. + + +'MY DEAR QUEEN ESTHER,--I wish you were here, for we certainly would +have some famous walks together. Do you know, I am in London? and that +means, in one of the most wonderful places in the world. You can have +no idea what sort of a place it is, and no words I can write will tell +you. I have not got over my own sense of astonishment and admiration +yet; indeed it is growing, not lessening; and every time I go out I +come home more bewildered with what I have seen. Do you ask me why? In +the first place, because it is so big. Next, because of the +unimaginable throng of human beings of every grade and variety. Such a +multitude of human lives crossing each other in an intraceable and +interminable network; intraceable to the human eye, but what a sight it +must be to the eye that sees all! All these people, so many hundreds of +thousands, acting and reacting upon one another's happiness, +prosperity, goodness, and badness. Now at such a place as Seaforth +people are left a good deal to their individuality, and are +comparatively independent of one another; but here I feel what a +pressure and bondage men's lives draw round each other. It makes me +catch my breath. You will not care about this, however, nor be able to +understand me. + +'But another thing you would care for, and delight in; and that is the +historical associations of London. Queen Esther, it is delightful! You +and I have looked at coins and read books together, and looked at +history so; but here I seem to touch it. I have been to-day to Charing +Cross, standing and wandering about, and wondering at the things that +have happened there. Ask your father to tell you about Charing Cross. I +could hardly come away. If you ask me how _I_ know so well what +happened there, I will tell you. I have found an old uncle here. You +knew I had one? He lives just a little out of London, or out of the +thick of London, in a place that is called Kensington; in a queer old +house, which, however, I like very much, and that is filled with +curiosities. It is in a pleasant situation, not far from one of the +public parks,--though it is not called a park, but "Garden,"--and with +one or two palaces and a number of noble mansions about it. My uncle +received me very hospitably, and would have me come and make my home +with 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, a +good deal of a hermit, a little eccentric, but stuffed with local +knowledge, and indeed with knowledge of many sorts. I think he has +taken a fancy to me somehow, Queen Esther; at any rate, he is very +kind. He seems to like to go about with me and show me London, and +explain 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 the +colonel what that is; and really I seemed to see the ages rolling +before me as he talked, and I looked at Northumberland House and at the +brazen 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-rate +sort of a time. But I will try and tell you about it. + +'And talking of history,--Mr. Strahan has some beautiful coins. There +is one of Philip of Macedon, and two of Alexander; think of that, Queen +Esther; and some exquisite gold pieces of Tarentum and Syracuse. How +your eyes would look at them! Well, study up everything, so that when +we meet again we may talk up all the world. I shall be very hard at +work myself soon, as soon as I go to Oxford. In the meantime I am +rather 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, just +because I have so much to say. If I had time I would write it over, but +I 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 in +deep recesses; low ceilings and high ceilings, for different parts of +the house are unlike each other; most beautiful dark oaken +wainscotings, carved deliciously, and grown black with time; and big, +hospitable chimney-pieces, with fires of English soft coal. Some of the +rooms are rather dark, to me who am accustomed to the sun of America +pouring in at a wealth of big windows; but others are to me quite +charming. And this quaint old house is filled with treasures and +curiosities. Mr. Strahan lives in it quite alone with two servants, a +factotum of a housekeeper and another factotum of a man-servant. I must +say I find it intelligible that he should take pleasure in having me +with 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 the +reading of this; her uneasiness not appeased by it at all; then at last +went down to her father, to whom the uneasiness was quite unknown and +unsuspected. + +'I think William writes the longest letters to you,' he remarked. 'What +does 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 to +the House of Commons. + +'I had yesterday,' he wrote, 'a rare pleasure, which you, my dear +colonel, would have appreciated. Mr. Strahan took me to the House of +Commons; and I heard Mr. Canning, Mr. Whitbread, Mr. Wilberforce, Mr. +Ponsonby, and others, on what question, do you think? Nothing less than +the duty which lies upon England just at this moment, to use the +advantage of her influence with her allies in Europe to get them to +join 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 been +standing at Charing Cross, looking at the statue of Charles I., and +wondering at the world. My grand-uncle is a good Tory and held forth +eloquently as we stood there. Don't tell my mother! but privately, my +dear colonel, I seem to discover in myself traces of Whiggism. Whether +it be nature, or your influence, or the air of America, that has caused +it to grow, I know not; but there it is. My mother would be very +seriously disturbed if she suspected the fact. As to my father, I +really never discovered to my satisfaction what his politics are. To +Mr. Strahan I listen reverently. It is not necessary for me to say to +him all that comes into my head. _But_ it came into my head to-day, as +I stood gazing up at the equestrian statue at Charing Cross, that it +would better become the English people to have John Hampden there than +that 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 colonel +said 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 in +the old days when the Stuarts were trying to get all the power of the +government into their own hands and to leave none to the people. Those +who stood by the king, through thick and thin, were called Tories; +those who tried to limit him and guard the people's liberties, were +Whigs.' + +'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, or +Mrs. Dallas a Tory.' + +'There are always the two parties. One, that sticks by the government +and aims to strengthen its hands, right or wrong; and the other, that +looks out for the liberties of the people and watches that they be not +infringed or tampered with.' + +Esther thought a while, but not exclusively over the political +question. It might have occurred to an older person to wonder how +William Pitt had got his name from parents who were both Tories. The +fact was that here, as in many another case, money was the solution of +the difficulty. A rich relation, who was also a radical, had promised a +fine legacy to the boy if he were given the name of the famous Whig +statesman, and Mr. Mrs. and Dallas had swallowed the pill per help of +the sugar. About this Esther knew nothing. + +'Papa,' she said, 'don't you think Pitt will get so fond of England +that 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 which +meant, she could not tell what. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +_COMFORT_. + + +These letters, on the whole, did not comfort Esther. The momentary +intense pleasure was followed by inevitable dull reaction and contrast; +and before she had well got over the effect of one batch of letters +another came; and she was kept in a perpetual stir and conflict. For +Pitt proved himself a good correspondent, although it was June before +the first letter from his parents reached him. So he reported, writing +on the third of that month; and told that the Allied Sovereigns were +just then leaving Paris for a visit to the British Capital, and all the +London world was on tiptoe. 'Great luck for me to be here just now,' he +wrote; and so everybody at home agreed. Mrs. Dallas grew more stately, +Esther thought, with every visit she made at the colonel's house; and +she and her husband made many. It was a necessity to have some one to +speak to about Pitt and Pitt's letters; and it was urgent likewise that +Mrs. Dallas should know if letters had been received by the same mail +at this other house. She always found out, one way or another; and then +she would ask, 'May I see?' and scan with eager eyes the sheet the +colonel generally granted her. Of the letters to Esther nothing was +said, but Esther lived in fear and trembling that some inadvertent word +might let her know of their existence. + +Another necessity which brought the Dallases often to Colonel +Gainsborough's was the political situation. They could hardly discuss +it with anybody else in Seaforth, and what is the use of a political +situation if you cannot discuss it? All the rest of the families in the +neighbourhood were strong Americans; and even Pitt, in his letters, was +more of an American than anything else. Indeed, so much more, that it +gave his mother sad annoyance. He told of the temper of the English +people at this juncture; of the demands to be made by the English +government before they would hear of peace; of a strong force sent to +Canada, and the general indignant and belligerent tone of feeling and +speech among members of Parliament; but Pitt did not write as if he +sympathized with it. 'He has lived here too long already!' sighed his +mother. + +'Not if he is destined to live here the rest of his life, my dear +madam,' 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 his +profession, 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, made +one thing clear to her, namely, that if it depended on his father and +mother, Pitt's return to his native country would be long delayed or +finally prevented. It did not entirely depend on them, everybody knew +who knew him; nevertheless it seemed to Esther that the fascinations of +the old world must be great, and the feeling of the distance between +her and Pitt grew with every letter. It was not the fault of the +letters or of the writer in any way, nor was it the effect the latter +were intended to produce; but Esther grew more and more despondent +about him. And then, after a few months, the letters became short and +rare. Pitt had gone to Oxford; and, from the time of his entering the +University, plunged head and ears into business, so eagerly that time +and disposition failed for writing home. Letters did come, from time to +time, but there was much less in them; and those for Colonel +Gainsborough were at long intervals. So, when the second winter of +Pitt's absence began to set in, Esther reckoned him, to all intents and +purposes, lost to her life. + +The girl went with increased eagerness and intentness to the one +resource she had--her Bible. The cry for happiness is so natural to the +human heart, that it takes long oppression to stifle it. The cry was +strong in Esther's young nature--strong and imperative; and in all the +world around her she saw no promise of help or supply. The spring at +which she had slaked her thirst was dried up; the desert was as barren +to her eye as it had been to Hagar's; but, unlike Hagar, she sought +with a sort of desperate eagerness in one quarter where she believed +water might be found. When people search in _that_ way, unless they get +discouraged, their search is apt to come to something; unless, indeed, +they are going after a mirage, and it was no mirage that hovered before +Esther,--no vision of anything, indeed; she was searching into the +meaning of a promise. + +And, as I said, nobody knew; nobody helped her; the months of that +winter rolled slowly and gloomily over her. Esther was between fourteen +and fifteen now; her mind just opening to a consciousness of its +powers, and a growing dawn of its possibilities. Life was unfolding, +not its meaning, but something of its extent and richness to her; less +than ever could she content herself to have it a desert. The study went +on all through the winter with no visible change or result. But with +the breaking spring the darkness and ice-bound state of Esther's mind +seemed to break up too. Another look came into the girl's face--a high +quiet calm; a light like the light of the spring itself, so gracious +and tender and sweet. Esther was changed. The duties which she had done +all along with a dull punctuality were done now with a certain blessed +alacrity; her eye got its life of expression again, and a smile more +sweet than any former ones came readily to the lips. I do not think the +colonel noticed all this; or if he noticed at all, he simply thought +Esther was glad of the change of season; the winter, to be sure, had +kept 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 sly +search, 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 returned +with 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, with +that same sly observation of his sister's face. 'She'll be +better-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 very +promisin'. She's just beginnin' to show what she will be.' + +'She's got over her dumps lately uncommon. I judged the dumps was +natural enough, sitiwated as she is; but she's come out of 'em. She's +openin' up like a white camellia; and there ain't anythin' that grows +that has less shadow to it; though maybe it ain't what you'd call a gay +flower,' 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, and +she ain't noways stiff. She has just which I call the manners a young +lady ought to have.' + +'Can't beat a white camellia for manners,' responded Christopher +jocularly. + +So the servants saw what the father did not. I think he hardly knew +even that Esther was growing taller. + +One evening in the spring, Esther was as usual making tea for her +father. As usual also the tea-time was very silent. The colonel +sometimes carried on his reading alongside of his tea-cup; at other +times, perhaps, he pondered what he had been reading. + +'Papa,' said Esther suddenly, 'would it be any harm if I wrote a +letter 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 to +hear.' + +'What is that?' + +'It is just something about myself, papa,' Esther said, a little +hesitatingly. + +'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 closed +and sealed. The colonel took it and turned it over. + +'There's a good deal of it,' he remarked. 'Was it needful to use so +many words?' + +'Papa,' said Esther, hesitating, 'I didn't think about how many words I +was 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 to +be 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 supposed +the matter was disposed of. But when she had kissed him and gone off to +bed, the colonel brought the letter before him again, looked at it, and +finally broke the seal and opened it. There was a good deal of it, as +he had remarked. + + +'Seaforth, _May_ 11, 1815. 'MY DEAR PITT,--Papa has given me leave to +write a letter to you; and I wanted to write, because I have something +to tell you that I think you will be glad to hear. I am afraid I cannot +tell it very well, for I am not much accustomed to writing letters; but +I will do as well as I can. + +'I am afraid it will take me some time to say what I want to say. I +cannot 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 you +remember my asking you once about the meaning of some words in the +Bible, where I was looking for comfort, because mamma said it was the +best place? We were sitting in the verandah, one afternoon. You had +been away, to New Haven, and were home for vacation. + +'Well, I partly forgot about it that summer, I was so happy. You know +what a good time we had with everything, and I forgot about wanting +comfort. But after you went away that autumn to Lisbon and to England, +then the want came back. You were very good about writing, and I +enjoyed your letters very much; and yet, somehow, every one seemed to +make me feel a little worse than I did before. That is, after the first +bit, you know. For an hour, perhaps, while I was reading it, and +reading it the second time, and thinking about it, I was almost +perfectly happy; the letters seemed to bring you near; but when just +that 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 I +did not know where to get it. There was nobody to ask, and no help at +all, if I could not find it in the Bible. All that winter, and all the +summer, last summer that was, and all the first part of this last +winter, I did not know what to do, I wanted comfort so. I thought maybe +you would never come back to Seaforth again; and you know there is +nobody else here, and I was quite alone. I never do see anybody but +papa, except Mr. and Mrs. Dallas, who come here once in a while. So I +went to the Bible. I read, and I thought. + +'Do you remember those words I once asked you about? Perhaps you do +not, so I will write them down here. "The Lord make His face shine upon +thee, and be gracious unto thee. The Lord lift up His countenance upon +thee, and give the peace." Those are the words. + +'Do you remember what you said at that time, about the pleasure of +seeing a face that looks brightly and kindly upon one? only you did not +know how that could be true of God, because we cannot really _see_ His +face? Well, I thought a great deal about that. You see, there are the +words; and so, I thought, the thing must be possible somehow, and there +must be some way in which they can be true, or the Bible would not say +so. 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 we +care about seeing--I mean, that we care about so very much; and it is +only the faces that love us that _can_ "shine" upon us. But I did not +love God, for I did not know Him; and I knew He could not love me, for +He knew me too well. So I began to pray a different prayer. I asked +that God would teach me to love Him, and make me such a person that He +could love me. It was all very dark and confused before my mind; I +think I was like a person groping about and feeling for things he +cannot see. It was very miserable, for I had no comfort at all; and the +days and the nights were all sad and dark, only I kept a little bit of +hope. + +'Then I must tell you another thing. I had been doing nothing but +praying and reading the Bible. But one day I came to these words, which +struck me very much. They are in the fourteenth chapter of John:-- + +'"He that hath my commandments, and keepeth them, he it is that loveth +me; and he that loveth me shall be loved of my Father; and I will love +him, and will manifest myself to him." + +'Do you notice those last words? That is like making the face shine, or +lifting up the countenance upon a person. But then I saw that to get +that, which I wanted. I must _keep His commandments_. I hardly knew +what they were, and I began to read to find out. I had been only +looking for comfort before. And as fast as I found out one of His +commands, I began to do it, as far as I could. Pitt, His commandments +are such beautiful things! + +'And then, I don't know how it came or when it came, exactly, but I +began to _see His face_. And it began to shine upon me. And the +darkness began to go away, And now, Pitt, this is what I wanted to tell +you: I have found comfort. I am not dark, and I don't feel alone any +more. 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; and +everything seems changed. It is _so_ changed, Pitt. I am happy now, and +contented, and things seem beautiful to me again, as they used to do +when you were here, only even more, I think. + +'I thought you would be glad to know it, and so I have written all this +long letter, and my fingers are really tired. + +'Your loving friend, + +'ESTHER GAINSBOROUGH.' + + +The colonel read this somewhat peculiar document with wondering +attention. He got to the end, and began again, with his mind in a good +deal of confusion. A second reading left him more confused than the +first, and he began the third time. What did Esther mean by this want +of comfort? How could she want comfort? And what was this strange thing +that she had found? And how came she to be pouring out her mind in this +fashion to Pitt, to him of all people? The colonel was half touched, +half jealous, half awed. What had his child learned in her strange +solitary Bible study? He had heard of religious ecstasies and religious +enthusiasts; devotees; people set apart by a singular experience; was +his 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; he +did not want her to be extravagant. And this sounded extravagant, even +visionary. How had she got it? What had Pitt Dallas to do with it? Was +it for want of _him_ that Esther had set up such a cry for comfort? The +colonel liked nothing of all the questions that started up in his mind; +and the only satisfactory thing was that in some way Esther seemed to +be feeling happy. But her father did not want her to be given over to a +visionary happiness, which in the end would desert her. He sat up a +long time reading and brooding over the letter. Finally he closed it +and sealed it again, and resolved to let it go off, and to have a talk +with 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 girl +about her meaning of words she had written, would seem a simple matter +enough; but there was something about it that tied the colonel's +tongue. He could not bring himself to broach the subject at breakfast, +with the clear homely daylight streaming upon the breakfast table, and +Esther moving about and attending to her usual morning duties; all he +could do was to watch her furtively. This creature was growing up out +of his knowledge; he looked to see what outward signs of change might +be visible. He saw a fair, slim girl, no longer a little girl +certainly, with a face that still was his child's face, he thought. And +yet, as he looked, he slowly came to the conviction that it was the +face of something more than a child. The old simplicity and the old +purity were there indeed; but now there was a blessed calm upon the +brow, and the calmness had a certain lofty quality; and the sweetness, +which was more than ever, was refined and deep. It was not the +sweetness of hilarious childhood, but something that had a more distant +source than childhood draws from. The colonel ate his breakfast without +knowing what he was eating; however, he could not talk to Esther at +that time. He waited till evening had come round again, and the lamp +was lit, and he was taking his toast and tea, with Esther ministering +to 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 know +you would care to read it. I thought it must be sealed, and I sealed +it.' + +'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 were +happy--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,' the +colonel added, with a sigh of consciousness that there might be a +missing 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 a +little 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 sense +of 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 was +here.' + +'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. Can +you tell me what you mean?' + +As he raised his eyes to her, he saw a look come over her face that he +could as little comprehend as he could comprehend her letter; a look of +surprise at him, mingled with a sudden shine of some inner light. She +was moving about the tea-table; she came round and stood in front of +her father, full in view. + +'Papa, I thought my letter explained it. I mean, that now I have come +to know the Lord Jesus.' + +'_Now?_ My dear, I was under the impression that you had been taught +and 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 think +about 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 that +the colonel did not. He was puzzled, and did not like to show it too +fully. The one face was shining with clearness and gladness; the other +was 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 in +the 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 the +simplest words in one's vocabulary, and is called upon to expound them +by the use of others less simple, the task is somewhat critical. The +colonel watched with a sort of disturbed pleasure the thoughtful, clear +brow, the grave eyes which had become so sweet. The intelligence at +work there, he saw, was no longer that of a child; the sweetness was no +longer the blank of unconscious ignorance, but the wisdom of some +blessed knowledge. What did she know that was hidden from his +experience? + +'Papa, it is very difficult to tell you,' Esther began. 'I used to know +about the things in the Bible, and I had learned whole chapters by +heart; but that was all. I did not know much more than the name of +Christ,--and His history, of course, and His words.' + +'What more could you know?' inquired the colonel, in increasing +astonishment. + +'That's just it, papa; I did not know Himself. You know what you mean +when you say you don't know somebody. I mean just that.' + +'But, Esther, that sounds to me very like--very like--an improper use +of language,' said the colonel, stammering. 'How can you _know Him_, as +you 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, not +literally. But He has somehow showed me how good He is, and how +glorious; and has made me understand how He loves me, and how He is +with me; so that I do not feel alone any more. I don't think I ever +shall feel alone again.' + +Was this extravagance? The colonel pondered. It seemed to him a thing +to be rebuked or repressed; he knew nothing of this kind in his own +religious experience; he feared it was visionary and fanciful. But when +he looked at Esther's face, the words died on his tongue which he would +have spoken. Those happy eyes were so strong in their wistfulness, so +grave in their happiness, that they forbade the charge of folly or +fancifulness; nay, they were looking at something which the colonel +wished he could himself see, if the sight brought such contentment. +They stopped his mouth. He could not say what he thought to say, and +his 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, I +asked Pitt what could be the meaning of a verse in the Bible; that +beautiful verse in Numbers; and he could not tell me, though what he +said gave me a great help. So I knew he would remember, and he would be +glad. And I want him to know Jesus too.' + +The colonel felt a little twinge of jealousy here; but Esther did not +know, he reflected, that her own father was in equal destitution of +that knowledge. Or was it all visionary that she had been saying, and +his view of religion the right one after all? It _must_ be the right +one. Yet his religion had never given his face the expression that +shone 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 He +loves me, and will do everything for me.' + +'How do you know it?' asked the colonel almost harshly. 'That sounds to +me 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 just +believe what He says.' + +Colonel Gainsborough gave up the argument. Before Esther's face of +quiet confidence he felt himself baffled. If she were wrong, he could +not prove her wrong. Uneasy and worsted, he gave up the discussion; but +thought he would not have any more letters go to William Dallas. + +And as the days went on, he watched furtively his daughter. He had not +been mistaken in his observations that evening. A steadfastness of +sweet happiness was about her, beautifying and elevating all she did +and 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, but +of love, and gracious accordingly, as the service of duty can never be. +The colonel watched, and saw something of the difference, without being +able, however, to come at a satisfactory understanding of it. He saw +how, under this influence of love and gladness, his child was becoming +the rarest of servants to him; and more still, how under it she was +developing into a most exquisite personal beauty. He watched her, as if +by watching he might catch something of the secret mental charm by +virtue of which these changes were wrought. But 'the secret of the Lord +is with them that fear Him;' and it cannot be communicated from one to +another. + +As has been mentioned, Pitt's letters after he got to work at Oxford +became much fewer and scantier. It was only at very rare intervals that +one came to Colonel Gainsborough; and Esther made no proposition of +writing to England again. On that subject the colonel ceased to take +any thought. It was otherwise with Pitt's family. + +Mrs. Dallas sat one evening pondering over the last letter received +from her son. It was early autumn; a little fire burning in the +chimney, towards which the master of the house stretched out his legs, +lying very much at his ease in an old-fashioned chaise lounge, and +turning over an English newspaper. His attitude bespoke the comfortable +ease and carelessness of his mind, on which certainly nothing lay +heavy. His wife was in all things a contrast. Her handsome, stately +figure was yielding at the moment to no blandishments of comfort or +luxury; she sat upright, with Pitt's letter in her hand, and on her +brow there was an expression of troubled consideration. + +'Husband,' she said at length, 'do you notice how Pitt speaks of the +colonel and his daughter?' + +'No,' came slowly and indifferently from the lips of Mr. Dallas, as he +turned the pages of his newspaper. + +'Don't you notice how he asks after them in every letter, and wants me +to go and see them?' + +'Natural enough. Pitt is thinking of home, and he thinks of them;--part +of 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; and +distractions enough. But don't you know Pitt? He sticks to a thing even +closer than you do.' + +'If he cares enough about it.' + +'That's what troubles me, Hildebrand. I am afraid he does care. If he +comes home next summer and finds that girl-- Do you know how she is +growing 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 old +enough 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 going +to be handsome enough to take any man's fancy, and hold it too. She is +uncommonly striking. Don't you see it?' + +'Humph! yes, I see it.' + +'Hildebrand, I do not want him to marry the daughter of a dissenting +colonel, 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 means +certain that Mr. Dallas needed its suggestions, he strolled over after +tea to Colonel Gainsborough's. The colonel was in his usual place and +position; Esther sitting at the table with her books. Mr. Dallas eyed +her as she rose to receive him, noticed the gracious, quiet manner, the +fair and noble face, the easy movement and fine bearing; and turned to +her father with a strengthened purpose to do what he had come to do. He +had to wait a while. He told the news of Pitt's last letter; intimated +that 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 Esther +at 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 am +concerned about Esther.' + +'In what way?' + +'Well, don't take it ill of me; but I do not like to see her growing up +so 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 right +to so much. I have watched her growing up. She will be something +uncommon, you know. She ought really to have everything that can help +to make humanity perfect.' + +'What would you have me do?' the colonel asked, half conscious and half +impatient. + +'I would give her all the advantages that a girl of her birth and +breeding would have in the old country.' + +'How is that possible, at Seaforth?' + +'It is not possible at Seaforth. There is nothing here. But elsewhere +it 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 to +live long anywhere; when I die, I will lie by my wife's side, here.' + +'You are not failing in health,' Mr. Dallas persisted. 'You are +improving, 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 myself +no 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 this +speech; his words however were 'smoother than butter.' + +'You need have no fear,' he said. 'Miss Gainsborough, with her birth +and beauty and breeding, will do--what you must wish her to do,--marry +some one well able to take care of her; but--you are not doing her +justice, colonel, in not giving her the education that should go with +her birth and breeding. I speak as a friend; I trust you will not take +it ill of me.' + +'I cannot send her to England.' + +'You do not need. There are excellent institutions of learning in this +country now.' + +'I do not know where.' + +'My wife can tell you. She has some knowledge of such things, through +friends who have daughters at school. She could tell you of several +good 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 have +been officious; and you are giving Esther an education more than equal +to what she could get at school.' + +'I cannot quit Seaforth,' the colonel repeated. 'All that I care for in +the world lies here. When I have done with the world, I wish to lie +here too; and till then I will wait.' + +Mr. Dallas took his leave; and the set of his mouth was grim again as +he walked home. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +_MOVING_. + + +Mr. Dallas's visits became frequent. He talked of a great variety of +things, but never failed to bring the colonel's mind to the subject of +Esther's want of education. Indirectly or directly, somehow, he +presented to the colonel's mind that one idea: that his daughter was +going without the advantages she needed and ought to have. It was true, +and the colonel could not easily dispose of the thought which his +friend so persistently held up before him. Waters wear away stones, as +we know to a proverb; and so it befell in this case, and Mr. Dallas +knew it must. The colonel began to grow uneasy. He often reasserted +that he would never leave Seaforth; he began to think about it, +nevertheless. + +'What should I do with this place?' he asked one evening when the +subject 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 be +somewhere else for my child's sake. In that case, what could I do with +my 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 means +will 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. But +indeed it would come very conveniently for me. I should like to have +it, for my own purposes. I will give you its utmost value.' + +The colonel pondered, not glad, perhaps, to have difficulties cleared +out of his way. Mr. Dallas waited, too keen to press his point unduly. + +'I should have to go and reconnoitre,' the former said presently. 'I +must not give up one home till I have another ready. I never thought to +leave Seaforth. Where do you say this place is that Mrs. Dallas +recommends?' + +'In New York. The school is said to be particularly good and thorough, +and conducted by an English lady; which would be a recommendation to +me, 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. 'Perhaps +Mrs. Dallas will be so good as to give me the address of the school in +question.' + +Mrs. Dallas did more than that. She gave letters to friends, and +addresses of more than one school teacher: and the end was, Colonel +Gainsborough set off on a search. The search was successful. He was +satisfied with the testimonials he received respecting one of the +institutions and respecting its head; he was directed by some of Mr. +Dallas's business friends to various houses that might suit him for a +residence; 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, not +knowing whether to be glad or sorry, to hope or to fear. Seaforth was +the only home she had ever known; she did not like the thought of +leaving it; but she knew by this time as well as Mr. Dallas knew that +she 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 those +times, and so the day of his return could not be notified; but when a +week had passed, Esther began to look for him. It was the first time he +had ever been away from her, and so, of course, it was the first coming +home. Esther felt it deserved some sort of celebration. The stage +arrived towards evening, she knew. + +'I think maybe he will be here to-night, Barker,' she said. 'What is +there we could have for supper that papa likes particularly?' + +'Indeed, Miss Esther, the colonel favours nothing more than another, as +I 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 to +be sure quails had ought to be eaten immediate. I can roast two or +three of 'em, if you're pleased to order it; but the colonel, it's my +opinion he won't care what you have. The gentlemen learns it so in the +army, I'm thinkin'. The colonel never did give himself no care about +what he had for dinner, nor for no other time.' + +Esther knew that; however, she ordered the quails, and watched eagerly +for her father. He came, too, that same evening. But the quails hardly +got their deserts, nor Esther neither, for that matter. The colonel +seemed to be unregardful of the one as much as of the other. He gave +his 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 I +suppose the colonel had had a thin dinner, for he consumed a quail and +a half; yet satisfactory as this was in itself, Esther could not see +that her father knew what he was eating. And after tea he still +neglected his book, and sat brooding, with his head leaning on his +hand. He had not said one word to his daughter concerning the success +or non-success of his mission; and eager as she was, it was not in +accordance with the way she had been brought up that she should +question him. She asked him nothing further than about his own health +and condition, and the length and character of his journey; which +questions were shortly disposed of, and then the colonel sat there with +his head in his hand, doing nothing that he was wont to do. Esther +feared something was troubling him, and could not bear to leave him to +himself. She came near softly, and very softly let her finger-tips +touch her father's brow and temples, and stroke back the hair from +them. She ventured no more. + +Perhaps Colonel Gainsborough could not bear so much. Perhaps he was +reminded of the only other fingers which had had a right since his +boyhood to touch him so. Yet he would not repel the gentle hand, and to +avoid doing that he did another very uncommon thing; he drew Esther +down into his arms and put her on his knee, leaning his head against +her shoulder. It was exceeding pleasant to the girl, as a touch of +sympathy and confidence; however, for that night the confidence went no +further; the colonel said nothing at all. He was in truth overcome with +the sadness of leaving his home and his habits and the place of his +wife's grave. As he re-entered Seaforth and entered his house, this +sadness had come over him; he could not shake it off; indeed, he did +not try; he gave him self up to it, and forgot Esther, or rather forgot +what he owed her. And Esther, who had done what she could, sat still on +her 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 past +Esther'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 had +never been away, only he had his news to tell; and he told it in +orderly business fashion. + +'I have taken a house, Esther,' he said; 'and now I wish to get moved +as 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 the +river; 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 Miss +Fairbairn's school in New York. It is the best there, by all I can +gather.' + +'Thank you, papa. Then it is not near our new house?' + +'No. You will have to drive there and back. I have made arrangements +for that.' + +'Won't that cost a good deal, papa?' + +'Not so much as to live in the city would cost. And we are accustomed +to 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 and +everything, papa?' + +'That must be packed to go. The house I have taken is empty. We shall +want all we have got.' + +Esther's eye went round the room. Everything to be packed! She stood +like 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 be +laid 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 no +particular share. But could it be that he was leaving it all to her +inexperience? 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 with +Barker about it?' + +'Yes, my dear, yes; tell her, and arrange with her. I wish to make the +change 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 was +wont to consider Esther a child still; now it was convenient to suppose +her 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 was +before 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 this +minute. All ain't done when you are moved, Miss Esther; there's the +other house to settle; and it'll take a good bit o' work before we get +so 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; but +that ain't as if we was a dozen. There's every indiwiddle thing to put +up, Miss Esther, from our chairs to our beds; and books, and china, and +all 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 is +somethin' you can't buy in the shops--even if there was any shops here +to speak of. But Christopher and me, we'll manage it, I'll warrant. The +colonel's quite right. This ain't no place for you no longer. We'll see +and get moved as quick as we can, Miss Esther.' + +Without experience, however, it was found that Esther's share of the +next weeks of work was a very important one. She packed up the clothes +and the books; and she did it 'real uncommon,' the housekeeper said; +but that was the least part. She kept her father comfortable, letting +none of the confusion and as little as possible of the dust come into +the room where he was. She stood in the gap when Barker was in the +thick of some job, and herself prepared her father's soup or got his +tea. Thoughtful, quiet, diligent, her head, young as it was, proved +often a very useful help to Barker's experience; and something about +her smooth composure was a stay to the tired nerves of her +subordinates. Though Christopher Bounder really had no nerves, yet he +felt the influence I speak of. + +'Ain't our Miss Esther growed to be a stunner, though!' he remarked +more than once. + +'I'm sure I don't rightly know what you mean, Christopher,' his sister +answered. + +'Well, I tell you she's an uncommon handsome young lady, Sarah. An' she +has 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 his +eyes slyly. 'There ain't no flesh and blood round in these parts like +that;--no mor'n a cabbage ain't like a camellia. An' _that_ don't tell +it. She's that dainty and sweet as a camellia never was--not as ever I +see; and she has that fine, soft way with her, that is like the touch +of a feather, and yet ain't soft neither if you come to go agin it. I +tell you what, Sarah, that shows blood, that does,' concluded +Christopher with a competent air. 'Our young lady, she's the real +thing. You and me, now, we couldn't be like that if we was to die for +it. That's blood, that is.' + +'I don't know,' said the housekeeper. 'She _is_ sweet, uncommon; and +she is gentle enough, and she has a will of her own, too; but I don't +know--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 rough +leaves, before you can see what they're goin' to be.' + +'There warn't never no rough leaves nor rough anything about Miss +Esther. I can't say as I knows what you mean, Christopher.' + +'A woman needn't to know everything,' responded her brother with +superiority; '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 its +inhabitants. 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 must +all go together. + +It was the middle of November when at last the family made their +flitting. They had no dear friends to leave, and nothing particular to +regret, except that one low mound in the churchyard; yet Esther felt +sober as they drove away. The only tangible reason for this on which +her thoughts could fix, was the fact that she was going away from the +place where Pitt Dallas was at home, and to which he would come when he +returned from England. She would then be afar off. Yet there would be +nothing to hinder his coming to see them in their new home; so the +feeling did not seem well justified. Besides that, Esther also had a +somewhat vague sense that she was leaving the domain of childhood and +entering upon the work and sphere of a woman. She was just going to +school! But perhaps the time of confusion she had been passing through +might have revealed to her that she had already a woman's life-work on +her hands. And the confusion was not over, and the work only begun. She +had perhaps a dim sense of this. However, she was young; and the +soberness was certainly mixed with gladness. For was she not going to +school, and so, on the way to do something of the work Pitt was doing, +in mental furnishing and improvement? I think, gladness had the upper +hand. + +It took two days of stage travelling to get them to their destination. +They were days full of interest and novelty for Esther; eager +anticipation and hope; but the end of the second day found her well +tired. Indeed, it was the case with them all. Mrs. Barker had lamented +that 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 for +them; the colonel had said it was impossible: they could not be spared +from Seaforth until the last minute. And now here they were 'all in a +heap,' as Mrs Barker expressed it, 'to be tumbled into the house at +once.' She begged that the colonel would stay the night over in the +city, and give her at least a few hours to prepare for him. The colonel +would not hear of it, however, but at once procured vehicles to take +the whole party and their boxes out to the place that was to be their +new home. It was then already evening; the short November day had +closed in. + +'He's that simple,' Mrs. Barker confided to her brother, 'he expects to +find 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.' and +stan' round,' echoed Christopher. 'I'm afeard they won't be so +obligin'.' + +The drive was somewhat slower in the dark than it would have been +otherwise, and the stars were out and looking down brilliantly upon the +little party as they finally dismounted at their door. The shadow of +the house rising before them, a cool air from the river, the sparkling +stars above, the vague darkness around; Esther never forgot that +home-coming. + +They had stopped at a neighbour's house to get the key; and now, the +front door being unlocked, made their way in, one after another. Esther +was confronted first by a great packing-case in the narrow hall, which +blocked up the way. Going carefully round this, which there was just +room 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't +you open the back door and let in a gleam of light?' + +This was done, and also in due time a lantern was brought upon the +scene. It revealed a state of things almost as hopeless as the world +appeared to Noah's dove the first time she was sent out of the ark. If +there was rest for the soles of their feet, it was all that could be +said. 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 ye +kin du to-night; there's no use o' your tryin'. Jes' come over to my +house 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. Lands +sakes! 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 gradually +drawing nearer and nearer, till with the last words the speaker also +entered the back room, where Esther and her father were standing. They +were standing in the midst of packing-cases, of every size and shape, +between which the shadows lay dark, while the faint lantern light just +served to show the rough edges and angles of the boxes and the hopeless +condition of things generally. It served also now to let the new-comer +be dimly seen. Esther and her father, looking towards the door, +perceived a stout little figure, with her two hands rolled up in her +shawl, head bare, and with hair in neat order, for it glanced in the +lantern shine as only smooth things can. The features of the face were +not discernible. + +'It's the cunnel himself, ain't it?' she said. 'They said he was a tall +man, and I see _this_ is a tall un. Is it the cunnel himself? I +couldn'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. 'Colonel +Gainsborough.' + +The visitor dropped a little dot of a curtsey, which seemed to Esther +inexpressibly funny, and went on. + +'Beg pardon for not knowin'. Wall, cunnel, I'm sure you're tired and +hungry,--you and your darter, is it?--and I've got a hot supper for you +over to my house. I allays think there's nothin' like hevin' things +hot,--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? You +see, you kin't do nothin' here to-night. I don't see how ever you're to +sleep, in this world; there ain't nothin' here but the floor and the +boxes, 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 need +trouble you,' the colonel said, with civil formality. Esther was +amused, but also a little eager that her father should accept the +invitation. What else would become of him? she thought. The prospect +was desolation. Truly they had some cooked provisions; but that was +only cold comfort, as their visitor had said; doubtful if the term +could be applied at all. + +'Now you'd jes' best come right over!' the fluent but kind voice said +persuasively. 'It's all spilin' to be eat. An' what kin you do? There +ain't no fire here to warm you, and it'll take a bit of a while before +you kin get one; an' you're all tired out. Jes' come over and hev a cup +o' hot coffee, and get heartened up a bit, and then you'll know what to +do next. I allays think, one thing at a time.' + +'Papa,' said Esther a little timidly, 'hadn't you better do it? There's +nothing but confusion here; it will be a long time before we can get +you even a cup of tea.' + +'It's all ready,' their visitor went on,--'ready and spilin'; an' I got +it for you o' purpose. Now don't stan' thinkin' about it, but jes' come +right 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 next +house to your'n. Oh, I've lived there a matter o' ten year; and I was +main glad to hear there was somebody comin' in here agin; it's so sort +o' lonesome to see the winders allays shut up; and your light looks +real cheery, if it is only a lantern light. I knowed when you was a +comin', 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; but +I'm sure, if you'll sleep, you're welcome.' + +'If you please, sir,' put in Mrs. Barker, 'it would be the most +advisedest thing you could do; for there ain't no prospect here, and if +you and Miss Esther was away for a bit, mebbe me and Christopher would +come to see daylight after a while; which it is what I don't do at +present.' + +The good woman's voice sounded so thoroughly perturbed, and expressed +such an undoubted earnest desire, that the colonel, contrary to all his +traditions, gave in. He and Esther followed their new friend, ''cross +the field,' as she said, but they hardly knew where, till the light and +warmth of her hospitable house received them. + +How strange it was! The short walk in the starlight; then the homely +hospitable room, with its spread table--the pumpkin pie, and the +sausage, and the pickles, and the cheese, and the cake! The very coarse +tablecloth; the little two-pronged forks, and knives which might have +been cut out of sheet iron, and singular ware which did service for +china. The extreme homeliness of it all would almost have hindered +Esther from eating, though she was very hungry. But there was good +bread and butter; and coffee that was hot, and not bad otherwise, +although assuredly it never saw the land of Arabia; certainly it seemed +very good to Esther that night, even taken from a pewter spoon. And the +tablecloth was clean, and everything upon it. So, with doubtful +hesitation at first, Esther found the supper good, and learned her +first lesson in the broadness of humanity and the wide variety in the +ways of human life. + +Their hostess, seen by the light of her dip candles, was in perfect +harmony with her entertainment. A round little woman, very neat, and +terribly plain, with a full oval face, which had no other +characteristic of beauty; insignificant features, and a pale skin, +covered with freckles. Out of this face, however, looked a pair of +small, shrewd, and kind grey eyes; their owner could be no fool. + +Esther was surprised to see that her father, who was, to be sure, an +old campaigner, made a very fair supper. + +'In the darkness I could hardly see where we went,' he remarked. 'But I +suppose your husband is the owner of the neat gardens I observed +formerly near our house?' + +'Wall, he would be if he was alive,' was the answer, 'but that's what +he hain't ben this five year.' + +'Then, do _you_ manage them?' + +'Wall, cunnel, I manage 'em better'n he did. Mr. Blumenfeld was an easy +kind o' man; easy to live with, tu; but when you hev other folks to see +to, 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; he +knowed his business; but the thing he _didn't_ know was folks. So they +cheated 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 or +two!' + +'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 different +naturs in the world, and I'm different. Folks doos say, his folks is +great for gittin' along; but _he_ warn't; that's all I hev to say. He +learned 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 offers +of 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. It +was 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 stole +down-stairs and roused Mrs. Barker; and while waiting for her to be +ready, went to the back door and opened it. A fresh cool air blew in +her face; clouds were chasing over the sky before a brisk wind, and +below her rolled the broad Hudson, its surface all in commotion; while +the early light lay bright on the pretty Jersey shore. Esther stood in +a 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 growth +and developement, which readily connected itself with this outward +change, and with this outward stir also. The movement of wind and water +met a movement of the animal spirits, which consorted well with it; the +cool air breathed vigour into her resolves; she turned to Mrs. Barker +with 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. It +is delicious!' + +'I can't see it, mum. All I can see is that there ain't an indiwiddle +cheer standin' on its own legs in all the house; and whatever'll the +colonel do when he comes down? and what to begin at first, I'm sure I +don't know.' + +'We'll arrange all that. Where is Christopher? We want him to open the +boxes. We'll get one room in some sort of order first, and then papa +can stay in it. Where is Christopher?' + +They had to wait a few minutes for Christopher, and meanwhile Esther +took a rapid review of the rooms; decided which should be the +dining-room, and which the one where her father should have his sofa +and all his belongings. Then she surveyed the packing-cases, to be +certain which was which, and what ought to be opened first; examining +her ground with the eye of a young general. Then, when the lagging Mr. +Bounder made his appearance, there was a systematic course of action +entered upon, in which packing-cases were knocked apart and cleared +away; chairs, and a table or two, were released from durance and set on +their legs; a rug was found and spread down before the fireplace; the +colonel's sofa was got at, and unboxed, and brought into position; and +finally a fire was made. Esther stood still to take a moment's +complacent review of her morning's work. + +'It looks quite comfortable,' she said, 'now the fire is burning up. We +have done pretty well, Barker, for a beginning?' + +'Never see a better two hours' job,' said Christopher. ''Tain't much +more. That's Miss Esther. Sarah there, she wouldn't ha' knowed which +was her head and which was her heels, and other things according, if +she hadn't another head to help her. What o'clock is it now, Miss +Esther?' + +'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 look +at 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 thing +is, this minute.' + +'I saw the tea-kettle down-stairs.' + +'Yes 'm, but that's the sole solitary article. I don' know where +there's a pan, nor a gridiron; and there's no fire, Miss Esther; and +it'll take patience to get that grate agoin'.' + +The housekeeper, usually so efficient, now looked helpless. It was +true, 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 stands +there; in the hall, I think. Christopher, will you unpack it? But +first, 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 china +are in the other room; if you will unpack them, I think you can find +the 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 can +give papa his tea and toast, and boil some eggs, and that will do very +well; everything else we want is in the basket, and plenty, as we did +not eat it last night.' + +It was all done,--it took time, to be sure, but it was done; and when +Colonel Gainsborough came down, hesitating and somewhat forlorn, he +found a fire burning in the grate, Mrs. Barker watching over a skillet +in one corner, and Esther over a tea-kettle in the other. The room was +filled with the morning light, which certainly showed the bare floor +and the packing-boxes standing around; but also shone upon an unpacked +table, cups, plates, bread and butter. Esther had thought it was very +comfortable. 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 just +the kettle for your tea, and Barker is boiling an egg for you; at least +she 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--it +will take a while to clear it; and I wanted first to get a corner for +you to be comfortable in. We will get things in order as fast as we +can. 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 is +the prettiest, and will be the pleasantest; that will be the +sitting-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 thing +first, and so on. Now I should have said, the _first_ thing here was +the kitchen fire.' + +Esther knew it was not, and that her doings had been with admirable +system; she was a little disappointed that they met with no +recognition. She had counted upon her father's being pleased, and even +a little surprised that so much had been done. Silently she made his +tea, and toasted him with much difficulty a slice of bread. Mrs. Barker +disappeared with her skillet. But the colonel was in the state of mind +that comes over many ease-loving men when their ease is temporarily +disturbed. + +'How long is it going to take two people to get these things unboxed +and in their places?' he inquired, as his eye roved disconsolately over +the room and its packing-cases. 'This is pretty uncomfortable!' + +'_Three_ people, papa. I shall do the very best I can. You would like +the sitting-room put in order first, where your sofa and you can be +quiet?' + +'You are going to school.' + +'Oh, papa! but I must see to the house first. Barker cannot get along +without 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 to +school I shall be so busy with study.' + +'Time you were. That's what we are come here for. The season is late +now.' + +'But your comfort, and the house, papa?' + +'My comfort must take its chance. I wish you to go to Miss Fairbairn on +Monday. Then Barker and Christopher can take the house between them.' + +There was no gainsaying her father when once an order was given, Esther +knew; and she was terribly disappointed. Her heart was quite set on +this business of righting and arranging the new home; nobody could do +it as it should be done, she knew, except by her order; and her own +hand longed to be in the work. A sudden cloud came over the brightness +of her spirit. She had been very bright through all the strain and rush +of 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 that +you may have a corner of comfort?' + +'I do not expect to see comfort, my dear, for many a day--to judge by +what I have around me.' + +Esther swallowed a choking feeling in her throat, commanded back some +tears which had a mind to force their way, and presided over the rest +of the meal with a manner of sweet womanly dignity, which had a lovely +unconscious charm. The colonel did even become a little conscious of it. + +'You are doing the best you know, my dear,' he condescended kindly. 'I +do not grudge any loss of comfort for your sake.' + +'Papa, I think you shall not lose any,' Esther said eagerly; but then +she confined her energies to doing. And with nerves all strung up +again, she went after breakfast at the work of bringing order out of +disorder. + +'The first thing for you to do, Barker,' she said, 'is to get papa's +sleeping-room comfortable. He will have the one looking to the west, I +think; that is the prettiest. The blue carpet, that was on his room at +Seaforth, will just do. Christopher will undo the roll of carpet for +you.' + +'Miss Esther, I can't do nothing till I get the kitchen free. There'll +be the dinner.' + +'Christopher will manage the kitchen.' + +'He can't, mum. He don't know one thing that's to be done, no more'n +one of his spades. It's just not possible, Miss Esther.' + +'I will oversee what he does. Trust me. I will not make any bad +mistakes, Barker. You put papa's room in order. He wishes it.' + +What the colonel desired had to be done, Barker knew; so with a +wondering look at Esther's sweet, determined face, she gave in. And +that day and the next day, and the third, were days very full of +business, and in which a vast deal was accomplished. The house was +really very pretty, as Esther soon saw; and before Saturday night +closed in, those parts of it at least which the colonel had most to do +with were stroked into order, and afforded him all his wonted ease and +luxury. Esther had worked every hour of those days, to the admiration +of her subordinates; the informing spirit and regulating will of every +step that was taken. She never lost her head, or her patience, or her +sweet quiet; though she was herself as busy as a bee and at the same +time constantly directing the activity of the others. Wise, and +quick-witted, and quick to remember, her presence of mind and readiness +of resource seemed unfailing. So, as I said, before Saturday night +came, an immense deal of work was accomplished, and done in a style +that needed not to be done over again. All which, however, was not +finished without some trace of the strain to which the human instrument +had been put. + +The sun had just set, and Esther was standing at the window of her +father's room, looking out to the west. She had been unpacking his +clothes 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; and +your cheeks is pale. You have worked too hard, indeed.' + +'Never mind,' said Esther cheerfully; 'that will pass. How pretty it +is, Barker! Look out at that sky.' + +'Yes 'm, it's just the colour from that sky that keeps your cheeks from +showin' how white they be. Miss Esther, you've just done too much.' + +'Never mind,' said the girl again. 'I wanted to have papa comfortable +before 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 was +a pattern of neatness and of comfort that was both simple and elegant. +But the housekeeper's face was grave with disapproval and puckered with +lines 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 gone +clean 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 little +children,--which is, them that is too young to know what the world is +like. 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 had +sat down by the window, where the glow from the west was upon it, like +a glory round the head of a young saint; and the evening sky was not +more serene, nor reflected more surely a hidden light than did the +beautiful 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 reads +it.' + +'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 man +whose 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 can +make any one clean. But that will. And don't you see, Barker, _that_ is +being happy?' + +There was indeed no dissent in the good woman's eyes, but she said +nothing. Esther presently went on. + +'Now I will tell you another word. Listen. "Blessed is the man whose +strength 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 put +their 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 my +strength is in Him--all my strength. But that makes me strong.' + +She went away with that from the window and the room, leaving the +housekeeper exceedingly confounded; much as if a passing angel's wings +had thrown down a white light upon her brown pathway. And from this +time, it may be said Mrs. Barker regarded her young lady with something +like secret worship. She had always been careful and tender of her +charge; now in spirit she bowed down before her to the ground. For a +while after Esther had left the room she stood very still, like one +upon whom a spell had fallen. She was comparing things; remembering the +look Mrs. Gainsborough had used to wear--sweet, dignified, but +shadowed; then the face that at one time was Esther's face, also sweet +and dignified, but uneasy and troubled and dark; and now--what was her +countenance like? The housekeeper was no poet, nor in any way fanciful; +otherwise she might have likened it to some of the fairest things in +nature; and still the comparison would have fallen short. Sweet as a +white rose; untroubled as the stars; full of hope as the flush of the +morning. Only, in the human creature there was the added element of +_life_, which in all these dead things was wanting. Mrs. Barker +probably 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 open +demonstration of feeling; but Esther's wishes were laws to her, and +Esther's welfare lay nearest her heart of all things in the world. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +_SCHOOL_. + + +After much consideration the colonel had determined that Esther should +be a sort of half boarder at Miss Fairbairn's school; that is, she +should stay there from Monday morning to Saturday night. Esther +combated this determination as far as she dared. + +'Papa, will not that make me a great deal more expense to you than I +need be?' + +'Not much difference, my dear, as to that. If you came back every night +I should have to keep a horse; now that will not be necessary, and +Christopher 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. See +you 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 or +looks. Her face was sensible, with a mixture of the sweet and the +practical which was at least peculiar; and the same mixture was in her +manner. This was calm and gentle in the utmost degree; also cool and +self-possessed equally; and it gave Esther the impression of one who +always knew her own mind and was accustomed to make it the rule for all +around her. A long talk with this lady was the introduction to Esther's +school experience. It was a very varied talk; it roved over a great +many fields and took looks into others; it was not inquisitive or +prying, and yet Esther felt as if her interlocutor were probing her +through and through, and finding out all she knew and all she did not +know. In the latter category, it seemed to Esther, lay almost +everything she ought to have known. Perhaps Miss Fairbairn did not +think so; at any rate her face expressed no disappointment and no +disapproval. + +'In what way have you carried on your study of history, my dear?' she +finally 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, to +her surprise, put with the highest classes in the English branches and +in Latin. + +Her work was immediately delightful. Esther was so buried in it that +she gave little thought or care to anything else, and did not know or +ask what place she took in the esteem of her companions or of her +teachers. As the reader may be more curious, one little occurrence that +happened that week shall serve to illustrate her position; did +illustrate it, in the consciousness of all the school family, only not +of Esther herself. + +It was at dinner one day. There was a long table set, which reached +nearly from the front of the house to the back, through two rooms, +leaving just comfortable space for the servants to move about around +it. Dinner was half through. Miss Fairbairn was speaking of something +in the newspaper of that morning which had interested her, and she +thought would interest the girls. + +'I will read it to you,' she said. 'Miss Gainsborough, may I ask you to +do me a favour? Go and fetch me the paper, my dear; it lies on my table +in 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 Miss +Fairbairn, and glances were exchanged; and perhaps it was as well for +Esther that she did not know how everybody's attention for the moment +was concentrated on her movements. She went and came in happy ignorance. + +Miss Fairbairn received her paper, thanked her, and went on then to +read to the girls an elaborate account of a wonderful wedding which had +lately been celebrated in Washington. The bride's dress was detailed, +her trousseau described, and the subsequent movements of the bridal +party chronicled. All was listened to with eager attention. + +'What do you think of it, Miss Dyckman?' the lady asked after she had +finished 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 the +subject?' + +Esther's mouth opened, and closed. The answer that came first to her +lips was sent back. She had a fine feeling that it was not fit for the +company, a feeling that is expressed in the admonition not to cast +pearls before swine, though that admonition did not occur to her at the +time. She had been about to appeal to the Bible; but her answer as it +was 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 be +read from her face; in other faces Esther read distaste or +disapprobation. + +'Why, Miss Fairbairn, nothing lasts, if you come to that,' cried a +young 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 but +once,' the young lady hazarded. + +That called forth a storm of laughter. Laughter well modulated and kept +within bounds, be it understood; no other was tolerated in Miss +Fairbairn'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 being +married?' + +'Oh, Miss Fairbairn! you know I do not mean that, but all the things +you read to us of: the diamonds, and the beautiful dresses, and the +lace, and the presents; and then the travelling, and doing whatever she +liked.' + +'Very few people do whatever they like,' murmured Miss Fairbairn. + +'I mean all that. And that does not last--only for a while. The +diamonds last, of course'-- + +'But the pleasure of wearing them might not. True. Quite right, Miss +Lawton. But I come back to my question. Is there _no_ happiness on +earth that lasts?' + +There was silence. + +'We are in a bad way, if that is our case. Miss Gainsborough, what do +you say? I come back to you again. Is there any such thing on earth as +happiness, 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 not +certain that her words would find either understanding or sympathy in +all that tableful. Nevertheless, the time had come when they must be +spoken. 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, and +it shall be well with thee."' + +The most profound silence followed this utterance. It had been made in +a steady and clear voice, heard well throughout the rooms, and then +there was silence. Esther fancied she discerned a little sympathetic +moisture in the eyes of Miss Fairbairn, but also that lady at first +said nothing. At last one voice in the distance was understood to +declare that its owner 'did not care about eating the labour of her +hands.' + +'No, my dear, you would surely starve,' replied Miss Fairbairn. 'Is +that 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 to +the righteous that it shall be well with him: for they shall eat the +fruit of their doings." And another word perhaps explains it. "Oh fear +the 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 much +like 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 no +such 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 the +country--very poor; she is an old Christian,--at least so they +say,--and she is _very_ poor. She has lost all her children and +grandchildren; she cannot work any more, and she lives upon charity. +That is, if you call it living. I know she often has very little indeed +to live upon, and that very poor, and she is quite alone; nobody to +take the least care for her, or of her.' + +'So you think she _does_ want some things. Miss Gainsborough, what have +you 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 a +very 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 many +things.' + +'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 convincing +affirmative. 'But the promise is, "No good thing will He withhold from +them that walk uprightly."' + +'There you have it. "No good thing;" and, "from them that walk +uprightly." Miss Disbrow, when you were getting well of that fever, did +your 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 from +you 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 nice +things to eat.' + +'It is quite likely she enjoys her meals more than you do yours. But +granting she does not, are you the physician to know what is good for +her?' + +'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, Miss +Gainsborough, if you wish to go.' + +Esther went, very willingly. Then Miss Fairbairn held one of her little +discourses, with which now and then she endeavoured to edify her pupils. + +'Young ladies, I am going to ask you to take pattern by Miss +Gainsborough. Did you notice her movements when she went to do that +little errand for me?' + +Silence. Then murmurs of assent were heard, not very loud, nor +enthusiastic. Miss Fairbairn did not expect that, nor care. What she +wanted 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 went +round her gracefully, without stopping or stumbling. The servant came +right against her with a tray full; Miss Gainsborough stood still and +waited composedly till the obstacle was removed. You could not hear her +open or shut the door; you could not hear her foot on the stairs, and +yet she went quick. And when she came back, she did not rustle and +bustle with her newspaper, but laid it nicely folded beside me, and +went back to her seat as quietly as she had left it. Young ladies, that +is good breeding in motion.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +_THE COLONEL'S TOAST_. + + +It is just possible that the foregoing experiences did not tend to +increase Esther's popularity among her companions. She got forthwith +the name of _favourite_, the giving of which title is the consolatory +excuse to themselves of those who have done nothing to deserve favour. +However, whether she were popular or not was a matter that did not +concern Esther. She was full of the delight of learning, and bent upon +making the utmost of her new advantages. Study swallowed her up, so to +speak; at least, swallowed up all lesser considerations and attendant +circumstances. Not so far but that Esther got pleasure also from these; +she enjoyed the novelty, she enjoyed the society, even she enjoyed the +sight of so many in the large family; to the solitary girl, who had all +her life lived and worked alone, the stir and breeze and bustle of a +boarding-school were like fresh air to the lungs, or fresh soil to the +plant. Whether her new companions liked her, she did not so much as +question; in the sweetness of her own happy spirit she liked _them_, +which was the more material consideration. She liked every teacher that +had to do with her; after which, it is needless to add, that Miss +Gainsborough had none but favourers and friends in that part of her new +world. And it was so delicious to be learning; and in such a mood one +learns 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 on +Monday morning. + +Christopher came for her with an old horse and a gig, which was a new +subject 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, the +gig 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 the +last century he may have deserved high consideration; at present, he's +got four legs, to be sure, such as they be, and a head. The head's the +most part of him.' + +'Obstinate?' said Esther, laughing. + +'Well, mum, he thinks he knows in all circumstances what is best to be +done. I'm only a human, and naturally I thinks otherwise. That makes +differences of opinion.' + +'He seems to go very well.' + +'No doubt, mum,' said Christopher; 'you let him choose his way, and +he'll go uncommon; that he do.' + +He went so well, in fact, that the drive was exhilarating; the gig was +very easy; and Esther's spirits rose. At her age, the mind is just +opening to appreciate keenly whatever is presented to it; every new bit +of knowledge, every new experience, a new book or a new view, seemed to +be taken up by her senses and her intelligence alike, with a fresh +clearness 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 the +country, and darkening the sky, and carrying with it a penetrating raw +chillness which was anything but agreeable. Yet to Esther it was good +weather. She was entered at school; she had had a busy, happy week, and +was going home; there were things at home that she wanted to put in +order; and her father must be glad to have her ministry again. Then +learning was so delightful, and it was so pleasant to be, at least in +some small measure, keeping step with Pitt. No, probably not _that;_ +certainly not that; Pitt would be far in advance of her. At least, in +some things, he would be far in advance of her; in others, Esther said +to herself, he should not. He might have more advantages at Oxford, no +doubt; 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 measure +of possibilities. Would Pitt come back? Surely he would, Esther +thought. But would he, in such a case, make all the journey to New York +to look up his old teacher and his old playmate and scholar? She +answered this query with as little hesitation as the other. And so, it +will be perceived, Esther's mind was in as brisk motion as her body +during the drive out to Chelsea. + +For at that day a wide stretch of country, more or less cultivated, lay +between 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 of +the river; a drive of a mile and a half or two miles from Miss +Fairbairn's school; and the short November day was closing in already +when she got there. + +Mrs. Barker received her almost silently, but with gladness in every +feature, and with a quantity of careful, tender ministrations, every +one 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 his +feelin's were, but in course he's missed you. The house itself has +missed 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 a +holiday's a holiday; and I've got a nice pheasant for your supper, Miss +Esther, and I hope as you'll enjoy it.' + +'Thank you, Barker. Oh, anything will be good;' and she ran into the +sitting-room to see her father. + +The greetings here were quiet, too; the colonel was never otherwise, in +manner. And then Esther gave a quick look round the room to see if all +were as she wanted it to be. + +'My dear,' said the colonel, gazing at her, 'I had no idea you were so +tall!' + +Esther laughed. I seem to have grown, oh, inches, in feeling, this +week, papa. I don't wonder I look tall.' + +'Never "wonder," my dear, at anything. Are you satisfied with your new +position?' + +'Very much, papa. Have you missed me?--badly, I mean?' + +'There is no way of missing a person pleasantly, that I know,' said her +father; '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's +wonted way was somewhat dry and self-contained. The fact that this was +an unwonted occasion might have made a difference, she thought; and was +a little disappointed that it did not; but then, as the colonel went +back to his book, she put off further discussions till supper-time, and +ran away to see to some of the house arrangements which she had upon +her heart. In these she was soon gaily busy; finding the work +delightful after the long interval of purely mental action. She had +done a good many things, she felt with pleasure, before she was called +to tea. Then it was with new enjoyment that she found herself +ministering to her father again; making his toast just as he liked it, +pouring out his tea, and watching over his wants. The colonel seemed to +take up things simply where she had left them; and was almost as silent +as 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 do +somethings as they ought to be done. Toast is one of the things. They +are 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. They +always think toast is done when it is brown, and the browner the +better, I should say. Also it is beyond their comprehension that +thickness makes a difference. There was an old soldier once I had under +me in India; he was my servant; he was the only man I ever saw who +could 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 very +competent woman.' + +'So I thought. What is the matter with the tea, papa--the tea she +makes?' + +'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 ought +to be.' + +'No good toast and no good tea! Papa, I am afraid you have missed me +very much at meal times?' + +'I have missed you at all times--more than I thought possible. But it +cannot 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. The +matter in hand is, that you should grow up to be a perfect +woman--perfect as your mother was; that would have been her wish, and +it is mine. To that all other things must give way. I wish you to have +every information and every accomplishment that it is possible for you +in 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 cannot +yet be the same advantages here as in an old country, which has been +educating its sons and its daughters in the most perfect way for +hundreds 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 had +certainly got an impression that it was not so very long since +England's educational provisions and practices, for England's daughters +at least, had been open to great criticism, and displayed great lack of +the desirable. 'Hundreds of years!' But she offered no contradiction to +her father's remark. + +'I would like you to be equal to any Englishwoman in your acquirements +and accomplishments,' he repeated musingly. 'So far as in New York that +is possible.' + +'I will try what I can do, papa. And, after all, it depends more on the +girl than on the school, does it not?' + +'Humph! Well, a good deal depends on you, certainly. Did Miss Fairbairn +find 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 week +been pleasant?' + +'Yes, sir. I like it very much, and I think she likes me--if only you +get on well, papa. How have you been all these days?' + +'Not very well. I think, not so well as at Seaforth. The air here does +not agree with me. There is a rawness--I do not know what--a peculiar +quality, which I did not find at Seaforth. It affects my breast +disagreeably.' + +'But, dear papa!' cried Esther in dismay, 'if this place does not agree +with 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 care +to live only so far as I can be of service to you, and while you need +me, my child.' + +'Papa, when should I not need you?' cried Esther, feeling as if her +breath were taken away by this view of things. + +'The children grow up to be independent of the parents,' said the +colonel, somewhat abstractly. 'It is the way of nature. It must be; for +the 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. That +is what we have come here for. We have taken the step, and we cannot go +back.' + +'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 and +drunk up his tea, turned to his book. Esther remained greatly chilled +and cast down. Was her advantage to be bought at the cost of shortening +her father's life? Was her rich enjoyment of study and mental growth to +be balanced by suffering and weariness on his part?--every day of her +new life in school to be paid for by such a day's price at home? Esther +could not bear to think it. She sat pondering, chewing the bitter cud +of these considerations. She longed to discuss them further, and get +rid, if possible, of her father's dismal conclusions; but with him she +could not, and there was no other. When her father had settled and +dismissed a subject, she could rarely re-open a discussion upon it. The +colonel was an old soldier; when he had delivered an opinion, he had in +a sort given his orders; to question was almost to be guilty of +insubordination. He had gone back to his book, and Esther dared not say +another word; all the more her thoughts burnt within her, and for a +long time she sat musing, going over a great many things besides those +they had been talking of. + +'Papa,' she said, once when the colonel stirred and let his book fall +for a minute, 'do you think Pitt Dallas will come home at all?' + +'William Dallas! why should he not come home? His parents will want to +see 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 his +terms.' + +'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 is +as usual judicious. The fact that William will have a great deal of +money does not affect the matter at all. It is my belief that every man +ought 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. I +should 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 us +here?' + +'Come to see us? If anything brings him to New York, I have no doubt he +will look us up.' + +'You do not think he would come all the way on purpose? Papa, he would +be very much changed if he did not.' + +'Impossible to say, my dear. He is very likely to have changed.' And +the colonel went back to his reading. + +'Papa does not care about it,' thought Esther. 'Oh, can Pitt be so much +changed as that?' + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +_A QUESTION_. + + +The identically same doubt busied some minds in another quarter, where +Mr. and Mrs. Dallas sat expecting their son home. They were not so much +concerned with it through the winter; the Gainsboroughs had been +happily got rid of, and were no longer in dangerous proximity; that was +enough for the time. But as the spring came on and the summer drew +nigh, the thought would recur to Pitt's father and mother, whether +after all they were safe. + +'He mentions them in every letter he writes,' Mrs. Dallas said. She and +her husband were sitting as usual in their respective easy chairs on +either side of the fire. Not for that they were infirm, for there was +nothing of that; they were only comfortable. Mrs. Dallas was knitting +some bright wools, just now mechanically, and with a knitted brow; her +husband'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 he +comes 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 be +a 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 mother +thoughtfully. 'Not much.' + +'You will see more of it when he comes. What do you say in answer to +his inquiries?' + +'About the Gainsboroughs? Nothing. I never allude to them.' + +Silence. Mr. Dallas read his paper comfortably. Mrs. Dallas's brow was +still careful. + +'It would be like him as he used to be, if he were to make the journey +to New York to find them. And if we should seem to oppose him, it might +set 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 care +for 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 are +incorrigible dissenters, and I do _not_ want Pitt's wife to be of that +persuasion.' + +'I won't have it, either.' + +'Then we shall do well to think how we can prevent it. If we could have +somebody here to take up his attention at least'-- + +'Preoccupy the ground,' said Mr. Dallas. 'The colonel would say that is +good strategy.' + +'I do not mean strategy,' said Mrs. Dallas. 'I want Pitt to fancy a +woman 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, half +amused, half sharing his wife's anxiety. 'Would she make a comfortable +daughter-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 through +her fingers. Perhaps her husband's tone had implied doubt. + +'If she can catch him,' Mr. Dallas repeated. 'There is no calculating +on these things. Cupid's arrows fly wild--for the most part.' + +'I will ask her to come and spend the summer here,' Mrs. Dallas went +on. 'There is nothing like propinquity.' + +In those days the crossing of the Atlantic was a long business, done +solely by the help or with the hindrance of the winds. And there was no +telegraphing, to give the quick notice of a loved one's arrival as soon +as he touched the shore. So Mr. and Mrs. Dallas had an anxious time of +watching and uncertainty, for they could not tell when Pitt might be +with them. It lasted, this time of anxiety, till Seaforth had been in +its full summer dress for some weeks; and it was near the end of a fair +warm day in July that he at last came. The table was set for tea, and +the master and mistress of the house were seated in their places on +either side the fireplace, where now instead of a fire there was a huge +jar full of hemlock branches. The slant sunbeams were stretching across +the village street, making that peaceful alternation of broad light and +still shadows which is so reposeful to the eye that looks upon it. Then +Mrs. Dallas's eye, which was not equally reposeful, saw a buggy drive +up and stop before the gate, and her worsteds fell from her hands and +her lap as she rose. + +'Husband, he is come' she said, with the quietness of intensity; and +the next moment Pitt was there. + +Yes, he had grown to be a man; he was changed; there was the conscious +gravity of a man in his look and bearing; the cool collectedness that +belongs to maturer years; the traces of thought and the lines of +purpose. It had been all more or less to be seen in her boy before, but +now the mother confessed to herself the growth and increase of every +manly and promising trait in the face and figure she loved. That is, as +soon as the first rush of delight had had its due expression, and the +first broken and scattering words were spoken, and the three sat down +to look at each other. The mother watched the broad brow, which was +whiter than it used to be; the fine shoulders, which were even +straighter and broader than of old; and the father noticed that his son +overtopped him. And Mrs. Dallas's eyes shone with an incipient moisture +which betrayed a soft mood she had to combat with; for she was not a +woman who liked sentimental scenes; while in her husband's grey orbs +there flashed out every now and then a fire of satisfied pride, which +was 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 been +just the right place to send him to. He said little; it was the other +two who did most of the talking. The talking itself for some time was +of that disjointed, insignificant character which is all that can get +out when minds are so full, and enough when hearts are so happy. +Indeed, for all that evening they could not advance much further. Eyes +supplemented tongues sufficiently. It was not till a night's sleep and +the light of a new day had brought them in a manner to themselves that +anything less fragmentary could be entered upon. At breakfast all +parties seemed to have settled down into a sober consciousness of +satisfied desire. Then Mr. Dallas asked his son how he liked Oxford? + +Pitt exhausted himself in giving both the how and the why. Yet no +longer like a boy. + +'Think you'll end by settling in England, eh?' said his father, with +seeming carelessness. + +'I have not thought of it, sir.' + +'What's made old Strahan take such a fancy to you? Seems to be a +regular love affair.' + +'He is a good friend to me,' Pitt answered seriously. 'He has shown it +in 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 I +say is still true, sir. What is the use of Oxford?' + +'Humph!' said his father. 'The use of Oxford is to teach young men of +fortune 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 the +elder man, looking from under lowered eyelids, in a peculiar way he +had, 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 occasionally +where it has got to be the master.' + +'What do you mean by that?' + +'A man unable to be anything and spoiled for doing anything worth +while, because he has so much of it; a man whose property is so large +that 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 other +kind, Pitt. What passes for it is just fancy, and struggling to make +believe. The really independent man is the man who need not ask anybody +else's leave to do anything.' + +Pitt let the question drop, and went on with his breakfast, for which +he 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 so +pleasant as to see Pitt eat his breakfast, and nothing in the world so +important to do as to furnish him with satisfactory material. Yet she +was not a foolish woman, and preserved all the time her somewhat +stately presence and manner; it was in little actions and words now and +then that this care for her son's indulgence and delight in it made +itself manifest. It was manifest enough to the two who sat at breakfast +with her; Mr. Dallas observing it with a secret smile, his son with a +grateful swelling of the heart, which a glance and a word sometimes +conveyed to his mother. Mrs. Dallas's contentment this morning was +absolute and unqualified. There could be no doubt what Betty Frere +would think, she said to herself. Every quality that ought to grace a +young man, she thought she saw embodied before her. The broad brow, and +the straight eyebrow, and the firm lips, expressed what was congenial +to Mrs. Dallas's soul; a mingling of intelligence and will, well +defined, clear and strong; but also sweet. There was thoughtfulness but +no shadow in the fine hazel eyes; no cloud on the brow; and the smile +when it came was frank and affectionate. His manner pleased Mrs. Dallas +infinitely; it had all the finish of the best breeding, and she was +able to recognise this. + +'What are you going to be, Pitt?' his father broke in upon some +laughing 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 know +I intend you to study for a profession. Which profession would you +choose?' + +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,' Pitt +went on in the same manner, which immediately fastened his mother's +attention. + +'Perhaps you will go on and explain yourself,' said his father. 'It is +good 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 his +own thoughts to regard his father's manner. 'At least the conclusion +cannot be secret.' + +'It might do no harm to discuss the subject,' said his father, still +lightly. + +'I cannot see how it would do any good. It is my own affair. And I +thought 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 mother +said 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 have +been 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 was +the 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 two +parties. Before going any farther, I had a mind to determine to which +of them I would belong. How can a navigator lay his course, unless he +knows his goal?' + +'But, my boy,' said his mother, now anxiously and perplexedly, 'what do +you 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 out +of sight; Mrs. Dallas, obeying the same instinctive impulse, kept hers +hidden behind the screen of her coffee-urn, for she would not her son +should see in it the effect of his words. Her answer, however, was +instantaneous: + +'But, my dear, you _are_ a Christian.' + +'Am I? Since when, mother?' + +'Pitt, you were baptized in infancy,--you were baptized by that good +and excellent Bishop Downing, as good a man, and as holy, as ever was +consecrated, here or anywhere. He baptized you before you were two +months 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 an +inheritor 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 what +sense is it true?' + +'My dear!--in every sense. How can you ask? It is part of the +Prayer-Book.' + +'It is not part of my experience. Up to this time, my life and +conscience know nothing about it. Mother, the Bible gives certain marks +of the people whom it calls "disciples" and "Christians." I do not find +them 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 look +with one of intense worry and perplexity. 'What do you mean?' she said +helplessly; 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 explain +yourself.' + +'I owe it to you to answer,' the young man said thoughtfully; 'it is +better, perhaps, you should know where I am, that you may at least be +patient with me if I do not respond quite as you would wish to your +expectations. Mother, I have been studying this matter a great while; +but as to the preliminary question, whether I am already what the Bible +describes Christians to be, I have been under no delusion at all. The +marks are plain enough, and they are not in me.' + +'What marks?' + +'It is a personal matter,' Pitt went on a little unwillingly; 'it must +be fought through somehow in my own mind; but some things are plain +enough. Mother, the servants of Christ "follow" Him; it is the test of +their service; I never did, nor ever thought or cared what the words +meant. The children of God are known by the fact that they love Him and +keep his commandments. So the Bible says. I have not loved Him, and +have not asked about His commandments. I have always sought my own +pleasure. The heirs of the kingdom of heaven have chosen that world +instead of this; and between the two is just the choice I have yet to +make. That is precisely where I am.' + +'But, my dear Pitt,' said Mrs. Dallas, while her husband kept an +ominous silence, 'you have always led a most blameless life. I think +you judge yourself too hardly. You have been a good son, always!' and +her eyes filled, partly with affection and partly with chagrin. To what +was 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 to +nothing. I did not know what I was doing. I did not think of the +meaning the words might bear. It was to me a mere form, done because +you wished it, and because it was said to be proper; the right thing to +do; I attached no weight to it, and lived just the same after as +before. Except that for a few days I went under a little feeling of +constraint, I remember, and also carried my head higher with a sense of +added 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 of +interpretation. For instance'-- + +'Let that be,' said Mr. Dallas; 'and tell us, if you can, what is your +idea 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 not +signify 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 been +found so in practice. I see it to be impracticable.' + +'_I_ do not. Where's the impracticability?' Mr. Dallas had wheeled +round now and was regarding his son attentively, with a face of +superior, cold, rather scornful calm. Mr. Dallas's face was rarely +anything else but calm, whatever might be going on beneath the calm. +Pitt's face was not exactly so quiet; thought was working in it, and +lights and shades sometimes passed over it, which his father carefully +studied. 'Where's the impossibility?' he repeated, as Pitt's answer +tarried. + +'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 be +checked or embarrassed by coming against that barrier to enthusiasm, a +cold, hard intellect. Pitt, however, was quite as devoid of enthusiasm +at the moment as his father, and far more sure of his ground, while his +intellect was full as much astir. His steadiness was not shaken, rather +gained force, as he went on to speak, though he did not now lift his +eyes, but sat looking down at the white damask which covered the +breakfast table, having pushed his plate and cup away from him. + +'Father and mother,' he said, 'I have been looking at two opposite +goals. 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 know +what I have to do. I suppose it is what you want me to do. I should +distinguish myself, if I can; climb the heights of greatness; make +myself a name, and a place, and then live there, as much above the rest +of 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 a +career bounded by this world, and ended when one quits it. You ask why +it 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 do +not live for my own pleasure; I apply all I have, of talents or means +or influence, to doing the will of a Master whose kingdom is not of +this world, and whose ways are not liked by the world. I see very +plainly what His commands are, and they bid one be unlike the world and +separate 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 is +extravagance.' + +Pitt rose, went to the table, where a large family Bible and Book of +Common Prayer lay, and fetched the Bible to the breakfast-table. During +which procedure Mr. Dallas shoved his chair round again, to gain his +former position, and Mrs. Dallas passed her hand over her eyes once or +twice, with her a gesture of extreme disturbance. Pitt brought his +book, opened it on the table before him, and after a little turning of +the leaves stopped and read the following: + +'"If ye were of the world, the world would love his own; but because ye +are not of the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, therefore +the world hateth you."' + +'Yes, _at that time_,' said Mrs. Dallas eagerly,--'at that time. Then +the 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 men +more than the praise of God. They chose this world. But the apostle +James,--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 asked +reprovingly. + +'I should say,' Mr. Dallas remarked with an amused, indifferent +tone,--'I should say that Pitt had been attending a conventicle; only +at Oxford that is hardly possible.' + +The young man made no answer to either speaker; he remained with his +head 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 at +her. 'I thought it right to tell you all this, that you may know just +where I stand. Of course I have thought of the question of a +profession; but this other comes first, and I feel it ought first to be +decided.' + +With which utterance the young man rose, put the big Bible in its +place, 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 not +much in Pitt's way; but, however, it seems his turn has come. There are +worse types of the disorder. I would rather have this Puritan scruple +to deal with than some other things. The religious craze passes off +easier 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 to +anything he once resolved upon.' + +'He is not resolved upon this yet. Distraction is the best thing, not +talk. Where's Betty Frere? I thought she was coming.' + +'She is coming. She will be here in a few days. I cannot imagine what +has set Pitt upon this strange way of thinking. He has got hold of some +Methodist or some other dreadful person; but where? It couldn't be at +Oxford; and I am certain it was never in Uncle Strahan's house; where +could 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 of +many a pleasant hour, and where those aforetime lessons to Esther +Gainsborough had been given. He stood and looked about him. All was +severe order and emptiness, telling that the master had been away; his +treasures were safe packed up, under lock and key, or stowed away upon +cupboard shelves; there was no pleasant litter on tables and floor, +alluring to work or play. Was that old life, of work and play which +mixed and mingled, light-hearted and sweet, gone for ever? Pitt stood +in the middle of the floor looking about him, gathering up many a +broken thread of association; and then, obeying an impulse which had +been 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 summer +sun beating down on the wide space and making every big tree shadow +grateful. Great overarching elms, sometimes an oak or a maple, ranged +along in straight course and near neighbourhood, making the village +look green and bowery, and giving the impression of an easy-going +thrift and habit of pleasant conditions, which perhaps was not untrue +to the character of the people. The capital order in which everything +was kept confirmed the impression. Pitt, however, was not thinking of +this, though he noticed it; the village was familiar to him from his +childhood, and looked just as it had always done, only that the elms +and maples had grown a little more bowery with every year. He walked +along, not thinking of that, nor seeing the roses and syringa blossoms +which gave him a sweet breath out of some of the gardens. He was not in +a hurry. He was going back in mind to that which furnished the real +answer to his mother's wondering query,--whence Pitt could have got his +new ideas? It was nobody at Oxford or in London, neither conventicle +nor discourse; but a girl's letter. He went on and on, thinking of it +and of the writer. What would _she_ say to his disclosures, which his +father and mother could do nothing with? Would she be in condition to +give 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 present +thoughts, and her house the point his footsteps were seeking, slowly +and thoughtfully. + +He was not in a hurry. Indeed, he was too absorbedly busy with his own +cogitations and questions to give full place to the thought of Esther +and the visit he was about to make. Besides, it was not as in the old +time. He had no image before him now of a forlorn, lonely child, +awaiting his coming as the flowers look for the sun. Things were rather +turned about; he thought of Esther as the one in the sunlight, and +himself as in need of illumination. He thought of her as needing no +comfort that he could give; he half hoped to find the way to peace +through her leading. But yes, she would be glad to see him; she would +not have forgotten him nor lost her old affection for her old +playfellow, though the entire cessation of letters from either her or +her father had certainly been inexplicable. Probably it might be +explained by some crankiness of the colonel. Esther would certainly be +glad 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 so +different from what he remembered. Truly it had been always a quiet +house, with never a rush of company or a crowd of voices; but there had +been life; and now?--Pitt stood still at the little gate and looked, +with a sudden blank of disappointment. There could be nobody there. The +house was shut up and dead. Not a window was open; not a door. In the +little front garden the flowers had grown up wild and were struggling +with weeds; the grass of the lawn at the side was rank and unmown; the +honeysuckle vines in places were hanging loose and uncared-for, waving +in the wind in a way that said eloquently, 'Nobody is here.' There was +not much wind that summer day, just enough to move the honeysuckle +sprays. Pitt stood and looked and queried; then yielding to some +unconscious impulse, he went in through the neglected flowers to the +deserted verandah, and spent a quarter of an hour in twining and +securing the loose vines. He was thinking hard all the time. This was +the place where he remembered sitting with Esther that day when she +asked help of him about getting comfort. He remembered it well; he +recalled the girl's subdued manner, and the sorrowful craving in the +large beautiful eyes. _Now_ Esther had found what she sought, and +to-day he was nearly as unable to understand her as he had been to help +her then. He fastened up the honeysuckles, and then he went and sat +down on the step of the verandah and took Esther's letter out of his +breast pocket, and read it over. He had read it many times. He did not +comprehend it; but this he comprehended--that to her at least there was +something in religion more heartfelt than a form, and more satisfying +than a profession. To her it was a reality. The letter had set him +thinking, and he had been thinking ever since. He had come here this +morning, hoping that in talking with her she might perhaps give him +some more light, and now she had disappeared. Strange that his mother +should not have told him! What could be the explanation of this sudden +disappearance? Disaster or death it could not be, for that she +certainly would have told him. + +Sitting there and musing over many things, his own great question ever +and again, he heard a mower whetting his scythe somewhere in the +neighbourhood. Pitt set about searching for the unseen labourer, and +presently saw the man, who was cutting the grass in an adjoining field. +Dismissing thought for action, in two minutes he had sprung over the +fence and was beside the man; but the mower did not intermit the long +sweeps of his scythe, until he heard Pitt's civil 'Good morning.' Then +he stopped, straightened himself up, and looked at his visitor--looked +him 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, I +think the honest worker would have offered his hand; but the white +linen summer suit, the polished boots, the delicate gloves, were too +much of a contrast with his own dusty and rough exterior. It was no +feeling of inferiority, be it well understood, that moved him to this +bit of self-denial; only a self-respecting feeling of fitness. He +himself would not have wanted to touch a dusty hand with those gloves +on 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 the +man, wiping his scythe blade with a wisp of grass; needlessly, for he +had just whetted it; but it gave him an opportunity to look at the +figure beside him. + +'More than I deserve,' said Pitt. 'But I seem not to find some of my +old 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. The +squoire, 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,' said +the 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 nobody +that wants it. The folks in Seaforth all hez their own houses, and +don't want nobody else's. There _is_ folks, they say, as 'd like to +live in two houses to once, _ef_ they could manage it; but I never +heerd 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 never +heerd 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's +different opinions, I suppose, on that p'int. As on every other! Folks +du say, the cunnel warn't never to hum in Seaforth. Anyway, he ain't +now.' + +With which utterance he went to mowing again, and Pitt, after a +courteous 'Good day,' left him. + +Where could they be gone? And why should they have gone? And how was it +that 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 he +would not find? And his father had bought the ground! There was +something here to be inquired into. Meanwhile, for the present, he must +do his thinking without Esther. + +He walked on and on, slowly, under the shade of the great trees, along +the empty, grassy street. He had plucked one or two shoots from the +honeysuckles, long shoots full of sweetness; and as he went on and +thought, 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 and +sweetness and truth. Not _her_ sweetness and truth, but that which she +testified to, and which an inner voice in Pitt's heart kept declaring +to be genuine. That lured him and beckoned him one way; and the other +way sounded voices as if of a thousand sirens. Pleasure, pride, +distinction, dominion, applause, achievement, power, and ease. Various +forms of them, various colours, started up before his mind's eye; +vaguely discerned, as to individual form, but every one of them, like +the picadors in a bull-fight, shaking its little banner of distraction +and allurement. Pitt felt the confusion of them, and at the same time +was more than vaguely conscious on the other side of a certain steady +white light which attracted towards another goal. He walked on in +meditative musing, slowly and carelessly, not knowing where he was +going nor what he passed on the way; till he had walked far. And then +he suddenly stopped, turned, and set out to go back the road he had +come, but now with a quick, measured, steady footfall which gave no +indication of a vacillating mind or a laboured question. + +He went into the breakfast-room when he got home, which was also the +common sitting-room and where he found, as he expected, his mother +alone. 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 he +now went forward to stick them in the huge jar which occupied the +fireplace, and which was full of green branches. Turning when he had +done this, he did not draw up a chair, but threw himself down upon the +rug at his mother's feet, so that he could lay back his head upon her +knees. Presently he put up his two hands behind him and found her +hands, which he gently drew down and laid on each side of his head, +holding them there in caressing fashion. Caresses were never the order +of the day in this family; rarely exchanged even between mother and +son, who yet were devoted faithfully to each other. The action moved +Mrs. 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 thick +brown wavy locks of hair that were such a pride to her. She admired him +unqualifiedly, with that blissful delight in him which a good mother +gives to her son, if his bodily and mental properties will anyway allow +of it. Mrs. Dallas's pride in this son had always been satisfied and +unalloyed; all the more now was the chagrin she felt at the first jar +to this satisfaction. Her face showed both feelings, the pride and the +trouble, but for a time she kept silence. She was burning to discuss +further with him the subject of the morning; devoured with restless +curiosity as to how it could ever have got such a lodgment in Pitt's +mind; at the same time she did not know how to touch it, and was afraid +of touching it wrong. Her husband's counsel, _not to talk_, she did not +indeed forget; but Mrs. Dallas had her own views of things, and did not +always 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 own +thoughts. + +'I have invited somebody to come and make your holiday pass +pleasantly,' Mrs. Dallas said at last, beginning far away from the +burden of her thoughts. + +'Somebody?--whom?' asked Pitt a little eagerly, but without changing +his attitude. + +'Miss Betty Frere.' + +'Who is she, that she should put her hand on my holiday? I do not want +any 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 in +Washington this year. She is a sort of cousin of your father's, too; +distant, but enough to make a connection. You will see for yourself +what 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 time +pass pleasantly for you.' + +'Which means, that I must help you make the time pass pleasantly for +her.' + +'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 have +made 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 a +woman had married me for money, or if I knew I had married _her_ for +money, there would be no peace in my house.' + +Mrs. Dallas laughed a little. 'You will have no need to do the latter +thing,' 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 head +round to look up into her face. 'Go on, mother.' + +'I am sure your father would never object to a girl because she was +poor, 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. I +should 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 danger +yet.' + +'I thought this morning,' said his mother, hesitating,--'I was afraid, +from what you said, that some Methodist, or some other Dissenter, might +have got hold of you.' + +Pitt was silent. The word struck him, and jarred a little. Was his +mother not grazing the truth? And a vague notion rose in his mind, +without actually taking shape, which just now he had not time to attend +to, but which cast a shadow, like a young cloud. He was silent, and his +mother after a little pause went on. + +'Methodists and Dissenters are not much in Mr. Strahan's way, I am +sure; 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 what +they mean, and how you came by them?' + +He did not immediately answer. + +'I have been thinking on this subject a good while,' he said +slowly,--'a good while. You know, Mr. Strahan is a great antiquary, and +very full of knowledge about London. He has taken pleasure in going +about with me, and instructing me, and he is capital company; but at +last I learned enough to go by myself sometimes, without him; and I +used to ramble about through the places where he had taken me, to +review and examine and ponder things at my leisure. I grew very fond of +London. It is like an immense illustrated book of history. + +'One day I was wandering in one of the busy parts of the city, and +turned aside out of the roar and the bustle into a little chapel, lying +close to the roar but separate from it. I had been there before, and +knew there were some fine marbles in the place; one especially, that I +wanted to see again. I was alone that day, and could take my time; and +I went in. It is the tomb of some old dignitary who lived several +centuries ago. I do not know what he was in life; but in death, as this +effigy represents him, it is something beautiful to look upon. I forget +at this minute the name of the sculptor; his work I shall never forget. +It is wonderfully fine. The gravity, and the sweetness, and the +ineffable repose of the figure, are beyond praise. I stood looking, +studying, thinking, I cannot tell for how long--or rather feeling than +thinking, at the moment. When I left the chapel and came out again into +the 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 that +infinite repose I carried with me, and the rush of human life filled +the streets I had just come through behind me, and I looked at the +contrast of things. There, for ages already, that quiet; here, for a +day or two, this driving and struggling. Even suppose it be successful +struggling, 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 held +in 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 this +conversation. She looked down on the figure before her,--Pitt was still +sitting 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 which +indicated also the life and vigour of the spirit moving it. He was the +very man to fight the battle of life with distinguished success--she +had looked forward to his doing it, counted upon it, built her pride +upon it; what did he mean now? Was all that power and energy and +ability to be thrown away? Would he decline to fill the place in the +world which she had hoped to see him fill, and which he could so well +fill? Young people do have foolish fancies, and they pass over; but a +fancy of this sort, just at Pitt's age, might be fatal. She was glad it +was _herself_ and not his father who was his confidant, for Pitt, she +well knew, was one neither to be bullied nor cajoled. But what should +she say to him? + +'My dear, I think it is duty,' she ventured at last. 'Everybody must be +put 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, calm +tones of a person long familiar with the thoughts to which he gave +utterance; indeed, alarmingly suggestive that he had made up his mind +about them. + +'Pitt, why do you not speak to a clergyman? He could set you right +better than I can.' + +'I have, mamma.' + +'To what clergyman?' + +'To Dr. Calcott of Oxford, and to Dr. Plympton, the rector of the +church to which Uncle Strahan goes.' + +'What did they say?' + +'Dr. Calcott said I had been studying too hard, and wanted a little +distraction; he thought I was morbid, and warned me against possible +listening to Methodists. Said I was a good fellow, only it was a +mistake 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 apprehend +both.' + +'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.--whom +did 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 did +not laugh. + +'I quoted some words to him out of the Bible, and he said he did not +know what they meant.' + +'I should think he ought to know.' + +'So I thought. But he said it was for the Church to decide what they +meant.' + +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 to +enable him to look in her face. + +'Mother,' said he, 'what do you think those words mean in one of the +psalms,--"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 the +wording 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 in +the 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 things +which 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. David +was "exceeding glad"--and what made him glad? that I want to know.' + +Pitt's thoughts were busy with the innocent letter he had once +received, in which a young and unlearned girl had given precisely the +same testimony as the inspired royal singer. Precisely the same. And +surely what Esther had found, another could find, and he might find. +But while he was musing, Mrs. Dallas grew more and more uneasy. She +knew better than to try the force of persuasion upon her son. It would +not avail; and Mrs. Dallas was a proud woman, too proud to ask what +would not be granted, or to resist forcefully what she might not resist +successfully. She never withstood her husband's plans, or asked him to +change them, except in cases when she knew her opposition could be made +effective; so it did not at all follow that she was pleased where she +made 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 of +power she was tempted to be a little vexed. + +'My dear,' she said, 'what you say sounds to me very like Methodist +talk! 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 all +the world like them.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +_DISAPPOINTMENT_. + + +It was not till the little family were seated at the dinner-table, that +Pitt alluded to the object of his morning ramble. + +'I went to see Colonel Gainsborough this morning,' he began; 'and to my +astonishment 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 sensible +desire.' + +'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 the +matter was of any great interest to you.' + +Mrs. Dallas had said just a word too much. Her last sentence set Pitt +to 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 whereabouts +they are would be rather a help, you see.' + +'You have not got to look them up!' said his father gruffly. 'What +business is it of yours? If they were here, it would be all very well +for you to pay your respects to the colonel; it would be due; but as it +is, 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 friendship +like that of a man's father and mother. Do you know what a piece of +time it would take for you to go to New York to look up a man who lives +you do not know where?--what a piece of your vacation?' + +'More than I like to think of,' said Pitt; 'but it will have to be +done.' + +'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 was +angry and hurt, as near tears as she often came; but Mrs. Dallas was +not 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 father +inquired, 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, you +say.' + +'I should have heard, if anything had happened to him.' + +'That is not certain, either,' said Pitt, thinking that Esther's +applying to his father and mother in case of distress was more than +doubtful. + +'How can you look after the daughter in the event of her father's +death? _You_ are not the person to do it,' said his mother. + +'I am the person who have promised to do it,' said Pitt quietly. 'Never +mind, mother; you see I must go, and the sooner the better. I will take +the stage to-morrow morning.' + +'You might wait and try first what a letter might do,' suggested his +father. + +'Yes, sir; but you remember Colonel Gainsborough had very little to do +with the post office. He never received letters, and he had ceased +taking the London _Times_. My letter might lie weeks unclaimed. I must +go myself.' + +And he went, and stayed a week away. It was a busy week; at least the +days in the city were busily filled. Pitt inquired at the post office; +but, as he more than half expected, nobody knew anything of Colonel +Gainsborough's address. One official had an impression he had heard the +name; that was all. Pitt beleaguered the post office, that is, he sat +down before it, figuratively, for really he sat down in it, and let +nobody go out or come in without his knowledge. It availed nothing. +Either Christopher did not at all make his appearance at the post +office during those days, or he came at some moment when Pitt was gone +to 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 saw +and heard nothing which led to the object of his quest. He made +inquiries elsewhere, wherever he could think it might be useful; but +the end was, he heard nothing. He stayed three days; he could stay no +longer, for his holiday was very exactly and narrowly measured out, and +he 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 Frere +was hindered by some domestic event from keeping her promise to Mrs. +Dallas. She did not come. Pitt was glad of it; and, seeing they were +now free from the danger of Esther, his father and mother were glad of +it too. The days were untroubled by either fear or anxiety, while their +son made the sunshine of the house for them; and when he went away he +left 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 the +Hudson was somewhat different. Esther had her vacation too, which gave +her opportunity to finish everything in the arrangements at home for +which time had hitherto been lacking. The girl went softly round the +house, putting a touch of grace and prettiness upon every room. It +excited Mrs. Barker's honest admiration. Here it was a curtain; there +it was a set of toilet furniture; in another place a fresh chintz +cover; in a fourth, a rug that matched the carpet and hid an ugly darn +in 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 even +ask for Mrs. Barker's time, and they were little things, but the effect +of them was not so. They gave the house that finished, comfortable, +home-like air, which nothing does give but the graceful touch of a +woman's fingers. Mrs. Barker admired; the colonel did not see what was +done; but Esther did not work for admiration. She was satisfying the +demand of her own nature, which in all things she had to do with called +for finish, fitness, and grace; her fingers were charmed fingers, +because the soul that governed them had itself such a charm, and worked +by its own standard, as a honey bee makes her cell. Indeed, the simile +of the honey bee would fit in more points than one; for the cell of the +little winged worker is not fuller of sweetness than the girl made all +her own particular domicile. If the whole truth must be told, however, +there was another thought stirring in her, as she hung her curtains and +laid her rugs; a half recognised thought, which gave a zest to every +additional touch of comfort or prettiness which she bestowed on the +house. She thought Pitt would be there, and she wanted the impression +made upon him to be the pleasantest possible. He would surely be there; +he was coming home; he would never let the vacation go by without +trying to find his old friends. It was a constant spring of pleasure to +Esther, that secret hope. She said nothing about it; her father, she +knew, did not care so much for Pitt Dallas as she did; but privately +she counted the days and measured the time, and went into countless +calculations for which she possessed no sufficient data. She knew that, +yet she could not help calculating. The whole summer was sweetened and +enlivened by these calculations, although indeed they were a little +like some of those sweets which bite the tongue. + +But the summer went by, as we know, and nothing was seen of the +expected visitor. September came, and Esther almost counted the hours, +waking up in the morning with a beat of the heart, thinking, to-day he +may come! and lying down at night with a despairing sense that the time +was slipping away, and her only consolation that there was some yet +left. She said nothing about it; she watched the days of the vacation +all out, and went to school again towards the end of the month with a +heart very disappointed, and troubled besides by that feeling of +unknown and therefore unreachable hindrances, which is so tormenting. +Something the matter, and you do not know what and therefore you cannot +act to mend matters. Esther was sadly disappointed. Three years now, +and she had grown and he had changed,--must have changed,--and if the +old friendship were at all to be preserved, the friends ought to see +each other before the gap grew too wide, and before too many things +rushed in to fill it which might work separation and not union. +Esther's feelings were of the most innocent and childlike, but very +warm. Pitt had been very good to her; he had been like an elder +brother, and in that light she remembered him and wished for him. The +fact that she was a child no longer did not change all this. Esther had +lived alone with her father, and kept her simplicity. + +Going to school might have damaged the simplicity, but somehow it did +not. Several reasons prevented. For one thing, she made no intimate +friends. She was kind to everybody, nobody was taken into her +confidence. Her nature was apart from theirs; one of those rare and few +whose fate it is for the most part to stand alone in the world; too +fine for the coarseness, too delicate for the rudeness, too noble for +the pettiness of those around them, even though they be not more coarse +or rude or small-minded than the generality of mankind. Sympathy is +broken, and full communion impossible. It is the penalty of eminence to +put its possessor apart. I have seen a lily stand so in a bed of other +flowers; a perfect specimen; in form and colouring and grace of +carriage distinguished by a faultless beauty; carrying its elegant head +a little bent, modest, but yet lofty above all the rest of the flower +bed. Not with the loftiness of inches, however, for it was of lower +stature than many around it; the elevation of which I speak was moral +and spiritual. And so it was alone. The rest of the flowers were more +or less fellows; this one in its apart elegance owned no social +communion with them. Esther was a little like that among her school +friends; and though invariably gracious and pleasant in her manners, +she was instinctively felt to be different from the rest. Only Esther +was a white lily; the one I tried to describe, or did not try to +describe, was a red one. + +Besides this element of separateness, Esther was very much absorbed in +her work. Not seeking, like most of the others, to pass a good +examination, but studying in the love of learning, and with a far-off +ideal of attainment in her mind with which she hoped one day to meet +Pitt, and satisfy if not equal him. I think she hardly knew this motive +at work; however, it _was_ at work, and a powerful motive too. + +And lastly, Esther was a 'favourite.' No help for it; she was certainly +a favourite, the girls pronounced, and some of them had the candour to +add that they did not see how she could help it, or how Miss Fairbairn +could 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 Fairbairn +herself.' + +'Ah! There you've got it. That's just it. She is one of Miss +Fairbairn's kind. But everybody can't be like that!' cried the +objector. 'I, for instance. I don't care so much for the Bible, you +see; 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! and +I don't think it's fair. It isn't what _I_ came here for, I know. My +father didn't think he was sending me to a Sunday school.' + +'Miss Fairbairn takes care you should learn something else besides +Bible, Belle Linders, to do her justice.' + +'Well, she's like all the rest, she has favourites, and Esther +Gainsborough is one of 'em, and there ought to be no favourites. I tell +you, she puts me out, that's what she does. If I am sent out of the +room on an errand, I am sure to hit my foot against something, just +because _she_ never stumbles; and the door falls out of my hand and +makes a noise, just because I am thinking how it behaves for her. She +just 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. There +ought to be no such thing as favourites!' + +There was some laughter at this harangue, but no contradiction of its +statements. Perhaps Esther was more highly gifted than any of her +fellows; beyond question she worked harder. She had motives that +wrought upon none of them; the idea of equalling or at least of +satisfying Pitt, and the feeling that her father was sacrificing a +great deal for her sake, and that she must do her very utmost by way of +honouring and rewarding his kindness. Besides still another and loftier +feeling, that she was the Lord's servant, and that less than the very +best she could do was not service good enough for him. + +'Papa,' she said one evening in October, 'don't you think Pitt must +have 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 should +come to see us.' + +'Oh, papa!' cried Esther, dismayed. + +'My dear, you have put too much water in my tea; I wish you would think +what you are about.' + +Now Esther _had_ thought what she was about, and the tea was as nearly +as possible just as usual. + +'Shall I mend it, papa?' + +'You cannot mend it. Tea must be made right at first, if it is ever to +be 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 cared +nothing about the matter, whether he came or no. He did not think of +it. And Esther had been thinking of it every day for months, and many +times a day. She was hurt, and it made her feel alone. Esther had that +feeling rather often, for a girl of her age and sound health in every +respect, bodily and mental. The feeling was quite in accordance with +the facts of the case; only many girls at seventeen would not have +found it out. She was in school and in the midst of numbers for five +and a half days in the week; yet even there, as has been explained, she +was in a degree solitary; and both in school and at home Esther knew +the fact. At home the loneliness was intensified. Colonel Gainsborough +was always busy with his books; even at meal times he hardly came out +of them; and never, either at Seaforth or here, had he made himself the +companion of his daughter. He desired to know how she stood in her +school, and kept himself informed of what she was doing; what she might +be _feeling_ he never inquired. It was all right, he thought; +everything was going right, except that he was such an invalid and so +left to himself. If asked by _whom_ he was left to himself, he would +have said, by his family and his country and the world generally. His +family and his country might probably have charged that the neglect was +mutual, and the world at large could hardly be blamed for not taking up +the old soldier whom it did not know, and making much of him. The care +which was failing from all three he got from his daughter in full +measure, but she got little from him. It was not strange that her +thoughts went fondly to Pitt, who _had_ taken care of her and helped +her and been good to her. Was it all over? and no more such kindly +ministry and delightful sympathy to be ever hoped for any more? Had +Pitt forgotten her? It gave Esther pain, that nobody guessed, to be +obliged to moot this question; and it busied her a good deal. Sometimes +her thoughts went longingly back beyond Pitt Dallas to another face +that had always been loving to her; soft eyes and a tender hand that +were ever sure to bring sympathy and help. She could not much bear to +think 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 to +her! and such a delightful teacher and helper and confidant. She +thought it strange that her father did not miss him; but after the one +great 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 home +from school was laid hold of by Mrs. Barker with a face of grave +calculation. + +'Miss Esther, will ye approve that I send Christopher over to that +market 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', of +course, the morrow's dinner. I thought he might fancy a salad.' + +'Tongue?' said Esther. 'Haven't you a quail, or a sweetbread, or +something 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't +forget.' + +'What's the matter, then? some carelessness of Christopher's. Yes, have +a salad; that will do very well.' + +'Then, mum,' said Barker still more constrainedly, 'could you perhaps +let me have a sixpence? I don't like to send and ask a stranger like +that to wait for what's no more'n twopence at home.' + +'Wait?' repeated Esther. 'Didn't papa give you money for the +housekeeping 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 as +he uses to give me nowadays; but that ain't the old sum, and it ain't +possible to do the same things wi' it.' And Mrs. Barker looked +anxiously and doubtfully at her young mistress. 'I wouldn't like to +tell 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 to +the garden myself and get a head of lettuce,--now, before I take my +things off. I would like to go.' + +Seeing that she spoke truth, Mrs. Barker's scruples gave way. She +furnished the basket, and Esther set forth. There was but a field or +two to cross, intervening between her own ground and the slopes where +the 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 not +rightly get through the haze. It was one of the delicious times of +October weather, which the unlearned are wont to call Indian summer, +but which is not that, and differs from it essentially. The glory of +the Indian summer is wholly ethereal; it belongs to the light and the +air; and is a striking image and eloquent testimony of how far spirit +can overmaster matter. The earth is brown, the trees are bare; the +drapery and the colours of summer are all gone; and then comes the +Indian summer, and makes one forget that the foregoing summer had its +glories at all, so much greater is the glory now. There is no sense of +bareness any longer, and no missing of gay tints, nor of the song of +birds, nor of anything else in which June revelled and August showed +its rich maturity; only the light and the air, filling the world with +such unearthly loveliness that the looker-on holds his breath, and the +splendour of June is forgotten. This October day was not after such a +fashion; it was steeped in colour. Trees near at hand showed yellow and +purple and red; the distant Jersey shore was a strip of warm, sunburnt +tints, merged into one; over the river lay a sunny haze that was, as it +were, threaded with gold; as if the sun had gone to sleep there and was +in a dream; and mosses, and bushes, and lingering asters and +golden-rod, on rocks or at the edges of the fields near at hand, gave +the 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 steps +were few, however, and her pleasure was mingled with an odd questioning +in her mind, what all this about money could mean? A little footpath +worn in the grass led her over the intervening fields to Mrs. +Blumenfeld's garden. Christopher must have worn that path, going and +coming; for the family had been supplied through the summer with milk +from the dairy of the gardener's wife. Mrs. Blumenfeld was out among +her beds of vegetables, Esther saw as she drew near; she climbed over +the fence, and in a few minutes was beside her. + +'Wall, ef you ain't what I call a stranger!' said the woman +good-humouredly. 'I don't see you no more'n the angels, for all you're +so near!' + +'I am going to school, Mrs. Blumenfeld; and that keeps me away from +home 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. Jest +look at them rospberry canes! and I set a man only yesterday to tie 'em +up. 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 does +now.' + +'Wall, you see,' said Mrs. Blumenfeld, 'a garden ain't nothin' ef it +ain't in order. I do despise shiftless ways! Now jes' see them +rospberry 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 I +know, 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 into +Esther'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 fair +face. 'Mebbe. There is folks that don't show what they goes through. I +guess I'm one o' that sort myself.' + +'Are you?' said Esther, smiling. 'Certainly, to look at you, I never +should think your life had been very crooked or very rough. You always +seem bright and peaceful.' + +It was true. Mrs. Blumenfeld had a quiet steady way with her, and both +face and voice partook of the same calm; though energy and activity +were 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 and +there to remove a weed or pull off a decayed leaf, talking and using +her eyes at the same time. Her yellow hair was combed smooth and flat +at both sides of her head and knotted up firmly in a tight little +business knot behind. She wore a faded print dress and a shawl, also +faded, wrapped round her, and tied by the ends at the back; but both +shawl and gown were clean and whole, and gave her a thoroughly +respectable appearance. At Esther's last remark she raised herself up +and 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 of +it, for I've nobody to talk to; but, as I said, human natur' 'd like +to, ef it had a chance. I hain't a soul in the world to speak to; and +sometimes 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 you +they has to fly, those times!--But I believe folks was made to hev +company.' + +'Have you no children?' + +'Five of 'em, over there,' the woman said, pointing away, Esther could +only guess where, as it was not to the house. She was sorry she had +asked, and stood silent. + +'Five of 'em,' Mrs. Blumenfeld repeated slowly. 'I had 'em,--and I +haven't 'em. And now, there is times when the world seems to me that +solitary 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 other +went on more lightly, turning from her own troubles, as it were. + +'No,' said Esther gently; 'not at all. I am very much alone, and always +have been.' + +'Mebbe you like it?' + +'No, I do not like it. I sometimes wish very much for one or two +friends who are not here.' + +There came a sigh from the bosom of the other woman, unwonted, and +tale-telling, and heavy. + +'My marriage warn't happy,' she said, lower than her usual tone. 'I kin +manage the garden alone; and I'd jes' as lieve. Two minds about a thing +makes 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 to +speak, and yet doubtful just what to say. She fell back upon what +perhaps is the safest of all, her own experience. 'Life _used_ to be +like that to me--at one time,' she went on after a little pause. 'I was +very 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 would +be at, yet fascinated by the sympathy--which she read plainly +enough--and held by the beauty. By something besides beauty, too, which +she saw without being able to fathom it. For in Esther's eyes there was +the intense look of love and the fire of joy, and on her lips the +loveliest lines of tenderness were trembling. Mrs. Blumenfeld gazed at +her, but would almost as soon have addressed an angel, if one had stood +beside her with wings that proclaimed his heavenly descent. + +'I'll tell you how I got comfort,' Esther went on, keeping carefully +away from anything that might seem like preaching. 'I was, as I tell +you, dark and miserable and hopeless. Then I came to know the Lord +Jesus; and it was just as if the sun had risen and filled all my life +with 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 no +one afore that hed the knowledge of 'em, like you seem to hev. I've +heerd parson talk.' + +'This is not parson talk.' + +'I see 'tain't. But what is it then? You see, I'm as stupid as a bumble +bee; I don't understand nothin' without it's druv into me--unless it's +my 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 prayed +and 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 you +know, the Bible calls Him the Sun of righteousness! You only want to +see Him.' + +'See Him!' echoed the woman. 'There's only one sun I kin see; and +that's the one that rises over in the east there and sets where he is +goin' 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 know +Him.' + +'Know Him?' Mrs. Blumenfeld again repeated Esther's words. 'Why, you're +speaking 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 and +make 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; and +you will just grow happier and happier from day to day. And then comes +heaven.' + +Mrs. Blumenfeld still gazed at her. + +'I never heerd no sich talk in all my life!' she said. 'An' that's the +way 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 says +of Himself, and to find out what He tells me to do and to be. For of +course I must do His will, if I want Him to hear my prayers. You see +that.' + +'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 please +anybody that we love.' + +The gardener's wife had become very thoughtful. She went along her +garden bed, stooping here to strip a decayed leaf from a cabbage, and +there to pick up a dry bean that had fallen out of its pod, or to pull +out 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 why +shouldn't we be happy if we can?' + +'But there's those commandments! that's what skeers me. You see, I'm a +kind 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, and +again looking Esther in the face. There was an odd mixture in the +expression of her own, half serious, half keenly comic. + +'It is not the Lord's way,' said Esther gravely. 'Seek Him and obey +Him, and you shall know. But if you cannot trust the Lord's word for so +much, there is no doing anything. Without faith it is impossible to +please 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's +to go in that basket?' + +'I brought it to see if you could let us have a head of lettuce. I see +you have some.' + +'Yes; and crisp, and cool, and nice they be--just right. Wall, I guess +we 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 head +of lettuce, skillfully detached it from the soil, and insinuated it +into 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 send +over--or come! that's better--whenever you'd like a leaf o' salad, or +anythin' 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'm +honest. Wall, good-bye. An' come agin!' she cried after Esther. 'It's +more 'n likely I'll want some more talkin' to.' + +Esther went home slowly and musing. The beauty around her, which she +had but half noticed at first coming out, now filled her with a great +delight. Or, rather, her heart was so full of gladness that it flowed +over upon all surrounding things. Sunny haze, and sweet smells of dry +leaves and moss, and a mass of all rich neutral tints in browns and +purples, just touched here and there for a painter's eye with a spot of +clear colour, a bit of gold, or a flare of flame--it all seemed to work +its way into Esther's heart and make it swell with pleasure. She stood +still to look across the river, which lay smooth like a misty mirror, +and gave only a rich, soft, indeterminate reflection of the other +shore. But the thoughts in Esther's mind were clear and distinct. +Lonely? Had she ever been lonely? What folly! How could any one be +lonely who had the knowledge of Christ and His presence? What +sufficient delight it was to know Him, and to love Him, and to be +always with Him, and always doing His will! If poor Mrs. Blumenfeld +only knew! + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +_WAYS AND MEANS_. + + +Esther walked slowly home, delivered her basket to Barker, and went to +her father. After the usual kiss and inquiry about how the week had +been, he relapsed into his book; and she had to wait for a time to talk +of anything else. Esther sat down with a piece of fancy work, and held +her tongue till tea-time. The house was as still as if nobody lived in +it. The colonel occasionally turned a leaf; now and then a puff of gas +or a sudden jet of flame in the Liverpool coal fire gave a sort of +silent sound, rebuking the humanity that lived there. No noise was +heard from below stairs; the middle-aged and well-trained servants did +their work with the regularity and almost with the smoothness of +machines. It occurred to Esther anew that her life was excessively +quiet; and a thought of Pitt, and how good it would have been to see +him, arose again, as it had risen so many times. And then came the +thoughts of the afternoon. With Christ,--was not that enough? Doing His +will and having it--could she want anything more? Esther smiled to +herself. She wanted nothing more. + +Barker came in with the tea-kettle, and the cold tongue and the salad +made the supper-table look very comfortable. She made the tea, and the +colonel 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 the +salad. + +'Is it good, papa?' Esther asked, in despair at the silence. + +'Yes, my dear, it is good. Vegetable salads are a little cold at this +time of year.' + +'Papa, we were driven to it. Barker had not money enough this week to +get you a partridge. And she says it has happened several times lately +that you have forgotten to give her the usual amount for the week's +housekeeping.' + +'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 the +time?' + +'I knew it at the time.' + +There was another interval, of greater length. Esther felt a little +chill creeping over her. Yet she must come to an understanding with her +father; 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 living +just 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 prices +from 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 that +does not cover the greater outlay here.' + +This was very dismayful, all the more because Colonel Gainsborough did +not come out frankly with the whole truth. Esther was left to guess +it,--to fear it,--to fancy it more than it was, perhaps. She felt that +she could not have things left in this in indeterminate way. + +'Papa, I think it would be good that I should know just what the +difference is; so that I might know how to bring in our expenses within +the necessary limits.' + +'I have not cyphered it out in figures. I cannot tell you precisely how +much my income is smaller than it used to be.' + +'Can you tell me how much we ought to spend in a week, papa?--and then +we will spend no more.' + +'Barker will know when I give it to her.' + +The colonel had finished his tea and toast, which this evening he +certainly 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 reclining +position, and Esther moved the table away from him. She was bewildered. +She forgot to ring for Barker; she sat thinking how to bring the +expenses of the family within narrower limits. Possible things +alternated with impossible in her mind. She mused a good while. + +'Papa,' she said, breaking the silence at last, 'do you think the air +suits 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 suppose +there is too much sea air.' + +'Was not the sea quite as near them at Seaforth, and salt air quite as +much at hand?' Esther thought. However, as she did not put entire faith +in the truth of her father's conclusions, it was no use to question his +premises. + +'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's +schooling--that will be invaluable to me; now with books I can go on by +myself. I can, indeed, papa, and will. You shall not need to be ashamed +of me.' + +'You are talking foolishly, Esther.' + +'I do not mean it foolishly, papa. If we have not the means to live +here, and if the Seaforth air is so much better for you, then there is +nothing to keep us here but my schooling; and that, as I tell you, I +can manage without. And I can manage right well, papa; I have got so +far that I can go on alone now. I am seventeen; I am not a child any +longer.' + +There was a few minutes' silence, but probably that fact, that Esther +was a child no longer, impelled the colonel to show her a little more +consideration. + +'Where would you go?' he asked, a trifle drily. + +'Surely we could find a place, papa. Couldn't you, perhaps, buy back +the old house--the dear old house!--as Mr. Dallas took it to +accommodate you? I guess he would give it up again.' + +'My dear, do not say "guess" in that very provincial fashion! I shall +not ask Mr. Dallas to play at buying and selling in such a way. It +would be trifling with him. I should be ashamed to do it. Besides, I +have no intention of going back to Sea forth till your education is +ended; and by that time--if I live to see that time--I shall have so +little 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 some +other way?' + +'How?' + +Esther pondered. 'Could I not arrange to go in Mrs. Blumenfeld's +waggon, when it goes in Monday morning?' + +'Who is Mrs. Blumenfeld?' + +'Why, papa, she is the woman that has the market garden over here. You +know.' + +'Do I understand you aright?' said the colonel, laying his book down +for the moment and looking over at his daughter. 'Are you proposing to +go into town with the cabbages?' + +'Papa, I do not mind. I would not mind at all, if it would be a relief +to 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, after +all, 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, taking +up his book again. + +'One moment, papa! one word more. Papa, I am so afraid of doing +something I ought not. Can you not give me a hint, what sort of +proportion 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 my +income. You know now as much as I can tell you.' + +The discussion was ended, and left Esther chilled and depressed. The +fact itself could be borne, she thought, if it were looked square in +the face, and met in the right spirit. As it was, she felt involved in +a mesh of uncertainty. The rent,--she knew how much that was,--no such +great 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, Esther +did not see. Better, she thought, make some great change, cut off some +larger 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 kind +of petty and vexing care which revolted her. Far better dispense with +Buonaparte at once, and go into town with the cabbages. It will be seen +that Esther as yet was not possessed of that which we call knowledge of +the world. It did not occur to her that the neighbourhood of the +cabbages would hurt her, though it might hurt her fastidious taste. It +would not hurt _her_, Esther thought; and what did the rest matter? +Anything but this pinching and sparing penny by penny. But if she drove +into town with the cabbages, that would only dispose of Buonaparte; the +other item--the rent--would remain unaccounted for. How should that be +made up? + +Esther pondered, brooded, tired herself with thinking. She could not +talk to Barker about it, and there was no one else. Once more she felt +a little lonely and a good deal helpless, though energies were strong +within her to act, if she had known how to act. She mounted the stairs +to her room with an unusual slow step, and shut her door, but she had +brought 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 the +house to hold. There is a vague counsel-taking with nature, to which +one is impelled at such times; or is it sympathy-seeking? The sweet +October afternoon had passed into as sweet an evening, the hazy +stillness was unchanged, and through the haze the silver rays of a half +moon high in the heavens came with the tenderest touch and the most +gracious softness upon all earthly things. There was a vapourous +glitter on the water of the broad river, a dewy or hazy veil on the +land; the scene could not be imagined more witching fair or more +removed from any sort of discordance. Esther stood looking, and her +heart calmed down. She had been feeling distressed under the question +of ways and means; now it occurred to her, 'Take no thought for the +morrow, what ye shall eat or what ye shall drink; your Father knoweth +that ye have need of all these things.' And as the words came, Esther +shook off the trouble they condemn; shook it off her shoulders, as it +were, and left it lying. Still she felt alone, she wished for Pitt +Dallas, or for _somebody;_ she had no one but her father in all the +world, nor the hope of any one. And happy as she really was, yet the +human instinct would stir in Esther--the instinct that longs for +intercourse, sympathy, affection; somebody to talk to, to counsel with, +to share in her joys and sorrows and experiences generally. It is a +perfectly natural and justifiable desire; stronger, perhaps, in the +young than in the old, for the old know better how much and how little +society amounts to, and are not apt to have such violent longings in +general for anything. But also to the old, loving companionship is +inexpressibly precious; the best thing by far that this world contains +or this life knows. And Esther longed for it now, even till tears rose +and dimmed her sight, and made all the moonshiny landscape swim and +melt and be lost in the watery veil. But then, as the veil cleared and +the moonlight came into view again, came also other words into Esther's +mind,--'Be content with such things as ye have; for He hath said, I +will never leave thee nor forsake thee.' + +She cleared away her tears and smiled to herself, in happy assurance +and wonder that she should have forgotten. And with that, other words +still came to her; words that had never seemed so exceeding sweet +before. + +'None of them that trust in Him shall be desolate.'--That is a sure +promise. 'Fear not, Abraham; _I_ am thy shield, and thine exceeding +great reward.'--Probably, when this word was given, the father of the +faithful was labouring under the very same temptation, to think himself +alone and lonely. And the answer to his fears must be sufficient, or He +who 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 a +rest and comfort of heart indescribable; and finally laid herself down +to 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 a +fixed principle in Esther's mind, resting as well on honour as honesty. +Evidently, when the latter do not cover the former, one of two things +must be done; expenses must be lessened, or income increased. How to +manage the first, Esther had failed to find; and she hated the idea, +besides, of a penny-ha'penny economy. Could their incomings be added +to? By teaching! It flashed into Esther's mind with a disagreeable +illumination. Yes, that she could do, that she must do, if her father +would not go back to Seaforth. There was no other way. He could not +earn money; she must. If they continued to live in or near New York, it +must be on her part as a teacher in a school. The first thought of it +was not pleasant. Esther was tempted to wish they had never left +Seaforth, if the end of it was to be this. But after the first start of +revulsion she gathered herself together. It would put an end to all +their difficulties. It would be honourable work, and good work; and, +after all, _work_ in some sort is what everybody should have; nobody is +put here to be idle. Perhaps this pressure of circumstances was on +purpose to push her into the way that was meant for her; the way in +which 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 for +the first, the thing was, to go as far in her learning as her father +desired her to go. She must finish her own schooling. And if Esther had +studied hard before, she studied harder now; applied herself with all +the power of her will to do her utmost in every line. It was not a +vague thought of satisfying Pitt Dallas that moved her now; but a very +definite purpose to take care of her father, and a ready joy to do the +will of Him whom Esther loved even better than her father. + +The thought of Pitt Dallas, indeed, went into abeyance. Esther had +something 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 the +plan 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 up +an old book and carelessly opened it. Its leaves fell apart at a place +where there lay a dry flower. It was the sprig of red Cheiranthus; not +faded; still with its velvety petals rich tinted, and still giving +forth the faint sweet fragrance which belongs to the flower. It gave +Esther a thrill. It was the remaining fragment of Pitt's Christmas +bouquet, which she had loved and cherished to the last leaf as long as +she could. She remembered all about it. Her father had made her burn +all the rest; this blossom only had escaped, without her knowledge at +the time. The sight of it went to her heart. She stood still by her +chest of drawers with the open book in her hand, gazing at the +wallflower 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 dry +flower struck her heart. Why had her father wanted her to burn the +others? 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 and +sweet, loses altogether its beauty and its savour, what is the good of +still keeping it to look at? Truly the flower had not lost either +beauty or savour; but the memory that belonged to it? what had become +of that? Pitt let himself no more be heard from; why should this little +place-keeper be allowed to remain any longer? Would it not be wiser to +give 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 an +explanation; perhaps Pitt would come next time, when another two years +had rolled away, and tell them all about it. At any rate, she would +wait. + +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 New +York. Mr. Dallas, the elder, had written once or twice, mostly on +business, and said nothing about his son. That was all. Mrs. Dallas +never wrote. Esther would have been yet more bewildered if she had +known that the lady had been in New York two or three times, and not +merely passing through, but staying to do shopping. Happily she had no +suspicion 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; all +the work done, up to the very day. Christopher bestowed an approving +glance around him as he went among the beds; it was all right and +ship-shape. Nobody was visible at the moment; and he passed on round +the house to the rear, from whence he heard a great racket made by the +voices of poultry. And there they were; as soon as he turned the corner +he saw them: a large flock of hens and chickens, geese, ducks and +turkeys, all wobbling and squabbling. In the midst of them stood the +gardener's widow, with her hands in the pockets of a great canvas +apron; or rather, with her hands in and out, for from the pockets, +which were something enormous, she was fetching and distributing +handfulls of oats and corn to her feathered beneficiaries. Christopher +drew near, as near as he could, for the turkeys, and Mrs. Blumenfeld +gave him a nod. + +'Good morning, mum!' + +'Good day to ye.' + +'Them's a fine lot o' turkeys!' Christopher really had a good deal of +education, and even knew some Latin; nevertheless, in common life, the +instincts of his early habits prevailed, and he said 'Them' by +preference. + +'Ain't they!' rejoined Mrs. Blumenfeld. 'They had ought to be, for +they've given me plague enough. Every spring I think it's the last +turkeys I'll raise; and every winter, jes' as regular, I think it 'ud +be well to set more turkey eggs next year than I did this'n. You see, a +good 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 a +while for myself, but la, how long do ye think it takes me to eat up a +turkey? 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 her +grain, and then turned to her visitor, ready for business. Christopher +could not but look at her with great approbation. She was dressed much +as Esther had seen her a few weeks before: a warm shawl wrapped and +tied around the upper part of her person, bareheaded, hair in neat and +tight 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 in +savin' yourself all the trouble you kin, provided you don't lose no +time by it. There is folks, you know, that air soft-headed enough to +think they kin git rid o' trouble by losin' their time. I ain't o' that +sort.' + +'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 contrive +to lose 'em agin. But what was you wantin'?' + +'I came to see if you could let us have our winter's onions? White +onions, 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, I +want to know? You've got a garden.' + +'That is true, mum,' said Christopher; 'but all the onions as was in it +is gone.' + +'Then you didn't plant enough.' + +'And that's true too,' said Christopher; 'but I can't say as I takes +any 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 seeds +accordin' 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 you +hadn't enough?' + +'As I said, mum, I am much obleeged for your good opinion, which I hope +I 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's +understanding appeared to improve. She looked first inquisitive, and +then intelligent. + +'That comes kind o' hard upon me, at the end,' she said with a somewhat +humorous 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. Look +here; 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's +what I want to know.' + +'Do you mean Miss Esther?' + +'Ah! that's it. I never heerd of a Saint Esther. There was an Esther in +the Bible--I'll tell you! she was a Queen Esther; and that fits. Ain't +she 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'd +give 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 to +live up to their privileges; an' you've got a pattern there right afore +your eyes. I hev no opinion of you, ef you ain't all better'n common +folks. 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 got +as good right to be saints as she has, or anybody. I tell you I've made +a 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 Yankee +turns. Like the ships his countrymen build, he could not come about so +quick. It is curious how the qualities of people's minds get into their +shipbuilding and other handicraft. It was not till Mrs. Blumenfeld had +repeated her question that he was able to answer it. + +'I suppose, mum, a half a bushel wouldn't be no more'n enough to go +through 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 send +you 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't +deny--but in that case I am afraid Miss Esther would prefer that I +should get the onions somewheres else.' + +'Jes' you hold your tongue about it, an' I'll send up the sass; and ef +your Queen Esther says anything, you tell her it's all paid for. What +else do you want that's my way?' + +While she spoke, Mrs. Blumenfeld was carefully detaching a root of +celery from the rich loose soil which enveloped it, and shaking the +white stalks free from their encumbrance, Mr. Bounder the while looking +on approvingly, both at the celery, which was beautifully long and +white and delicate, and at the condition of things generally on the +ground, all of which his eye took in; although he was too much of a +magnate in his own line to express the approval he felt. + +'There!' said Mrs. Blumenfeld, eyeing her celery stalks; 'kin you beat +that where you come from?' + +'It's very fair,' said Christopher--'very fair. But England can beat +the world, mum, in gardening and that. I suppose you can't expect it of +a new country like this.' + +'Can't expect what? to beat the world? You jes' wait a bit, till you +see. 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 things +u-nited?' + +'I find myself a match for most things, as it is,' returned the lady +promptly. + +'But you must want help sometimes?' said Christopher, with a sharp and +somewhat 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 a +pretty 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 he +should be allowed to speak for himself. Now if I say that accordin' to +the best o' my knowledge and belief, what I offer you _is_ the right +kind o' help, you won't think it's brag or bluster, I hope?' + +'Why shouldn't I?' said the little woman. But Christopher thought the +tone of the words was not discouraging. 'They does allays practise +fence,' 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't +to say no more.' + +'Wall,' said Mrs. Blumenfeld, by way of conceding so much, 'I'll allow +Colonel Gainsborough has a pretty fair gardener, ef he _hes_ some +furrin notions.' + +'I'll bring them furrin notions to your help, mum,' said Mr. Bounder +eagerly. 'I know my business as well as any man on this side or that +side either. It's no boastin' to say that.' + +'Sounds somethin' like it. But what'll the colonel do without you, or +the colonel's garden? that's what I can't make out. Hev you and he hed +a falling out?' And the speaker raised herself up straight and looked +full at her visitor. + +'There's nothin' like that possible!' said Mr. Bounder solemnly. 'The +colonel ain't agoin' to do without me, my woman. No more can't I do +with out the colonel, I may say. I've lived in the family now this +twenty year; and as long as I can grow spinach they ain't agoin' to eat +no other--without it's yours, mum,' Christopher added, with a change of +tone; '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't +really 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's +eyes; a little sly audacity in those of Christopher, while a smile +played about his lips that was both knowing and conciliating. Mrs. +Blumenfeld eyed him gravely, with the calm air of one who was quite his +match. 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 was +nothin' 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 'em +for 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 of +study; so absorbing that she only now and then and by minutes gave her +attention to anything else. Or perhaps I should say, her thoughts; for +certainly the colonel never lacked his ordinary care, which she gave +him morning and evening, and indeed all day, when she was at home, with +a tender punctuality which proved the utmost attention. But even while +ministering to him, Esther's head was apt to be running on problems of +geometry and ages of history and constructions of language. She was so +utterly engrossed with her work that she gave little heed to anything +else. She did notice that Pitt Dallas still sent them no reminders of +his existence; it sometimes occurred to her that the housekeeping in +the hands of Mrs. Barker was becoming more and more careful; but the +only way she saw to remedy that was the way she was pursuing; and she +went only the harder at her constructions and translations and +demonstrations. The colonel lived _his_ life without any apparent +change. + +And so went weeks and months: winter passed and spring carne; spring +ran its course, and the school year at last was at an end. Esther came +home for the long vacation. And then one day, Mrs. Barker confided to +her reluctantly that the difficulties of her position were increasing. + +'You ask me, why don't I get more strawberries, Miss Esther. My dear, I +can'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.' The +housekeeper 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 make +it 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 sure +you can't do nothin' to help it; but it's just growin' slimmer and +slimmer.' + +'Never mind; I think I know how to mend matters by and by; if we can +only get along for a little further. We must have some things, and my +father likes fruit, you can get strawberries from Mrs. Blumenfeld down +here, can you not?' + +'No, mum,' said the housekeeper, looking embarrassed. 'She won't sell +us nothin', that woman won't.' + +'Will not sell us anything? I thought she was so kind. What is the +matter? Is there not a good understanding between her and us?' + +'There's too good an understanding, mum, and that's the truth. We don't +want 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 the +housekeeper, colouring with displeasure. + +'Why? How? What has he done?' + +'He hain't done nothin' yet, mum, but he's bound he will, do the +foolishest thing a man o' his years can do. An' he wants me to stan' by +and see him! I do lose my patience whiles where I can't find it. As if +Christopher hadn't enough to think of without that! Men is all just +creatures without the power o' thought and foresight.' + +'Thought?--why, that is precisely what is supposed to be their +distinguishing 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 much +bewildered, and most incoherent visions flew past her brain. She waited +dumbly for more. + +'She has, mum,' the housekeeper repeated; 'and Christopher ain't a +babby no more, but he's took--that's what he is. I wish, Miss +Esther--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 man +from bein' wuss'n a fool.' + +'Do you mean'-- + +'Yes 'm, that's what he has done; just that; and I might as well talk +to my spoons. I've knowed it a while, but I was purely ashamed to tell +you about it. I allays gave Christopher the respect belongin' to a man +o' 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 holt +of 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 what +she'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 many +her, 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't +do. I tell him, a man can't walk two ways to once; nor he can't serve +two masters, even if one of 'em is himself, which that yellow-haired +woman won't let come about. No, mum, he's certain sure he'll never +leave the colonel, mum; that ain't his meaning.' + +Esther went silently away, thinking many things. She was more amused +than anything else, with the lightheartedness of youth; yet she +recognised the fact that this change might introduce other changes. At +any rate, it furnished an occasion for discussing several things with +her father. As usual, when she wanted a serious talk with the colonel, +she waited till the time when his attention would be turned from his +book to his cup of tea. + +'Papa,' she began, after the second cup was on its way, 'have you heard +anything lately of Christopher's plans?' + +'Christopher's plans? I did not know he had any plans,' said the +colonel drily. + +'He has, papa,' said Esther, divided between a desire to laugh and a +feeling 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 going +to be married.' + +'He has not asked my consent.' + +'No, sir, but you know--Christopher is of age,' said Esther, unable to +maintain a gravity in any way corresponding to that on her father's +face. + +'Don't talk folly! What do you mean?' + +'He has arranged to marry Mrs. Blumenfeld, the woman who keeps the +market garden over here. He does not mean to leave us, papa; the places +are 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 one +question.' + +'What question, papa? + +'We have done with Christopher. I want no half service. I suppose he +thinks he will make more money; and I am quite willing he should try.' + +Esther could see that her father was much more seriously annoyed than +he chose to show; his tone indicated a very unusual amount of +disturbance. 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 garden +ground 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 to +speak about; was not this a good occasion? But she hesitated long how +to be gin. The colonel was not very deep in his book, she could see; he +was too much annoyed. + +'Papa,' she said slowly after a while, 'are our circumstances any +better than they were?' + +'Circumstances? what do you mean?' + +'Money, papa; have we any more money than we had when we talked about +it last fall?' + +'Where is it to come from?' said the colonel in the same short, dry +fashion. It was the fashion in which he was wont to treat unwelcome +subjects, and always drove Esther away from a theme, unless it were too +pressing to be avoided. + +'Papa, you know I do not know where any of our money comes from, except +the 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 stop +here?' + +'No.' + +'Papa, I want to make a very serious proposition to you. Do not laugh +at me' (the colonel looked like anything but laughing), 'but listen to +me patiently. You know we _cannot_ go on permanently as we have done +this 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 is +my 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 Miss +Fairbairn, but I am almost sure she would be glad of me; one of her +teachers is going away. I could give lessons in Latin and French and +English and drawing, and still have time to study; and I think it would +make up perhaps all the deficiency in our income.' + +The colonel looked at her. 'You have not spoken of this scheme to +anybody 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 a +governess.' + +'But, papa, it would not hurt me to be a governess for a while; it +would do me no sort of hurt; and it would help our finances. There is +another thing I could teach--mathematics.' + +'I have settled that question,' said the colonel, going back to his +book. + +'Papa,' said the girl after a pause, 'may I give lessons enough to pay +for the lessons that are given me?' + +'No.' + +'But, papa, it troubles me very much, the thought that we are living +beyond 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 a +strong impression that matters of this sort, so left, would not meet +very thorough attention. There was an interval here of some length, +during which she was pondering and trying to get up her courage to go +on. + +'Papa,'--she broke the silence doubtfully,--'I do not want to disturb +you, but I must speak a little more. Perhaps you can explain; I want to +understand things better. Papa, do you know Barker has still less money +now to do the marketing with than she had last year?' + +'Well, what do you want explained?' The tone was dry and not +encouraging. + +'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; you +are stinted in strawberries, and she has not money to buy raspberries.' + +'Call Barker.' + +The call was not necessary, for the housekeeper at this moment appeared +to take away the tea-things. + +'Mrs. Barker,' said the colonel, 'you will understand that I do not +wish 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 discussion +of it is apt to recur. Esther kept silence for some time, possessing +herself in patience as well as she could. Nothing more was said about +Christopher 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 in +the _menu_ was mentioned to her,--'I thought maybe the colonel wouldn't +mind 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 much +water, 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 just +rightly know how to procure it. It must be done, however.' + +The housekeeper's face looked doubtful, notwithstanding her words of +assurance, and a vague fear seized her young mistress. + +'Do not get anything you have not money to pay for, at any rate!' she +said impressively. + +'Well, mum, and there it is!' cried the housekeeper. 'There is things +as cannot be dispensed with, in no gentleman's house. I thought maybe +fish needn't be counted among them things, but now it seems it must. I +may as well confess, Miss Esther; that last barrel o' flour ain't been +paid 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 to +that. You might have got a lesser quantity.' + +'No, mum,' replied the housekeeper; 'you have to have the whole barrel +in the end; and if you get it by bits you pay every time for the +privilege. No, mum, that ain't no economy. It's one o' the things which +kills poor people; they has to pay for havin' every quart of onions +measured out to 'em. I'm afeard Christopher hain't had no money for his +hay and his oats that he's got latterly.' + +'Hay and oats!' cried Esther. 'Would he get them without orders and +means?' + +'I s'pose he thinks he has his orders from natur'. The horse can't be +let 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 more +profoundly moved and dismayed. + +'An' what's harder on _my_ stomach than all the rest,' the housekeeper +went 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, and +don't live nowheres, as I tells him. And the milk comes plentiful, and +to be sure the colonel likes his glass of a mornin'; and curds, and +blancmange, and the like, I see he's no objection to; but thinks I to +myself, 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's +beyond 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. Set +her up! to give us milk, and onions, and celery; and she would send +apples, only I dursn't put 'em on the table, being forbidden, and so I +tells Christopher.' + +Esther was penetrated through and through with several feelings while +the housekeeper spoke; touched with the kindness manifested, but +terribly humbled that it should be needed, and that it should be +accepted. This must not go on; but, in the meantime, there was another +thing 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 her +man, and I wish her joy.' + +'I am sure you may,' said Esther, half laughing. 'Christopher will +certainly 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 earth +that 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 expect +o' 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 at +any rate, and to be very good to her; and you know, Barker, you always +like to do what is right.' + +There was a sweet persuasiveness in the tone of the last words, which +at least silenced Mrs. Barker; and Esther went away to think what she +should say to her father. The time had come to speak in earnest, and +she must not let herself be silenced. Getting into debt on one hand, +and receiving charity on the other! Esther's pulses made a bound +whenever she thought of it. She must not put it _so_ to Colonel +Gainsborough. How should she put it? She knelt down and prayed for +wisdom, and then she went to the parlour. It was one Saturday afternoon +in the winter; school business in full course, and Esther's head and +hands very much taken up with her studies. The question of ways and +means had been crowded out of her very memory for weeks past; it came +with so much the sharper incisiveness now. She went in where her father +was reading, poked the fire, brushed up the hearth, finally faced the +business in hand. + +'Papa, are you particularly busy? Might I interrupt you?' + +'You _have_ interrupted me,' said the colonel, letting his hand with +the 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 what +was coming. His fair, graceful, dignified daughter was a constant +source of pride and satisfaction to him, though he gave little account +of 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 that +refined grace of carriage and manner which he valued as belonging to +the highest breeding. There was never anything careless about Esther's +appearance, or hasty about her movements, or anything that was not +sweet as balm in her words and looks. As she stood there now before +him, serious and purposeful, her head, which was set well back on her +shoulders, carried so daintily, and the beautiful eyes intent with +grave meaning amid their softness, Colonel Gainsborough's heart swelled +in his bosom, for the delight he had in her. + +'What is it?' he asked. 'What do you want to say to me? All goes well +at school?' + +'Oh yes, papa, as well as possible. It isn't that. But I am in a great +puzzle about things at home.' + +'Ah! What things?' + +'Papa, we want more money, or we need to make less expenditure. I must +consult 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. I +am very sorry, but I must. I am sure the time has come for us to take +some 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 be +your 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 your +expenses be regulated by your means. In other words, do not get +anything 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 the +subject 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 things +that 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 it +is very greatly more expensive so.' + +The colonel was well enough acquainted with details of the commissary +department to know it also. He was for a moment silenced. + +'And, papa, Buonaparte, too, must eat; and his oats and hay are not +paid for.' It went sharp to Esther's heart to say the words, for she +knew how keenly they would go to her father's heart; but she was +standing in the breach, and must fight her fight. The colonel flew out +in hot displeasure; sometimes, as we all know, the readiest disguise of +pain. + +'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 Christopher +about his own business. He should have come to me.' + +There was a little pause here. The whole discussion was exceedingly +painful to Esther; yet it must be gone through, and it must be brought +to some practical conclusion. While she hesitated, the colonel began +again. + +'Did you not tell me that the fellow had some ridiculous foolery with +the market woman over here?' + +'I did not put it just so, papa, I think,' said Esther, smiling in +spite of her pain. 'Yes, he is married to her.' + +'Married!' cried the colonel. '_Married_, do you say? Has he had the +impudence 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 married +while he was in my service. He did not _ask_ permission.' + +'I suppose he dared not, papa. You know you are rather terrible when +you are displeased. But I think it is a good thing for us that he is +married. Mrs. Blumenfeld is a good woman, and Christopher is disposed +of, whatever we do.' + +'Disposed of!' said the colonel. 'Yes! I have done with him. I want no +more 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 this +makes 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 and +expenses into harmony. Your going without fruit and fish will not do +it, papa; and I do not like that way of saving, besides. I had rather +make one large change--cut off one or two large things--than a +multitude of small ones. It is easier, and pleasanter. Now, so long as +we live in this house we are obliged to keep a horse; and so long as we +have a horse we must have Christopher, or some other man; and so long +as we keep a horse and a man we _must_ make this large outlay, that we +cannot 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 could +walk 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 driving +would not do you any harm.' + +'I have no idea where to begin,' said the colonel, rubbing his head in +uneasy perplexity. + +'I will find out that, papa. I will speak to Miss Fairbairn; she is a +great woman of business. She will tell me.' + +The colonel still rubbed his head thoughtfully. Esther kept her +position, in readiness for some new objection. The next words, however, +surprised her. + +'I have sometimes thought,'--the colonel's fingers were all the while +going through and through his hair; the action indicating, as such +actions do, the mental movement and condition, 'I have sometimes +thought lately that perhaps I was doing you a wrong in keeping you +here.' + +'_Here_, papa?--in New York?' + +'No. In America.' + +'In America! Why, sir?' + +'Your family, my family, are all on the other side. You would have +friends if you were there,--you would have opportunities,--you would +not 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 did +we 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 of +religion.' + +'How, sir?' + +'Our family have been Independents from all time. But my father married +a second wife, belonging to the Church of England. She won him over to +her way of thinking. I was the only child of the first marriage; and +when I came home from India I found a houseful of younger brothers and +sisters, all belonging, of course, to the Establishment, and my father +with them. I was a kind of outlaw. The advancement of the family was +thought to depend very much on the stand I would take, as after my +father's death I would be the head of the family. At least my +stepmother made that a handle for her schemes; and she drove them so +successfully that at last my father declared he would disinherit me if +I 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 any +possible 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 my +stepmother was right. You little know the social disabilities under +which 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 old +associations; and for a moment her thoughts wandered back to them. + +'Yes,' the colonel went on; 'my father bade me follow him; but with +more than equal right I called on him to follow a long line of +ancestors. 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 either +Independent or Church of England, just because his fathers have set him +the example?' + +'You do not think example and inheritance are anything?' said the +colonel. + +'I think they are everything, for the right;--most precious!--but they +cannot decide the right. _That_ a man must do for himself, must he not?' + +'Republican doctrine!' said the colonel bitterly. 'I suppose, after I +am gone, you will become a Church of England woman, just to prove to +yourself and others that you are not influenced by me!' + +'Papa,' said Esther, half laughing, 'I do not think that is at all +likely; and I am sure you do not. And so that was the reason you came +away?' + +'I could not stay there,' said the colonel, 'and see my young brother +in my place, and his mother ruling where your mother should by right +have ruled. They did not love me either,--why should they?--and I felt +more a stranger there than anywhere else. So I took the little property +that came to me from my mother, to which my father in his will had made +a 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 between +our 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 seventeen +years now; isn't it?' + +'Something like so much.' + +'Oh, papa, do write to them! do write to them, and make it up. Do not +let the quarrel last any longer.' + +'Write to them and make it up?' said the colonel, rubbing his head +again. 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 out +of 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, who +could 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 to +make it up.' + +The colonel sat silent, rubbing the hair of his head in every possible +direction, while Esther's fancy for a while busied itself with images +of an unknown crowd of relations that seemed to flit before her. How +strange it would be to have aunts and cousins; young and old family +friends, such as other girls had; instead of being so entirely set +apart by herself, as it were. It was fascinating, the mere idea. Not +that Esther felt her loneliness now; she was busy and healthy and +happy; 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, of +one'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 house +in the city, and giving up Buonaparte and his oats? Don't you think it +would be comfortable?' + +The colonel considered the subject now in a quieter mood, discussed it +a little further, and finally agreed to drive into town and see what he +could find in the way of a house. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +_A HOUSE_. + + +Yet the colonel did not go. Days passed, and he did not go. Esther +ventured some gentle reminders, which had no effect. And the winter was +gone and the spring was come, before he made the first expedition to +the city in search of a house. Once started on his quest, it is true +the 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 much +higher than rents in the country as fully to neutralize the advantage +hoped for in a smaller household and the dismissal of the horse. Not a +dwelling could be found where this would not be true. The search was +finally given up; and things in the little family went on as they had +been going for some time past. + +Esther at last, under stress of necessity, made fresh representations +to her father, and besought leave to give lessons. They were running +into debt, with no means of paying. It went sorely against the grain +with the colonel to give his consent; pride and tenderness both +rebelled; 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 of +it!' + +'Don't take it so, papa,' cried Esther. 'I like to do it. It is not a +hardship.' + +'_It_ is a hardship,' he retorted; 'and you will find it so. I find it +so now.' + +'Even so, papa,' said the girl, with infinite sweetness; 'suppose it be +a hardship, the Lord has given it to me; and so long as I am sure it is +something 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 are +the words. Listen: "The Lord God is a sun and shield; the Lord will +give grace and glory; _no good thing will he withhold from them that +walk uprightly_."' + +'Do you mean to tell me,' said the colonel angrily, 'that--well, that +all the things that you have not just now, and ought to have, are not +good 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 colonel +found nothing to answer but a groan, which was made up of pain and +pride and pleasure in inscrutable proportions. + +The next step was to speak to Miss Fairbairn. That wise woman showed no +surprise, and did not distress Esther with any sympathy; she took it as +the most natural thing in the world that her favourite pupil should +wish to become a teacher; and promised her utmost help. In her own +school there was now no longer any opening; that chance was gone; but +she gave Esther a recommendation in person to the principal of another +establishment, where in consequence Miss Gainsborough found ready +acceptance. + +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 not +been entirely wrong in his estimate of a teacher's position and +experiences. 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 the +genuine love of teaching them, do not avail to make it so. Woe to the +teacher who has not those two alleviations and helps to fall back upon! +Esther soon found both; and yet she gave her father credit for having +known more about the matter than she did. She was truly alone now; the +children loved her, but scattered away from her as soon as their tasks +were done; her fellow-teachers she scarcely saw--they were busy and +jaded; and with the world outside of school she had nothing to do. She +had never had much to do with it; yet at Miss Fairbairn's she had +sometimes a little taste of society that was of high order, and all in +the house had been at least well known to her and she to them, even if +no particular congeniality had drawn them together. She had lost all +that now. And it sometimes came over Esther in those days the thought +of her English aunts and cousins, as a vision of strange pleasantness. +To have plenty of friends and relations, of one's own blood, and +therefore inalienable; well-bred and refined and cultivated (whereby I +am afraid Esther's fancy made them a multiplication of Pitt +Dallas),--it looked very alluring! She went bravely about her work, and +did it beautifully, and was very contented in it, and relieved to be +earning money; yet these visions now and again would come over her +mind, bringing a kind of distant sunshiny glow with them, different +from the light that fell on that particular bit of life's pathway she +was treading just then. They came and went; what came and did not go +was Esther's consciousness that she was earning only a little money, +and that with that little she could not clear off all the debts that +had accrued and were constantly accruing. When she had paid the +butcher, the grocer's bill presented itself, and when she had after +some delay got rid of that, then came the need for a fresh supply of +coal. Esther spent nothing on her own dress that she could help, but +her father's was another matter, and tailors' charges she found were +heavy. She went bravely on; she was young and full of spirit, and she +was a Christian and full of confidence; nevertheless she did begin to +feel the worry of these petty, gnawing, money cares, which have broken +the heart of so many a woman before her. Moreover, another thing +demanded consideration. It was necessary, now that she had no longer a +home with Miss Fairbairn, that she should go into town and come back +every day, and, furthermore, as she was giving lessons in a school, no +circumstance of weather or anything else must hinder her being +absolutely punctual. Yet Esther foresaw that as the winter came on +again it would be very difficult sometimes to maintain this +punctuality; and it became clear to her that it would be almost +indispensable for them to move into town. If only a house could be +found! + +Meantime Christopher went and came about the house, cultivated the +garden and took care of the horse and drove Esther to school, all just +as usual; his whilome master never having as yet said one word to him +on the subject of his marriage and consequent departure. Whether his +wages were paid him, Esther was anxiously doubtful; but she dared not +ask. I say 'whilome' master, for there is no doubt that Mr. Bounder in +these days felt that nobody was his master but himself. He did all his +duties faithfully, but then he took leave to cross the little field +which lay between his old home and his new, and to disappear for whole +spaces of time from the view of the colonel's family. + +It was one evening in November. Mrs. Barker was just sitting down to +her tea, and Christopher was preparing himself to leave her. I should +remark that Mrs. Barker had called on the former Mrs. Blumenfeld, and +established 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 days +when I could?' the housekeeper added, with a sigh. + +'Well, she ain't just up to some o' your arts,' said Christopher, with +a 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't +beat, 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 you +can give some to Miss Esther if you like. Good-night!' + +He made few steps of it through the dark cold evening to the house that +had become his home. The room that received him might have pleased a +more difficult man. It was as clean as hands could make it; bright with +cleanliness, lighted and warmed with a glowing fire, and hopeful with a +most savoury scent of supper. The mistress of the house was busy about +her hearth, looking neat and comfortable enough to match her room. As +Christopher came in she lit a candle that stood on the supper-table. +Christopher hugged himself at this instance of his wife's thrift, and +sat down. + +'You've got something that smells uncommon good there!' said he +approvingly. + +'I allays du think a hot supper's comfortable at the end o' a cold +day,' returned the new Mrs. Bounder. 'I don't care what I du as long's +I'm busy with all the world all the day long; I kin take a piece and a +bite and go on, but when it comes night, and I hev time to think I'm +tired, then I like a good hot something or other.' + +'What have you got there?' said Christopher, peering over at the dish +on the hearth which Mrs. Bounder was filling from a pot before the +fire. 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 no +one more'n a few shillin's, neither. 'Tain't difficult, ef you know +how. 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 ask +you 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 whenever +you'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's +proper. 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 bids +you du?--that's jes' what I'm comin' to.' + +A surly man would not perhaps have answered at all, resenting this +catechizing; but Christopher was not surly, and not at all offended. He +was 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 face +that 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 the +first 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 believe +Him you pray to likes it no better.' + +Christopher was utterly unprepared to go on with this subject; and +finally gave up trying, and attended to his supper. After a little +while 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 to +stop. + +'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. The +colonel he lies on his sofy, and Miss Esther she goes and comes. They +want to get a house in town, now she's goin' so regular, only they +can'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't +know 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' on +uncommon bad. Don't seem as if they could any way pay up all their +bills at once. They pay this man, and then run up a new score with some +other man. Miss Esther, she tries all she knows; but there ain't no one +to 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's +teachin' in a school, that's what she is,' said Christopher, letting +his voice drop as if he were speaking of some desecration. 'That's what +she is; and so she has to be there regular, rain or shine makes no +difference. An' if they was in town, you see, they wouldn't want the +horse, 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. Bounder +quietly. '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, who +seemed to be going on with her supper in orderly fashion. Mr. Bounder +was not misled by this, and watched curiously. He had acquired in a few +months a large respect for his wife. Her very unadorned attire, and her +peculiar way of knotting up her hair, did not hinder that he had a +great and growing value for her. Christopher would have liked her +certainly to dress better and to put on a cap; nevertheless, and odd as +it 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 he +waited for what was to come next. + +'I guess I was a fool,' began Mrs. Bounder at last. 'But it came into +my head, ef they're in such a fix as you say, whether maybe they +wouldn't take up with my house. I guess, hardly likely.' + +'_Your_ house?' inquired Christopher, in astonishment. But his wife +calmly nodded. + +'_Your_ house!' repeated Christopher. 'Which one?' + +'Wall, not this one, I guess,' said his wife quietly. 'But I've got one +in 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. But +the last folks went out; and I hadn't found no one that suited me to +let 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 the +rent 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 Christopher +admiringly. + +'Wall, I guess it's my imagination. For, come to think of it, it ain't +jes' sich a house as your folks are accustomed to.' + +'The thing is,' said Christopher gravely, 'they can't have just what +they're accustomed to. Leastways I'm afeard they can't. I'll just speak +to Miss Esther about it.' + +'Wall, you kin du that. 'Twon't du no harm. I allays think, when +anybody'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 the +opportunity of speaking to Esther the very next time he was driving her +in from school. Esther immediately pricked up her ears, and demanded to +know where the house was situated. Christopher told her. It was a +street 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 afraid +my little woman has made a mistake.' + +'What is the rent?' + +Christopher named the rent. It was less than what they were paying for +the house they at present occupied; and Esther at once ordered +Christopher to turn about and drive her to the spot. + +It was certainly not a fashionable quarter, not even near Broadway or +State Street; nevertheless it was respectable, inhabited by decent +people. The house itself was a small wooden one. Now it is true that at +that day New York was a very different place from what it is at +present; and a wooden house, and even a small wooden house, did not +mean then what it means now; an abode of Irish washerwomen, or of +something still less distinguished. Yet Esther startled a little at the +thought of bringing her father and herself to inhabit it. Christopher +had the key; and he fastened Buonaparte, and let Esther in, and went +all over the house with her. It was in order, truly, as its owner had +said; even clean; and nothing was off the hinges or wanting paint or +needing plaster. 'Right and tight' it was, and susceptible of being +made an abode of comfort; yet it was a very humble dwelling, +comparatively, and in an insignificant neighbourhood; and Esther +hesitated. Was it pride? she asked herself. Why did she hesitate? Yet +she lingered over the place, doubting and questioning and almost +deciding it would not do. Then Christopher, I cannot tell whether +consciously or otherwise, threw in a makeweight that fell in the scale +that was threatening to rise. + +'If you please, Miss Esther, would you speak to the master about the +blacksmith's bill? I don't hardly never see the colonel, these days.' + +Esther faced round upon him. The word 'bill' always came to her now +like a sort of stab. She repeated his words. 'The blacksmith's bill?' + +'Yes, mum; that is, Creasy, the blacksmith; just on the edge o' the +town. It's been runnin' along, 'cause I never could get sight o' the +colonel 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 any +horse 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--and +it'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 might +not see her face, and began to look at the house as if a sudden new +light had fallen upon it. Small and mean, and unfit for Colonel +Gainsborough and his daughter,--that had been her judgment concerning +it five minutes before; but now it suddenly presented itself as a +refuge from distress. If they took it, the relief to their finances +would be immediate and effectual. There was a little bit of struggle in +Esther's mind; to give up their present home for this would involve a +loss of all the prettiness in which she had found such refreshment; +there would be here no river and no opposite shore, and no pleasant +country around with grass and trees and a flower garden. There would be +no 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 for +daily 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 her +necessities, should she refuse to accept it and to be thankful for it? + +'It is getting late,' was Esther's conclusion as she turned away. 'We +had better get home, Christopher; but I think we will take the house. I +must 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. He +did 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 submitted +himself to what seemed the inevitable. But his daughter knew that her +task would have been harder if the colonel's imagination had had the +assistance 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 her +father comfortable. To combat his objections beforehand might have been +a more difficult matter. Esther found Mrs. Barker's dismay quite enough +to deal with. Indeed, the good woman was at first overwhelmed; and sat +down, 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 soon +put this in nice order, with Christopher's help; and then, when we have +got it fitted up, we shall be as comfortable as ever; you will see.' + +'Oh dear Miss Esther!' the housekeeper ejaculated; 'that ever I should +see this day! The like of you and my master!' + +'What then?' said Esther, smiling. 'Barker, shall we not take what the +Lord gives us, and be thankful? I am.' + +'There ain't no use for Christopher here, as I see,' Mrs. Barker went +on. + +'No, and he will not be here. Do you see now how happy it is that he +has got a home of his own?--which you were disposed to think so +unfortunate.' + +'I haven't changed my mind, mum,' said the housekeeper. 'How's your +horse 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 you +not think our dear Lord knows what is good for us? and do you not think +what He chooses is the best? I do.' + +Esther's face was very unshadowed, but the housekeeper's, on the +contrary, seemed to darken more and more. She stood in the middle of +the 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're +young, and you don't know how queer the world is. There's many folks +that won't believe you are what you be, if they see you are livin' in a +place like this.' + +Did not Esther know that? and was it not one of the whispers in her +mind which she found it hardest to combat? She had begun already to +touch 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 the +narrow track of her school routine; yet even there once or twice a +chance encounter had obliged her to recognise the fact that in taking +the post of a teacher she had stepped off the level of her former +associates. It had hurt her a little and disappointed her. Nobody, +indeed, had tried to be patronizing; that was nearly impossible towards +anybody whose head was set on her shoulders in the manner of Miss +Gainsborough's; but she felt the slighting regard in which low-bred +people held her on account of her work and position. And so large a +portion of the world is deficient in breeding, that to a young person +at least the desire of self-assertion comes as a very natural and +tolerably strong temptation. Esther had felt it, and trodden it under +foot, and yet Mrs. Barker's words made her wince. How could anybody +reasonably suppose that a gentleman would choose such a house and such +a street to live in? + +'Never mind, Barker,' she said cheerfully, after a pause. 'What we have +to 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 him +that he will feel comfortable.' + +The work of moving and getting settled began without delay. Mrs. Barker +spent all the afternoons at the new house; and thither came Esther also +every day as soon as school was out at three o'clock. The girl worked +very hard in these times; for after her long morning in school she gave +the rest of the daylight hours to arranging and establishing furniture, +hanging draperies, putting up hooks, and the like; and after that she +went home to make her father's tea, and give him as much cheery talk as +she could command. In the business of moving, however, she found +unexpected assistance. + +When Christopher told his wife of the decision about the house, the +answering remark, made approvingly, was, 'That's a spunky little girl!' + +'What do you mean?' said Christopher, not approving such an irreverent +expression. + +'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 smile +at him. 'She ain't scared by no nonsense from duin' what she's got to +du. Don't you be scared neither; houses don't make the folks that live +in 'em. But what I'm thinkin' of is, they'll want lots o' help to git +along with their movin'. Christopher, do you know there's a big box +waggin in the barn?' + +'I know it.' + +'Wall, that'll carry their things fust-rate, ef you kin tackle up your +fine-steppin' French emperor there with our Dolly. Will he draw in +double harness?' + +'Will he! Well, I'll try to persuade him.' + +'An' you needn't to let on anything about it. They ain't obleeged to +know where the waggin comes from.' + +'You're as clever a woman as any I know!' said Mr. Bounder, with a +smile of complacency. 'Sally up there can't beat you; and _she's_ a +smart woman, too.' + +A few minutes were given to the business of the supper table, and then +Mrs. Bounder asked,-- + +'What are they goin' to du with the French emperor?' + +'Buonaparte?' (Christopher called it 'Buonaparty.') 'Well, they'll have +to 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 sly +twinkle 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, for +they'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 high +figure; however, he knew, and she knew, that a common draught horse for +their garden work could be had for something less. Mrs. Bounder +meditated a little, and finally concluded,-- + +'It won't break us.' + +'Save me lots o' trouble,' said Christopher; 'if you don't mind paying +so 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 Miss +Esther 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! There +ain't much cash come into her hands for a good bit. And I see sometimes +she's been real worrited.' + +So Esther's path was smoothed in more ways than one, and even in more +ways than I have indicated. For Mrs. Bounder went over and insinuated +herself (with some difficulty) so far into Mrs. Barker's good graces +that she was allowed to give her help in the multifarious business and +cares of the moving. She was capital help. Mrs. Barker soon found that +any packing intrusted to her was sure to be safely done; and the little +woman's wits were of the first order, always at hand, cool, keen, and +comprehensive. She followed, or rather went with the waggon to the +house in Major Street; helped unpack, helped put down carpets, helped +clear away litter and arrange things in order; and further still, she +constantly brought something with her for the bodily refreshment and +comfort 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 a +great assistance and pleasure also to Esther. Esther tried to tell her +something 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. 'I +was readin' in the Bible the other day--you set me readin' the Bible, +Miss Esther--where it says somethin' about a good woman "ministerin' to +the saints." I ain't no saint myself, and I guess it'll never be said +of 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 to +know our Christopher has got such a good wife.' + +Mrs. Bounder laughed a little slyly, as she retorted, 'Ain't there +nothin' to be glad of on my side tu?' + +'Indeed, yes!' answered Esther. 'Christopher is as true and faithful as +it is possible to be; and as to business-- But you do not need that I +should tell you what Christopher is,' she broke off, laughing. + +There was a pleasant look in the little woman's eyes as she stood up +for 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 in +order. With two such helpers as she had, the work went on bravely, and +Christopher got in coal and chopped wood enough to last all winter. The +ready money from the sale of Buonaparte had given her the means for +that and for some other things. She was intent upon making the new home +look so homelike that her father should be in some measure consoled for +the shock which she knew its exterior would give him. The colonel liked +no fire so well as one of his native 'sea-coal.' The house had open +fireplaces only. So Esther had some neat grates put in the two lower +rooms 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, and +this will be for papa's study. But it has a bare look yet. I must make +some 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 some +chintz that is dark and bright at once. I have money. Oh, we are going +to be rich now, Barker; and you shall not be stinted in your marketing +any more. And this is going to be very nice, _inside_.' + +To the outside Esther could not get accustomed. It gave her a kind of +prick of dismay every time she saw it anew. What would her father say +when _he_ saw it? Yet she had done right and wisely; of that she had no +doubt at all; it was very unreasonable that, her judgment being +satisfied, her feeling should rebel. Yet it did rebel. When did ever +one of her family live in such a place before? They had come down +surely very far, to make it possible. Only in the matter of money, to +be sure; but then, money has to do largely with the outward appearance +one makes, and upon the appearance depends much of the effect upon +one'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 of +such a house? And what then? she answered the whisper. If the Lord has +given us this place to dwell in, that and all other effects and +consequences of it are part of His will in the matter. What if we are +to be overlooked and looked down upon? what have I to do with it? what +matters it? Let pride be quiet, and faith be very thankful. Here are +all my difficulties set aside, and no danger of not paying our debts +any more. + +She reasoned so, and fought against pride, if pride it were, which took +the other side. She _would_ be thankful; and she was. Nevertheless, a +comparison would arise now and then with the former times, and with +their state at Seaforth; and further back still, with the beauties and +glories of the old manor house in England. Sometimes Esther felt a +strange wave of regret come over her at the thought of the gay circle +of relations she did not know, who were warm in the shelter of +prosperity and the cheer of numbers. She knew herself in a better +shelter, yes, and in a better cheer; and yet sometimes, as I said, an +odd feeling of loss and descent would come over her as she entered +Major Street Esther was working hard these days, which no doubt had +something to do with this. She rushed from her morning duties to the +school; 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 little +tired. The thought was very far from her usually. In her healthy and +happy youth, busy life, and mental and spiritual growth and thrift, +Esther's wants seemed to be all satisfied; and so long as things ran +their ordinary course, she felt no deficiency. But there are conditions +in which one is warm so long as one does not move, while the first stir +of change brings a chill over one. And so sometimes now, as Esther +entered Major Street or set her face towards it, she would think of her +far-off circle of Gainsborough cousins, with a half wish that her +father could have borne with them a little more patiently; and once or +twice the thought came too, that the Dallases never let themselves be +heard from any more. Not even Pitt. She would not have thought it of +him, but he was away in a foreign country, and it must be that he had +forgotten them. His father and mother were near, and could not forget; +was not the old house there before them always to remind them? But they +were rich and prosperous and abounding in everything; they had no need +of the lonely two who had gone out of their sight and who did need +them. It was the way of the world; so the world said. Esther wondered +if that were really true, and also wondered now and then if Major +Street were to be henceforth not only the sphere but the limit of her +existence. She never gave such thoughts harbour; they came and they +went; and she remained the cheerful, brave, busy girl she had long been. + +The small house at last looked homelike. On the front room Esther had +put a warm, dark-looking carpet; the chintz curtains were up and in +harmony with the carpet; and the colonel's lounge was new covered with +the same stuff. The old furniture had been arranged so as to give that +pleasant cosy air to the room which is such a welcome to the person +entering it, making the impression of comfort and good taste and of the +habit of good living; not good living in matters of the table, but in +those other matters which concern the mind's nourishment and social +well-being. Everything was right and in order, and Esther surveyed her +work 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'm +thinkin', Miss Esther, I can't stop thinkin', whatever'll the colonel +say when he sees the outside.' + +'He shall see the inside first. I have arranged that. And, Barker, we +must have a capital supper ready for him. We can afford it now. Have a +pheasant, Barker; there is nothing he likes better; and some of that +beautiful honey Mrs. Bounder has brought us; I never saw such rich +honey, I think. And I have good hope papa will be pleased, and put up +with things, as I do.' + +'Your papa remembers Gainsborough Manor, mum, and that's what you +don't.' + +'What then! Mrs. Barker, do you really think the Lord does _not_ know +what is good for us? That is sheer unbelief. Take what He gives, and be +thankful. Barker, why do you suppose the angels came to the sepulchre +so, as they did the morning of the resurrection?' + +'Mum!' said Mrs. Barker, quite taken aback by this sudden change of +subject. But Esther went on in a pleasant, pleased tone of interest. + +'I was reading the last chapter of Matthew this morning, and it set me +to thinking. You know a number of them, the angels, came, and were seen +about the sepulchre; and I suppose there was just a crowd of them +coming and going that morning. What for, do you suppose?' + +'Miss Esther!' said the housekeeper open-mouthed, 'I'm sure I can't +say.' + +'Why, they came _to see the place_, Barker; just for that. They knew +what had been done, and they just came in crowds, as soon as Jesus had +left the sepulchre--perhaps before--to look at the spot where that +wonder of all wonders had been. But it never occurred to me before how +like it was to the way we human creatures feel and do. _That_ was what +they came for; and don't you remember what one of them, with his +lightning face and his robes of whiteness, sitting on the stone, said +to the women? He told them to do what he had been doing. "_Come see the +place_." It brought the angels nearer to me than ever they had seemed +to be before.' + +Mrs. Barker stood there spellbound, silenced. To be sure, if Miss +Esther's head was so busy with the angels, she was in a sort lifted up +above the small matters or accidents of common earthly life. And as +much as the words the girl's face awed her too, its expression was so +consonant with them. + +'Now, Barker, Christopher may bring up some coal and make a fire before +he drives back for papa. In both rooms, Barker. And-- Hark! what is +that?' + +A long-drawn, musical cry was sounding a little distance off, slowly +coming 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 a +sonorous, 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 home +should not be disturbed until the very day when he himself should make +the transfer from the one house to the other. So until that morning +even the colonel's sofa had not been moved. Now it was brought over and +placed in position between the fireplace and the window, where the +occupant would have plenty of light and warmth. The new chintz cover +had been put on it; the table was placed properly, and the books which +the colonel liked to have at hand lay in their usual position. In the +back room the table was set for supper. The rooms communicated, though +indeed not by folding doors; still the eye could go through and catch +the glow of the fire, and see the neat green drugget on the floor and +the 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, Esther +heard the aforementioned mental reservation. If her father liked it! +Yes, that could not be known till he came; and she drew a breath of +patient anxiety. It was too dark for him to take the effect of anything +outside; she had arranged that. One thing at a time, she thought. The +house 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 small +apartment so carefully made ready for him. It offered as much tasteful +comfort as it was possible for a room of its inches to do. Esther +waited anxiously for the effect. The colonel warmed his hands at the +blaze, 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 draws +beautifully, and the coal is excellent. It is really a very nice little +house, papa. I think it will be comfortable.' + +'Not very large,' said the colonel, taking with his eye the measure of +the room. + +'No, papa; and none the worse for that. Room enough for you, and room +enough for me; and quite room enough for Barker, who has to take care +of 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 pay +our way and be at ease. Papa, I would not like the finest house in the +world, 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 were +going.' + +'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 to +be decent people.' + +'Decent? What do you mean by decent?' + +'Papa, I mean not disorderly people; not disreputable. And is not that +enough for us, papa? Oh, papa, does it matter what the people are, so +long as our house is nice and pretty and warm, and the low rent just +relieves us from all our difficulties? Papa, do be pleased with it! I +think 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 difficulty +till I heard of this house. And I am so relieved now--you cannot think +with what a relief;--if only _you_ are pleased, dear papa.' + +He must know so much of the truth, Esther said to herself with rapid +calculation. The colonel did not look pleased, it must be confessed. +All the prettiness and pleasantness on which Esther had counted to +produce a favourable impression seemed to fail of its effect; indeed, +seemed not to be seen. The colonel leaned his head on his hand and +uttered something very like a groan. + +'So this is what we have come to!' he said. 'You do not know what you +have done, Esther.' + +Esther said nothing to that. Her throat seemed to be choked. She looked +at her beautiful little fire, and had some trouble to keep tears from +starting. + +'My dear, you did it for the best, I do not doubt,' her father added +presently. 'I only regret that I was not consulted before an +irrevocable step was taken.' + +Esther could find nothing to answer. + +'It is quite true that a man remains himself, whatever he does that is +not morally wrong; it is true that our real dignity is not changed; +nevertheless, people pass in the world not for what they are, but for +what 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 no +better than a cobbler; and if you choose your abode among washerwomen, +you will be credited with tastes and associations that fit you for your +surroundings. Have we _that_ sort of a neighbourhood?' he asked +suddenly. + +'I do not know, papa,' Esther said meekly. The colonel fairly groaned +again. It was getting to be more than she could stand. + +'Papa,' she said gently, 'we have done the best we knew,--at least I +have; and the necessity is not one of our own making. Let us take what +the Lord gives. I think He has given us a great deal. And I would +rather, for my part, that people thought anything of us, rather than +that we should miss our own good opinion. I do not know just what the +inhabitants are, round about here; but the street is at least clean and +decent, and within our own walls we need not think about it. Inside it +is _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 calmness +and 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 as +ever, 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 for +the change.' + +'It saves the mess of crumbs on the floor in this room. And then it +saves Barker a good deal of trouble to have the table there.' + +'Why should Barker be saved trouble here more than where we have come +from? I do not understand.' + +'We had Christopher there, papa. Here Barker has no one to help +her--except what I can do.' + +'It must be the same thing, to have tea in one room or in another, I +should think.' + +Esther could have represented that the other room was just at the head +of the kitchen stairs, while to serve the tea on the colonel's table +would cost a good many more steps. But she had no heart for any further +representations. With her own hands, and with her own feet, which were +by this time wearily tired, she patiently went back and forth between +the two rooms, bringing plates and cups and knives and forks, and +tea-tray, and bread and butter and honey and partridge, and salt and +pepper, from the one table to the other, which, by the way, had first +to be cleared of its own load of books and writing materials. Esther +deposited these on the floor and on chairs, and arranged the table for +tea, 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 other +room; and now made journeys uncounted between that room and this, to +take and fetch the tea-pot. Talk languished meanwhile, for the spirit +of talk was gone from Esther, and the colonel, in spite of his +discomfiture, 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 and +arranging 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 sat +down on a cushion at the corner of the fireplace, in one of those moods +belonging to tired mind and body, in which one does not seem at the +moment to care any longer about anything. The lively, blazing coal fire +shone on a warm, cosy little room, and on two somewhat despondent +figures. For his supper had not brightened the colonel up a bit. He sat +brooding. Perhaps his thoughts took the road that Esther's had often +followed lately, for he suddenly came out with a name now rarely spoken +between 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; why +should they remember us?' + +'They used to be good neighbours, in Seaforth.' + +'Pitt. Papa, I do not think his father and mother were ever specially +fond 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 he +has plenty of other things to think of. Oh, I have given up Pitt long +ago.' + +The colonel brooded over his thoughts a while, then raised his head and +looked again over the small room. + +'My dear, it would have been better to stay where we were,' he said +regretfully. + +Esther could not bear to pain him by again reminding him that their +means would not allow it; and as her father lay back upon the sofa and +closed his eyes, she went away into the other room and sat down at the +corner 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 a +few tears that she could not help came hot to her eyes. She had worked +so hard to get everything in nice order for her father; she had so +hoped to see him pleased and contented; and now he was so illogically +discontented! Truly he could tell her nothing she did not already know +about the disadvantages of their new position; and they all rushed upon +Esther's mind at this minute with renewed force. The pleasant country +and the shining river were gone; she would no longer see the lights on +the Jersey shore when she got up in the morning; the air would not come +sweet and fresh to her windows; there would be no singing of birds or +fragrance of flowers around her, even in summer; she would have only +the streets and the street cries and noises, and dust, and unsweet +breath. The house would do inside; but outside, what a change! And +though Esther was not very old in the world, nor very worldly-wise for +her years, she knew--if not as well as her father, yet she knew--that +in Major Street she was pretty nearly cut off from all social +intercourse with her kind. Her school experience and observation had +taught her so much. She knew that her occupation as a teacher in a +school 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 best +of times; she was of too uncommon a beauty, perhaps; perhaps she was +too different from them in other respects. Pleasant as she always was, +she was nevertheless separate from her fellows by a great separation of +nature; and that is a thing not only felt on both sides, but never +forgiven by the inferiors. Miss Gainsborough, daughter of a rich and +influential retired officer, would, however, have been sought eagerly +and welcomed universally; Miss Gainsborough, the school teacher, +daughter of an unknown somebody who lived in Major Street, was another +matter; hardly a desirable acquaintance. For what should she be desired? + +Esther had not been without a certain dim perception of all this; and +it came to her with special disagreeableness just then, when every +thought came that could make her dissatisfied with herself and with her +lot. Why had her father ever come away from England, where friends and +relations could not have failed? Why had he left Seaforth, where at +least they were living like themselves, and where they would not have +dropped out of the knowledge of Pitt Dallas? The feeling of loneliness +crept again over Esther, and a feeling of having to fight her way as it +were single-handed. Was this little house, and Major Street, henceforth +to be the scene and sphere of her life and labours? How could she ever +work up out of it into anything better? + +Esther was tired, and felt blue, which was the reason why all these +thoughts and others chased through her mind; and more than one tear +rolled down and dropped on her stuff gown. Then she gathered herself +up. How had she come to Major Street and to school teaching? Not by her +own will or fault. Therefore it was part of the training assigned for +her by a wisdom that is perfect, and a love that never forgets. And +Esther 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 of +His 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 be +clear of the world; yes, and live pleasantly too? And as for being +alone-- Esther rose with a smile. 'Can I not trust the Lord for that +too?' she thought. 'If it is His will I should be alone, then that is +the very best thing for me; and perhaps He will come nearer than if I +had other distractions to take my eyes in another direction.' + +Barker came in to remove the tea-things, and Esther met her with a +smile, 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. And +I 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 the +sunshine poured in its full power. The place lay silent under the heat +of mid-day; not a breath stirred the leaves of the big elms, and no +passing wheels stirred the dust of the roadway, which was ready to rise +at any provocation. It was very dry, and very hot. Yet at Seaforth +those two facts, though proclaimed from everybody's mouth, must be +understood with a qualification. The heat and the dryness were not as +elsewhere. So near the sea as the town was, a continual freshness came +from thence in vapours and cool airs, and mitigated what in other +places was found oppressive. However, the Seaforth people said it was +oppressive too; and things are so relative in the affairs of life that +I do not know if they were more contented than their neighbours. But +everybody said the heat was fine for the hay; and as most of the +inhabitants had more or less of that crop to get in, they criticised +the weather only at times when they were thinking of it in some other +connection. + +At Mrs. Dallas's there was no criticism of anything. In the large +comfortable rooms, where windows were all open, and blinds tempering +the too ardent light, and cool mats on the floors, and chintz furniture +looked light and summery, there was an atmosphere of pure enjoyment and +expectation, for Pitt was coming home again, and his mother was looking +for him with every day. She was sitting now awaiting him; no one could +tell at what hour he might arrive; and his mother's face was beautiful +with hope. She was her old self; not changed at all by the four or five +years of Pitt's absence; as handsome and as young and as stately as +ever. She made no demonstration now; did not worry either herself or +others with questions and speculations and hopes and fears respecting +her son's coming; yet you could see on her fine face, if you were +clever at reading faces, the lines of pride and joy, and now and then a +quiver 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 by +comparison, but absolutely. A very attractive person too. She had an +exceedingly good figure, which the trying dress of those times showed +in its full beauty. Woe to the lady then whose shoulders were not +straight, or the lines of her figure not flowing, or the proportions of +it not satisfactory. Every ungracefulness must have shown its full +deformity, with no possibility of disguise; every angle must have been +aggravated, and every untoward movement made doubly fatal. But the +dress only set off and developed the beauty that could bear it. And the +lady sitting with Mrs. Dallas neither feared nor had need to fear +criticism. Something of that fact appeared in her graceful posture and +in the brow of habitual superiority, and in the look of the eyes that +were now and then lifted from her work to her companion. The eyes were +beautiful, and they were also queenly; at least their calm fearlessness +was not due to absence of self-consciousness. She was a pretty picture +to see. The low-cut dress and fearfully short waist revealed a white +skin and a finely-moulded bust and shoulders. The very scant and +clinging robe was of fine white muslin, with a narrow dainty border of +embroidery at the bottom; and a scarf of the same was thrown round her +shoulders. The round white arms were bare, the little tufty white +sleeves making a pretty break between them and the soft shoulders; and +the little hands were busy with a strip of embroidery, which looked as +if it might be destined for the ornamentation of another similar dress. +The lady's face was delicate, intelligent, and attractive, rather than +beautiful; her eyes, however, as I said, were fine; and over her head +and upon her neck curled ringlets of black, lustrous hair. + +'You think he will be here to-day?' she said, breaking the familiar +silence 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 before +his letter.' + +'You are very fond of him, I can see. What made you send him away from +you? England is so far off!' + +Mrs. Dallas hesitated; put up the end of her knitting-needle under her +cap, 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 discontented +with 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 a +glance at Pitt's mother. 'Dear Mrs. Dallas, how am I to understand +that?' + +'Pitt does not change,' repeated the other. + +'But one _ought_ to change. That is a dreadful sort of people, that go +on straight over the heads of circumstances, just because they laid out +the 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 thought +she said it with a certain satisfied confidence. And perhaps it was +true; but the moment after Mrs. Dallas remembered that if the +proposition were universal it might be inconvenient. + +'At least he is hard to change,' she went on; 'therefore his father and +I wished him to be educated in the old country, and to form his notions +according to the standard of things there. I think a republic is very +demoralizing.' + +'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 wanted +Pitt 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 associations +I was afraid of. With my son's peculiar character, I thought there +might be danger. I rely on you, Betty,' said Mrs. Dallas, smiling, 'to +remove the last vestige.' + +The young lady gave a glance of quick, keen curiosity and +understanding, 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 you +can know what you would like to do with him.' + +'Do I understand, then? He is supposed to be in some danger of lapsing +from the true faith'-- + +'Oh, no, my dear! I did not say that. I meant only, if he had stayed in +America. 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 a +particular influence, that you feared?' + +'Well--both,' said Mrs. Dallas, again applying her knitting-needle +under 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 thoughtful +look. 'For, as I told you, Pitt is a very fast friend, and persistent +in all his likings and dislikings. Here he had none but the company of +dissenters; and I did not want him to get _in_ with people of that +persuasion.' + +'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 been +quite 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 are +very 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 of +quiet working on the young lady's part, and of rather listless knitting +on the part of the mother, whose eyes went wistfully to the window +without seeing anything. And this lasted till a step was heard at the +front door. Mrs. Dallas let fall her needles and her yarn and rose +hurriedly, 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 a +significant silence; which lasted long enough to let the watcher left +behind in the drawing-room conclude on the very deep relations +subsisting between mother and son. Steps were heard moving at length, +but they moved and stopped; there was lingering, and slow progress; and +words were spoken, broken questions from Mrs. Dallas and brief +responses in a stronger voice that was low-pitched and pleasant. The +figures appeared in the doorway at last, but even there lingered still. +The mother and son were looking into one another's faces and speaking +those absorbed little utterances of first meeting which are +insignificant enough, if they were not weighted with such a burden of +feeling. Miss Betty, sitting at her embroidery, cast successive rapid +glances of curiosity and interest at the new-comer. His voice had +already made her pulses quicken a little, for the tone of it touched +her fancy. The first glance showed him tall and straight; the second +caught a smile which was both merry and sweet; a third saw that the +level brows expressed character; and then the two people turned their +faces towards her and came into the room, and Mrs. Dallas presented her +son. + +The young lady rose and made a reverence, according to the more stately +and more elegant fashion of the day. The gentleman's obeisance was +profound in its demonstration of respect. Immediately after, however, +he turned to his mother again; a look of affectionate joy shining upon +her 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 years +have made you older.' + +'So they should.' + +'Somehow I had not expected it,' said the mother, passing her hand +across 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 of +him here that there ever was. The difference is, that now there is +something more.' + +'What?' she asked. + +'A little more experience--a little more knowledge--let us hope, a +little 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 hand +across 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 his +mother accompanied him, Miss Betty noticed how his arm was thrown round +her and he was bending to her and talking to her as they went. Miss +Betty stitched away busily, thoughts keeping time with her needle, for +some time thereafter. Yet she did not quite know what she was thinking +of. There was a little stir in her mind, which was so unaccustomed that +it was delightful; it was also vague, and its provoking elements were +not clearly discernible. The young lady was conscious of a certain +pleasant thrill in the view of the task to which she had been invited. +It promised her possible difficulty, for even in the few short minutes +just passed she had gained an inkling that Mrs. Dallas's words might be +true, and Pitt not precisely a man that you could turn over your +finger. It threatened her possible danger, which she did not admit; +nevertheless the stinging sense of it made itself felt and pricked the +pleasure into livelier existence. This was something out of the +ordinary. This was a man not just cut after the common work-a-day +pattern. Miss Betty recalled involuntarily one trait after another that +had fastened on her memory. Eyes of bright intelligence and hidden +power, a very frank smile, and especially with all that, the great +tenderness which had been shown in every word and look to his mother. +The good breeding and ease of manner Miss Betty had seen before; this +other trait was something new; and perhaps she was conscious of a +little pull it gave at her heartstrings. This was not the manner she +had seen at home, where her father had treated her mother as a sort of +queen-consort certainly,--co-regent of the house; but where they had +lived upon terms of mutual diplomatic respect; and her brothers, if +they cared much for anybody but Number One, gave small proof of the +fact. What a brother this man would be! what a--something else! Miss +Betty sheered off a little from just this idea; not that she was averse +to it, or that she had not often entertained it; indeed, she had +entertained it not two hours ago about Pitt himself; but the presence +of the man and the recognition of what was in him had stirred in her a +kindred delicacy which was innate, as in every true woman, although her +way of life and some of her associates had not fostered it. Betty Frere +was a true woman, originally; alas, she was also now a woman of the +world; also, she was poor, and to make a good marriage she had known +for some years was very desirable for her. What a very good marriage +this would be! Poor girl, she could not help the thought now, and she +must not be judged hardly for it. It was in the air she breathed, and +that all her associates breathed. Betty had not been in a hurry to get +married, having small doubt of her power to do it in any case that +pleased her; now, somehow, she was suddenly confronted by a doubt of +her power. + +I am pulling out the threads of what was to Betty only a web of very +confused pattern; _she_ did not try to unravel it. Her consciousness of +just two things was clear: the pleasant stimulus of the task set before +her, and a little sharp premonition of its danger. She dismissed that. +She could perform the task and detach Pitt from any imaginary ties that +his mother was afraid of, without herself thereby becoming entangled. +It would be a game of uncommon interest and entertainment, and a piece +of benevolence too. But Betty's pulses, as I said, were quickened a +little. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +_HOLIDAYS_. + + +She did not see her new acquaintance again till they met at the +supper-table. She behaved herself then in an extremely well-bred way; +was dignified and reserved and quiet; hardly said anything, as with a +nice recognition that her words were not wanted; scarce ever seemed to +look at the new arrival, of whom, nevertheless, not a word nor a look +escaped her; and was simply an elegant quiet figure at the table, so +lovely to look at that words from her seemed to be superfluous. Whether +the stranger saw it, or whether he missed anything, there was no sign. +He seemed to be provokingly and exclusively occupied with his father +and mother; hardly, she thought, giving to herself all the attention +which is due from a gentleman to a lady. Yet he fulfilled his duties in +that regard, albeit only as one does it to whom they are a matter of +course. Betty listened attentively to everything that was said, while +she was to all appearance indifferently busied with her supper. + +But the conversation ran, as it is wont to run at such times, when +hearts long absent have found each other again, and fling trifles +about, knowing that their stores of treasure must wait for a quieter +time to be unpacked. They talked of weather and crops and Pitt's +voyage, and the neighbours, and the changes in the village, and the +improvements about the place; not as if any of these things were much +cared for; they were bubbles floating on their cups of joy. Questions +asked and questions answered, as if in the pleasure of speaking to one +another again the subject of their words did not matter; or as if the +supreme content of the moment could spare a little benevolence even for +these outside things. At last a question was asked which made Betty +prick up her ears; this must have been due to something indefinable in +the 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 see +how you have let them drop out of knowledge so. They were not exactly +people to lose sight of.' + +'Why not, when they went out of sight?' + +'You do not even know, sir, whether Colonel Gainsborough is still +living?' + +'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 other +men. 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 of +uneasiness 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 you +were here, and failed.' + +'I shall not fail this time.' + +'If it depended on your will,' remarked his father coolly. 'But I think +the probability is that they have gone back to England, and are +consequently no longer in New York.' + +'What are the grounds of that probability?' + +'When last I heard from the colonel, he was proposing the question of +reconciliation with his family. And as I have heard no more from him +since then, I think the likeliest thing is that he has made up his +quarrel and gone home.' + +'I can easily determine that question by looking over the shipping +lists.' + +'Perhaps not,' said Mr. Dallas, rubbing his chin. 'If he has gone, I +think it will have been under another name. The one he bore here was, I +suspect, assumed.' + +'What for?' demanded Pitt somewhat sharply. + +'Reasons of family pride, no doubt. That is enough to make men do +foolisher things.' + +'It would be difficult to find a foolisher thing to do,' replied his +son. But then the conversation turned. It had given Miss Betty +something to think of. She drew her own conclusions without asking +anybody. And in some indefinite, inscrutable way it stimulated and +confirmed her desire for the game Mrs. Dallas had begged her to play. +Human hearts are certainly strange things. What were the Gainsboroughs +to Miss Betty Frere? Nothing in the world, half an hour before; now? +Now there was a vague suspicion of an enemy somewhere; a scent of +rivalry in the air; an immediate rising of partisanship. Were these the +people of whom Mrs. Dallas was afraid? against whom she craved help? +She should have help. Was it not even a meritorious thing, to withdraw +a young man from untoward influences, and keep him in the path marked +out 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 failed +not to observe and regard every movement; she knew, without being seen +to look, just what his play of feature and various expressions were; +all the while she was calmly embroidering, or idly gazing out of the +window, or skilfully playing chess with Mr. Dallas, whom she inevitably +beat. + +Pitt, the while, his mother thought (and so thought the young lady +herself), was provokingly careless of her attractions. He was going +hither and thither; over the farm with his father; about the village, +to see the changes and look up his old acquaintances; often, too, busy +in his room where he had been wont to spend so many hours in the old +time. He was graver than he used to be; with the manner of a man, and a +thoughtful one; he showed not the least inclination to amuse himself +with his mother's elegant visitor. Mrs. Dallas became as nearly fidgety +as it was in her nature to be. + +'What do you think of my young friend?' she asked Pitt when he had been +a 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 anything +about 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! You +never used to be at a loss, as I remember, in old times, when you went +driving about with that little protegée of yours.' + +It was very imprudent of Mrs. Dallas, and she knew it immediately, and +was beyond measure vexed with herself. But the subject was started. + +'Poor Esther!' said Pitt thoughtfully. 'Mamma, I can't understand how +you 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 for +people whose address I did not know.' + +'I cannot understand why you did not know it. They were not the sort of +people to be left to themselves. A hypochondriack father, who thought +he was dying, and a young girl just growing up to need a kind mother's +care, which she had not. I would give more than I can tell you to find +her again!' + +'What could you possibly do for her, Pitt? You, reading law and living +in chambers in the Temple,--in London,--and she a grown young woman by +this time, and living in New York. No doubt her father is quite equal +to taking care of her.' + +Pitt made no reply. His mother repeated her question. 'What could you +do for her?' + +She was looking at him keenly, and did not at all like a faint smile +which 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 be +lost 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 a +promise once to Colonel Gainsborough to look after his daughter.' + +'A very extraordinary promise for him to ask or for you to give, seeing +you were but a boy at the time.' + +'Somewhat extraordinary, perhaps. However, that is nothing to the +matter.' + +There was a little vexed pause, and then Mrs. Dallas said: + +'In the meanwhile, instead of busying yourself with far-away claims +which are no claims, what do you think of paying a little attention to +a 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, which +looked out over the garden. It was an orderly wilderness of cherry +trees and apple trees and plum trees, raspberry vines and gooseberry +bushes; with marigolds and four o'clocks and love-in-a-puzzle and +hollyhocks and daisies and larkspur, and a great many more sweet and +homely growths that nobody makes any account of nowadays. Sunlight just +now lay glowing upon it, and made the shade of the verandah doubly +pleasant, the verandah being further shaded by honeysuckle and trumpet +creeper which wreathed round the pillars and stretched up to the eaves, +and the scent of the honeysuckle was mingled with the smell of roses +which came up from the garden. In this sweet and bowery place Miss +Frere was sitting when she declared it was too hot to drive. She was in +an India garden chair, and had her embroidery as usual in her hand. She +always had something in her hand. Pitt lingered, languidly +contemplating the picture she made. + +'It _is_ hot,' he assented. + +'When it is hot I keep myself quiet,' she went on. 'You seem to be of +another 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 to +allow me to take notice, I have noticed that you were busy about +something. 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 too +always have some work in hand whenever I have seen you.' + +'My work amounts to nothing,' said the young lady. 'At least you would +say so, I presume.' + +'What is it?' + +Miss Betty displayed her roll of muslin, on the free portion of which +an elegant line of embroidery was slowly growing, multiplying and +reproducing its white buds and leaves and twining shoots. Pitt regarded +it 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 her +little foot calling his attention to the edge of her skirt, where a +somewhat similar line of embroidery was visible. 'I am making a border +for 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 the +household virtues? Not having the money to buy trimming, I am +manufacturing 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 and +then 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 of +a philosopher!' + +'Are you a philosopher, Mr. Dallas!' + +'In so far as a philosopher means a lover of knowledge. A philosopher +who 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 her +eyes which expressed a little disdain and a little impatience. But she +saw Pitt's face with a thoughtful earnestness upon it; he was not +watching her eyes, as he ought to have been. Her somewhat petulant +words he answered simply. + +'What question of more moment can there be? I am here, a human creature +with 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 how +can you do that?' + +'You cannot do it, that ever I heard. It is not in the nature of +things.' + +'Then what is the good of pleasure when it is over, and you have given +your 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 tone +of one who had gone over the ground. + +'Any sort will do, I suppose,' said Miss Frere, with half a laugh. 'The +thing is, I believe, to be great, no matter how. I never had that +ambition 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 make +and the things they undergo for it.' + +'Yes,' said Pitt thoughtfully; 'they pay a great price, and they have +their reward. And, I say, what is it worth?' + +'Why, Mr. Dallas,' said the young lady, throwing up her head, 'it is +worth a great deal--all it costs. To be noble, to be distinguished, to +be great and remembered in the world,--what is a worthy ambition, if +that 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 got +it out of the dirt of low passions and cold-hearted selfishness. His +name will be remembered, but as a splendid example of wickedness. Name +some other.' + +'Name one yourself,' said Betty. 'I have succeeded so ill.' + +'Name them all,' said Pitt. 'Take all the conquerors, from Rameses the +Great 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 and +inventors, from the man who first made musical instruments, in the +lifetime of Adam our forefather, to Watt and the steam engine. Take any +or all of them; _we_ are very glad they lived and worked, _we_ are the +better for remembering them; but I ask you, what are they the better +for it?' + +This appeal, which was evidently meant in deep earnest, moved the mind +of the young lady with so great astonishment that she looked at Pitt as +at a _lusus naturae_. But he was quite serious and simply matter of +fact in his way of putting things. He looked at her, waiting for an +answer, but got none. + +'We speak of Alexander, and praise him to the skies, him of Macedon, I +mean. What is that, do you think, to Alexander now?' + +'If it is nothing to him, then what is the use of being great?' said +Miss Frere in her bewilderment. + +'You are coming back to my question.' + +There ensued a pause, during which the stitches of embroidery were +taken slowly. + +'What do you intend to do with _your_ life, Mr. Dallas, since pleasure +and 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 whose +happiness rested on a lasting foundation?' + +The young lady looked at her companion anew as if he were to her a very +odd character. + +'What do you mean?' she said. + +'I mean, a person who was thoroughly happy, not because of +circumstances, but in spite of them?' + +'To begin with, I never saw anybody that was "thoroughly happy." I do +not believe in the experience.' + +'I am obliged to believe in it. I have known a person who seemed to be +clean 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. I +have 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 for +suffering, and she had begun to find it out early; and it was from the +depths of unhappiness that she came out into clear and peaceful +sunshine; with nothing to help her either in her external surroundings.' + +'Couldn't you follow her steps and attain her experience?' asked Miss +Frere mockingly. + +Pitt rose up from the mat where he had been lying, laughed, and shook +himself. + +'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 go +to drive?' she said to Betty. + +'It is so hot, dear Mrs. Dallas! I had what was much better than a +drive--a good long talk.' + +'What do you think of my boy?' asked the mother, with an accent of +happy 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 of +tone. 'That shows he must like you very much, Betty; my son is not +given to letting himself out on those subjects. Even to me he very +seldom speaks of them.' + +'What subjects do you mean, dear Mrs. Dallas?' inquired the young lady +softly. + +'I mean,' said Mrs. Dallas uneasily and hesitating, 'some sort of +religious questions. I told you he had had to do at one time with +dissenting people, and I think their influence has been bad for him. I +hoped 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 would +be 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, all +the rather that it promised some difficulty. All the rather, too, that +she was stimulated by the idea of counter influence. She recalled more +than once what Pitt had said of that 'young girl,' and tried to make +out what had been in his tone at the time. No passion certainly; he had +spoken easily and frankly; too easily to favour the supposition of any +very deep feeling; and yet, not without a certain cadence of +tenderness, and undoubtedly with the confidence of intimate knowledge. +Undoubtedly, also, the influence of that young person, whatever its +nature, had not died out. Miss Betty had little question in her own +mind that she must have been one of the persons referred to and dreaded +by Mrs. Dallas as dissenters; and the young lady determined to do what +she could in the case. She had a definite point of resistance now, and +felt stronger for the fray. + +The fray, however, could not be immediately entered upon. Pitt departed +to New York, avowedly to look up the Gainsboroughs. And there, as two +years before, he spent unwearied pains in pursuit of his object; also, +as then, in vain. He returned after more than a week of absence, a +baffled man. His arrival was just in time to allow him to sit down to +dinner 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 have +spent hours and hours at the shipping offices, looking over the lists +of passengers; and of one thing I am certain, they have not sailed from +that port this year.' + +'Not under the name by which you know them.' + +'And not under any other. Colonel Gainsborough was not a man to hide +his head under an alias. But they know nothing of any Colonel +Gainsborough at the post office.' + +'That is strange.' + +'They never had many letters, you know, sir; and the colonel had given +up his English paper. I think I know all the people that take the +London _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 of +all this. Pitt was becoming a problem to her. All this eagerness and +painstaking would seem to look towards some very close relations +between the young man and these missing people; yet Pitt showed no +annoyance nor signs of trouble at missing them. Was it that he did not +really care? was it that he had not accepted failure, and did not mean +to fail? In either case, he must be a peculiar character, and in either +case there was brought to light an uncommon strength of determination. +There is hardly anything which women like better in the other sex than +force of character. Not because it is a quality in which their own sex +is apt to be lacking; on the contrary; but because it gives a woman +what she wants in a man--something to lean upon, and somebody to look +up to. Miss Betty found herself getting more and more interested in +Pitt and in her charge concerning him; how it was to be executed she +did not yet see; she must leave that to chance. Nothing could be forced +here. Where liking begins to grow, there also begins fear. + +She retreated to the verandah after dinner, with her embroidery. By and +by Mrs. Dallas came there too. It was a pleasant place in the +afternoon, for the sun was on the other side of the house, and the sea +breeze swept this way, giving its saltness to the odours of rose and +honeysuckle and mignonette. Mrs. Dallas sat down and took her knitting; +then, before a word could be exchanged, they were joined by Pitt. That +is, he came on the verandah; but for some time there was no talking. +The ladies would not begin, and Pitt did not. His attention, wherever +it might be, was not given to his companions; he sat thoughtful, and +determinately silent. Mrs. Dallas's knitting needles clicked, Miss +Betty's embroidering thread went noiselessly in and out. Bees hummed +and flitted about the honeysuckle vines; there was a soft, sweet, +luxurious atmosphere to the senses and to the mind. This went on for a +while. + +'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 asked +how he could be of service. + +'Your mother,' began Miss Betty, stitching away, 'has given me a +commission 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 no +chance to drive it away.' + +Pitt laughed a little. 'I was never attacked by _ennui_ in my life,' he +said. + +'So you do not want my services!' + +'Not to fight an enemy that is nowhere in sight. Perhaps he is your +enemy, and I might be helpful in another way.' + +It occurred to him that _he_ had been charged to make Miss Frere's +sojourn in Seaforth pleasant; and some vague sense of what this mutual +charge 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. If +you would propose it again, perhaps I would go. We cannot help its +being hot?' + +So they went for a drive. The roads were capital, the evening was +lovely, the horses went well, and the phaeton was comfortable; if that +were 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 bit +of 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 should +entertain 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 their +heads--what they know--and don't know; what they can talk about, in +short.' + +'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 hale +life 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 am +there, Miss Frere, I am with an old uncle, who is an antiquary and an +enthusiast on the subject of his native city. From the first it has +been his pleasure to go with me all over London, and tell me the +secrets of its old streets, and show me what was worth looking at. +London was my picture-book, my theatre, where I saw tragedy and comedy +together; my museum of antiquities. I never tire of it, and my Uncle +Strahan 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, strikingly +illustrated.' + +'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, having +found 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 very +patiently, and told Mrs. Dallas on reaching home that the drive had +been delightful. + +Next day Pitt was as good as his word. He brought his map of London +into the cool matted room where the ladies were sitting, rolled up a +table, and spread the map out before Miss Frere. The young lady dropped +her 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 London +that delight you are over here?' indicating the West End. + +'No,' returned Pitt, 'by no means. The City and the Strand are +infinitely 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 a +certain portion of the map, 'is crowded with the witnesses of human +life and history; full of remains that tell of the men of the past, and +their doings, and their sufferings.' + +Miss Frere's fine eyes were lifted to him in inquiry; meeting them, he +smiled, and went on. + +'I must explain. Where shall I begin? Suppose, for instance, we take +our stand here at Whitehall. We are looking at the Banqueting House of +the Palace, built by Inigo Jones for James I. The other buildings of +the palace, wide and splendid as they were, have mostly perished. This +stands yet. I need not tell you the thoughts that come up as we look at +it.' + +'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 you +speak of, there was Cardinal Wolsey'-- + +'Oh, Wolsey! I remember.' + +'His outrageous luxury and pomp of living, and his disgrace. Then comes +Henry VIII., and Anne Boleyn, and their marriage; Henry's splendours, +and his death. All that was here. In those days the buildings of +Whitehall were very extensive, and they were further enlarged +afterwards. Here Elizabeth held her court, and here she lay in state +after death. James I comes next; he built the Banqueting House. And in +his son's time, the royal magnificence displayed at Whitehall was +incomparable. All the gaieties and splendours and luxury of living that +then were possible, were known here. And here was the scaffold where he +died. 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 think +you would not want to look long. But I shall not try. We will go on to +Charing Cross. The old palace extended once nearly so far. Here is the +place.' 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 there +without in thought going back to Edward I. and his queen. In its place +is a brazen statue of Charles I. And in fact, when I stand there the +winds seem to sweep down upon me from many a mountain peak of history. +Edward and his rugged greatness, and Charles and his weak folly; and +the Protectorate, and the Restoration. For here, where the statue +stands, stood once the gallows where Harrison and his companions were +executed, when "the king had his own again." Sometimes I can hardly see +the 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, all +go together. That was the Puritans!' + +'Pretty strong!' said Pitt. 'And not quite fair either, is it? How much +feeling for what is noble and refined was there in the court of the +second 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, you +would not be here to-day in a land of freedom.' + +'Too much freedom,' said Mrs. Dallas. 'I believe it is good to have a +king over a country.' + +'Well, go on from Charing Cross, won't you,' said Miss Frere. 'I am +interested. I never studied a map of London before. I am not sure I +ever saw one.' + +'I do not know which way to go,' said Pitt. 'Every step brings us to +new associations; every street opens up a chapter of history. Here is +Northumberland House; a grand old building, full of its records. +Howards and Percys and Seymours have owned it and built it; and there +General Monk planned the bringing back of the Stuarts. Going along the +Strand, every step is full of interest. Just _here_ used to be the +palace of Sir Nicholas Baron and his son; then James the First's +favourite, the Duke of Buckingham, lived in it; and the beautiful +water-gate is yet standing which Inigo Jones built for him. All the +Strand was full of palaces which have passed away, leaving behind the +names of their owners in the streets which remain or have been built +since. Here Sir Walter Raleigh lived; _here_ the Dudleys had their +abode, and Lady Jane Grey was married; here was the house of Lord +Burleigh. But let us go on to the church of St. Mary-le-Strand. Here +once 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 under +Charles II. it was set up again. And here, once, four thousand children +were gathered and sang a hymn, on some public occasion of triumph in +Queen Anne's reign.' + +'It is not there now?' + +'Oh, no! It was given to Sir Isaac Newton, and made to subserve the +uses of a telescope.' + +'How do you know all these things, Mr. Pitt.' + +'Every London antiquary knows them, I suppose. And I told you, I have +an 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. 'A +little further on is the church of St. Clement Danes, where Dr. Johnson +used 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 the +bound 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 of +this limit is Westminster.' + +'There are ugly associations with Temple Bar, I know,' said Miss Frere. + +'There are ugly associations with everything. Down here stood Essex +House, where Essex defended himself, and from which he was carried off +to the Tower. _There_, in Lincoln's Inn fields, Thomas Babington and +his party died for high treason, and there Russell died. And just up +here 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,' said +Mrs. Dallas. 'In old times people were rough, of course, but they were +rough everywhere.' + +'I was thinking'-- said Miss Frere. 'Mr. Dallas gives a somewhat +singular justification of his liking for London.' + +'Is it?' said Pitt. 'It would be singular if the violence were there +now; but to read the record and look on the scene is interesting, and +for me fascinating. The record is of other things too. See,--in this +place Milton lived and wrote; here Franklin abode; here Charles Lamb; +from an inn in this street Bishop Hooper went away to die. And so I +might go on and on. At every step there is the memorial of some great +man's life, or some noted man's death. And with all that, there are +also the most exquisite bits of material antiquity. Old picturesque +houses; old crypts of former churches, over which stands now a modern +representative of the name; old monuments many; old doorways, and +courts, and corners, and gateways. Come over to London, and I will take +you down into the crypt of St. Paul's, and show you how history is +presented 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 things +you have been talking about should have so much charm for you. I should +think the newer and handsomer parts of the city, the parks and the +gardens, 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 Hyde +Park?' + +'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 an +accent of satisfaction. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +_INTERPRETATIONS_. + + +Miss Betty hereupon begged to be told more distinctly what was in the +British Museum, that anybody should go there 'hundreds of times.' Pitt +presently got warm in his subject, and talked long and well; as many +people will do when they are full of their theme, even when they can +talk upon nothing else. Pitt was not one of those people; he could talk +well upon anything, and now he made himself certainly very +entertaining. His mother thought so, who cared nothing for the British +Museum except in so far that it was a great institution of an old +country, which a young country could not rival. She listened to Pitt. +Miss Betty gave him even more profound interest and unflagging +attention; whether she too were not studying the speaker full as much +as the things spoken, I will not say. They had a very pleasant morning +of it; conversation diverging sometimes to Assyria and Egypt, and +ancient civilizations and arts, and civilization in general. Mrs. +Dallas gradually drew back from mingling in the talk, and watched, well +pleased, to see how eager the two other speakers became, and how they +were lost in their subject and in each other. + +In the afternoon there was another drive, to which Pitt did not need to +be stimulated; and all the evening the two young people were busy with +something which engaged them both. Mrs. Dallas breathed freer. + +'I _think_ he is smitten,' she said privately to her husband. 'How +could 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 of +Pitt's disengagedness made him more ensnaring to her. There was nobody +else in the village to divert his attention, and the two young people +were thrown very much together. They went driving, they rode, and they +talked, continually. The map of London was often out, and Mrs. Dallas +saw the two heads bent over it, and interested faces looking into each +other; and she thought things were going on very fairly. If only the +vacation were not so short! For only a little time more, and Pitt must +be back at his chambers in London. The mother sighed to herself. She +was paying rather a heavy price to keep her son from Dissenters! + +Betty Frere too remembered that the vacation was coming to an end, and +drew her breath rather short. She was depending on Pitt too much for +her amusement, she told herself, and to be sure there were other young +men in the world that could talk; but she felt a sort of disgust at the +thought of them all. They were not near so interesting. They all +flattered her, and some of them were supposed to be brilliant; but +Betty turned from the thought of them to the one whose lips never +condescended to say pretty things, nor made any effort to say witty +things. They behaved towards her with a sort of obsequious reverence, +which was the fashion of that day much more than of this; and Betty +liked far better a manner which never made pretence of anything, was +thoroughly natural and perfectly well-bred, but which frankly paid more +honour to his mother than to herself. She admired Pitt's behaviour to +his mother. Even to his mother it had less formality than was the +custom of the day; while it gave her every delicate little attention +and every possible graceful observance. The young beauty had sense +enough to see that this promised more for Pitt's future wife than any +amount of civil subserviency to herself. Perhaps there is not a quality +which women value more in a man, or miss more sorely, than what we +express by the term manliness. And she saw that Pitt, while he was +enthusiastic and eager, and what she called fanciful, always was true, +honest, and firm in what he thought right. From that no fancy carried +him away. + +And Miss Betty found the days pass with almost as much charm as +fleetness. How fleet they were she did not bear to think. She found +herself recognising Pitt's step, distinguishing his voice in the +distance, and watching for the one and the other. Why not? He was so +pleasant as a companion. But she found herself also starting when he +appeared suddenly, thrilled at the unexpected sound of his voice, and +conscious of quickened pulses when he came into the room. Betty did not +like these signs in herself; at the same time, that which had wrought +the spell continued to work, and the spell was not broken. In justice +to the young lady, I must say that there was not the slightest outward +token of it. Betty was as utterly calm and careless in her manner as +Pitt himself; so that even Mrs. Dallas--and a woman in those matters +sees far--could not tell whether either or both of the young people had +a liking for the other more than the social good-fellowship which was +frank and apparent. It might be, and she confessed also to herself that +it might not be. + +'You must give that fellow time,' said her husband. Which Mrs. Dallas +knew, if she had not been so much in a hurry. + +'If he met those Gainsboroughs by chance, I would not answer for +anything,' she said. + +'How should he meet them? They are probably as poor as rats, and have +drawn 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 next +year.' + +'That is a very good thought,' said Mrs. Dallas. + +And, comforted by this thought and the plans she presently began to +weave in with it, she looked now with much more equanimity than Betty +herself towards the end of Pitt's visit. Mrs. Dallas, however, was not +to get off without another shock to her nerves. + +It was early in September, and the weather of that sultry, hot, and +moist character which we have learned to look for in connection with +the first half of that month. Miss Frere's embroidery went languidly; +possibly there might have been more reasons than one for the slow and +spiritless movement of her fingers, which was quite contrary to their +normal habit. Mrs. Dallas, sitting at a little distance on the +verandah, was near enough to hear and observe what went on when Pitt +came upon the scene, and far enough to be separated from the +conversation unless she chose to mix in it. By and by he came, looking +thoughtful, as Betty saw, though she hardly seemed to notice his +approach. There was no token in her quiet manner of the quickened +pulses of which she was immediately conscious. Something like a +tremulous thrill ran through her nerves; it vexed her to be so little +mistress of them, yet the pleasure of the thrill at the moment was more +than the pain. Pitt threw himself into a chair near her, and for a few +moments watched the play of her needle. Betty's eyelashes never +stirred. But the silence lasted too long. Nerves would not bear it. + +'What can you find to do in this weather, Mr. Pitt?' she asked +languidly. + +'It is good weather,' he answered absently. 'Do you ever read the +Bible?' + +Miss Betty's fine eyes were lifted now with an expression of some +amusement. They were very fine eyes; Mrs. Dallas thought they could not +fail of their effect. + +'The Bible?' she repeated. 'I read the lessons in the Prayer-book; that +is 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. There +is a great deal of it.' + +'But you read it piecemeal so.' + +'You must read it piecemeal any way,' returned the young lady. 'You can +read only a little each day; a portion.' + +'You could read consecutively, though, or you could choose for +yourself.' + +'I like to have the choice made for me. It saves time; and then one is +sure one has got hold of the right portion, you know. I like the +lessons.' + +'And then,' remarked Mrs. Dallas, 'you know other people and your +friends are reading that same portion at the same time, and the feeling +is very sacred and sweet.' + +'But if the Bible was intended to be read in such a way, how comes it +that 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 know +as well as I do.' + +'As I understand it, mother, what you mean is simply a body of +Christians who lived some time ago.' + +'Yes. Well, what then?' + +'I do not comprehend how they should know what you and I want to read +to-day. I am not talking of Church services. I am talking of private +reading.' + +'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 really +very wrong. This comes of your way of questioning and reasoning about +everything. 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 said +gravely. + +'Undoubtedly.' + +'Well, mother, I am not talking to you; I am attacking Miss Frere. I +can talk to her on even terms. Miss Frere, I want to know what you +understand by obeying, when we are speaking of the demands of the +Bible?' + +'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 with +which at another time she would have given a turn to the subject. + +'Then you think, distinctly, that we ought to obey the words of the +Bible?' + +'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 an +instance or two? I am talking in earnest, and mean it earnestly.' + +'Do you ever do anything in any other way?' asked the young lady, with +a charming air of fine raillery and recognition blended. 'Certainly; I +am 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 a +doubtful expression. + +'No, mamma; I like to go to the Fountain-head of authority as well as +of learning.' + +'The Fountain-head!' exclaimed Mrs. Dallas, in indignant protest; and +then she remembered her wisdom, and said no more. It cost her an +effort; however, she knew that for her to set up a defence of either +Church or Prayer-book just then would not be wise, and that she had +better leave the matter in Betty's hands. She looked at Betty +anxiously. The young lady's face showed her cool and collected, not +likely to be carried away by any stream of enthusiasm or overborne by +influence. It was, in fact, more cool than she felt. She liked to get +into a good talk with Pitt upon any subject, and so far was content; at +the same time she would rather have chosen any other than this, and was +a little afraid whereto it might lead. Religion had not been precisely +her principal study. True, it had not been his principal study either; +but Betty discerned a difference in their modes of approaching it. She +attributed that to the Puritan or dissenting influences which had at +some time got hold of him. To thwart those would at any rate be a good +work, 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 commands +we are bound to obey?' + +'Provided we understand it,' his opponent put in. + +'Provided we understand it, of course. A command not understood is +hardly a command. Now here is a word which has struck me, and I would +like to know how it strikes you.' + +He turned to the familiar twenty-fifth of Matthew and read the central +portion, the parable of the talents. He read like an interested man, +and perhaps it was owing to a slight unconscious intonation here and +there that Pitt's two hearers listened as if the words were strangely +new to them. They had never heard them sound just so. Yet the reading +was not dramatic at all; it was only a perfectly natural and feeling +deliverance. But feeling reaches feeling, as we all know. The reading +ceased, nobody spoke for several minutes. + +'What does it mean?' asked Pitt. + +'My dear,' said his mother, 'can there be a question what it means? The +words are perfectly simple, it seems to me.' + +'Mamma, I am not talking to you. You may sit as judge and arbiter; but +it is Miss Frere and I who are disputing. She will have the goodness to +answer.' + +'I do not know what to answer,' said the young lady. 'Are not the +words, as Mrs. Dallas says, perfectly plain?' + +'Then surely it cannot be difficult to say what the teaching of them +is?' + +If it was not difficult, the continued silence of the lady was +remarkable. She made no further answer. + +'_Are_ they so plain? I have been puzzling over them. I will divide the +question, and perhaps we can get at the conclusion better so. In the +first 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; they +cannot mean everybody, for it says, he "called _his own_ servants;" the +Greek is "bond-servants."' + +'His servants would be His Church then.' + +'His own people. "He delivered unto them His goods." What are the goods +he delivered to them? Some had more, some had less; all had a share and +a 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 process +by which the goods or the money concerned are multiplied. What are the +goods given to you and me?--to bring the question down into the +practical. It must be something with which we may increase the wealth +of 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 judge +between 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, every +enlargement of His dominion in this world, every addition made to the +number of His subjects, may be fairly spoken of so. The question +stands, What are the goods? That is, if you like to go into it. I am +not 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 me +before, and I am not ready with an answer.' + +'I never heard the question discussed either,' said Pitt. 'But I was +reading this passage yesterday, and could not help starting it. The +"goods" must be, I think, all those gifts or powers by means of which +we can work for God, and so work as to enlarge His kingdom. Now, what +are they?' + +'Of course we can pay money,' said the young lady, looking a good deal +mystified. 'We can pay money to support ministers, if that is what you +mean.' + +'So much is patent enough. Is money the only thing?' + +Miss Frere looked bewildered, Mrs. Dallas impatient. She restrained +herself, however, and waited. Pitt smiled. + +'We pay money to support ministers and teachers. What do the ministers +work with? what do they _trade_ with?' + +'The truth, I suppose.' + +'And how do they make the truth known? By their lips, and by their +lives; 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, and +so far as we have discovered, are three: property, speech, and personal +example. But the two last are entrusted to you and me, are they not, as +well as the former?' + +The girl looked at him now with big eyes, in which no shadow of +self-consciousness was any more lurking. Eyes that were bewildered, +astonished, inquiring, and also disturbed. 'What do you mean?' she said +helplessly. + +'It comes to this,' said Pitt. 'If we are ready to obey the Bible, we +shall use not only our money, but our tongues and ourselves to do the +work which--you know--the Lord left to His disciples to do; make +disciples 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 that +does 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 are +straining things quite beyond what is intended. We are not all meant to +be 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 given +you one instance. Now I will give you another. It is written over +here,' and he turned a few leaves,--'it is another word of Christ to +those 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 all +know what it means when we say that such a person or such a thing is +Christlike. Loving, charitable, kind'-- + +'But to _follow_ Him,--that is something positive and active. Literal +following a person is to go where he has gone, through all the paths +and to all the places. In the spiritual following, which is intended +here,--what is it? It is to do as He did, is it not? To have His aims +and 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, again +with a little laugh, as of self-recollection. 'Tell me to stop, if you +are tired of the subject.' + +'I am not in the least tired; how could you think it? It always +delights 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 for +me. 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 in +mental footsteps.' + +'I do not understand you,' said his mother, with an air both vexed and +anxious; while Miss Frere had now let her embroidery fall, and was +giving her best consideration to the subject and the speaker. She was a +little annoyed too, but she was more interested. This was a different +sort of conversation from any she had been accustomed to hear, and Pitt +was a different sort of speaker. He was not talking to kill time, or to +please her; he was--most wonderful and rare!--in earnest; and that not +in any matter that involved material interests. She had seen people in +earnest before on matters of speculation and philosophy, often on +stocks and schemes for making money, in earnest violently on questions +of party politics; but in earnest for the truth's sake, never, in all +her life. It was a new experience, and Pitt was a novel kind of person; +manly, straightforward, honest; quite a person to be admired, to be +respected, to be-- Where were her thoughts running? + +He had sat silent a moment, after his mother's last remark; gravely +thinking. 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 be +speaking to mamma. If you will look at the way Christ went, you will +see 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; we +cannot help thinking of ourselves; we are _meant_ to think of +ourselves. Everybody must think of self; or the world would not hold +together.' + +'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 where +would the world be, if everybody, as you say, put self nowhere?' + +'I will go on to another point. Christ went about doing good. It was +the 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 was +resting among friends in the little household at Bethany, He was +teaching, 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 ready +with an answer. The pause lasted till both of them felt what it +implied, 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 with +a slight bow, he intimated his willingness to hear her. Miss Frere was +nevertheless not very ready. + +'Mr. Dallas, do I understand you? Can it be that you mean--I do not +know how to put it,--do you mean that you think that everybody, that +all of us, and each of us, ought to devote his life to helping and +teaching?' + +'It can be of no consequence what I think,' he said. 'The question is +simply, what is "following Christ"?' + +'Being His disciple, I should say.' + +'What is that?' he replied quickly. 'I have been studying that very +point; 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 cannot +be my disciple"?' + +'But what do you mean, Pitt?' his mother asked in indignant +consternation. + +'What did the Lord mean, mother?' he returned very gravely. + +'Are we all heathen, then?' she went on with heat. 'For I never saw +anybody yet in my life that took such a view of religion as you are +taking.' + +'Do we know exactly Mr. Pitt's view?' here put in the other lady. 'I +confess I do not. I wish he would say.' + +'I have been studying it,' said Pitt, with an earnest gravity of manner +which gave his mother yet more trouble than his words. 'I have gone to +the Greek for it; and there the word rendered "forsake" is one that +means to "take leave of"--"bid farewell." And if we go to history for +the explanation, we do find that that was the attitude of mind which +those 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--even +life--as the cost of their following. They would begin by a secret +taking 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 women +looked at him; and his mother got rid as unobtrusively as possible of a +vexed and hot tear that would come. + +'Mr. Dallas,' Miss Frere urged again, 'these are not times of +persecution any more. We can be Christians--disciples--and retain all +our 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 anybody +will be content to put self nowhere, as Christ did, giving up his whole +life and strength--and means--to the help and service of his fellow +men, _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 or +pleasure, 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 with +that 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 me +for 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 doth +not _take up his cross_ and follow me, he cannot be my disciple"? The +cross meant shame, torture, and death, in those days; and I think in a +modified way, it means the same thing now. It means something.' + +'But Mr. Pitt, you do not answer my argument,' Miss Frere repeated. 'If +this view is correct, how comes it that nobody takes it but you?' + +'Your argument is where the dew is after a hot sun,--nowhere. Instead +of 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 faced +the lions. In later days, they have been chased and worried from +hiding-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 and +gone to the ends of the earth to tell the gospel. They have done what +was 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 understand +you.' + +'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 no +room 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 elder +Dallas'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 views +of Pitt's all sorts of possible dangers to what she had hoped would be +his future career in life. Even granting that they were a youthful +folly and would pass away, how soon would they pass away? and in the +meantime what chances Pitt might lose, what time might be wasted, what +fatal damage his prospects might suffer! And Pitt held a thing so fast +when he had once taken it up. Almost her only hope lay in Betty's +influence. + +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, for +the time at least, be open to no other. Her ordinary power would be +gone; he would see in her nothing but a talking machine with whom he +could discuss things. It was not speculation merely that busied his +thoughts now, she could see; not mere philosophy, or study of human +nature; 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. Betty +saw that there was but one thing left for her to do. Diversion was not +possible; she could not hope to turn Pitt aside from his quest after +truth; she must seem to take part in it, and so gain her advantage from +what threatened to be her discomfiture. + +The result of all which was, that after this there came to be a great +deal of talk between the two upon Bible subjects, intermingled with not +a little reading aloud from the Bible itself. This was at Betty's +instance, rather than Pitt's. When she could she got him out for a walk +or a drive; in the house (and truly, often out of the house too) she +threw herself with great apparent interest into the study of the +questions that had been started, along with others collateral, and +desired to learn and desired to discuss all that could be known about +them. So there were, as I said, continual Bible readings, mingled +occasionally with references to some old commentary; and Betty and Pitt +sat very near together, looking over the same page; and remained long +in talk, looking eagerly into one another's eyes. Mrs. Dallas was not +satisfied. + +She came upon Betty one day in the verandah, just after Pitt had left +her. The young lady was sitting with her hand between the leaves of a +Bible, and a disturbed, far-away look in her eyes, which might have +been the questioning of a troubled conscience, or--of a very different +feeling. She roused up as Mrs. Dallas came to her, and put on a +somewhat 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 this +Bible 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. He +always took things "hard," as you say; but then it used to be science +and study of history, and collecting of natural curiosities, and +drawing. Have you seen any of Pitt's drawings? He has a genius for +that. Indeed, I think he has a genius for everything,' Mrs. Dallas said +with a sigh; 'and he used to be keen for distinguishing himself, and he +did distinguish himself everywhere, always; here at school and at +college, and then at Oxford. My dear, he distinguished himself at +_Oxford_. He was always a good boy, but not in the least foolish, or +superstitious, or the least inclined to be fanatical. And now, as far +as 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 getting +ready to take his place in the world--and he would take no mean place +in the world, Betty--it is hard! Why, he talks as if he would throw +everything up. I never would have thought it of Pitt, of all people. It +is due, I am convinced, to the influence of those dissenting friends of +his!' + +'Who are they?' Miss Betty asked curiously. + +'You have heard the name,' said Mrs. Dallas, lowering her voice, though +Pitt was not within hearing. 'They used to live here. It was a Colonel +Gainsborough--English, but of a dissenting persuasion. That kind of +thing seems to be infectious.' + +'He must have been a remarkable man, if his influence could begin so +early 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 which +covered a sudden down-sinking of her heart. + +'Oh dear no! she was a child; there was no thought of such a thing. But +Pitt was fond of her, and used to go roaming about the fields with her +after flowers. My son is a botanist; I don't know if you have found it +out.' + +'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 got +this religious idea in his head, would there be any managing it, or +him? It did not frighten Miss Betty, so far as the religious idea +itself was concerned; she reflected sagely that a man might be worse +things than philanthropic, or even than pious. She had seen wives made +unhappy by neglect, and others made miserable by the dissipated habits +or the ungoverned tempers of their husbands; a man need not be +unendurable because he was true and thoughtful and conscientious, or +even devout. She could bear that, quite easily; the only thing was, +that in thoughts which possessed Pitt lately he had passed out of her +influence; beyond her reach. All she could do was to follow him into +this 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 not +feel sure that she got any nearer to him, nevertheless. She was shrewd +enough to divine the reason. + +'Mr. Pitt,' she said frankly to him one day, when the talk had been +eager in the same line it had taken that first day on the verandah, and +both parties had held the same respective positions with regard to each +other,--'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 present +that 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 were +sitting at work. It was another September day of sultry heat, yet the +verandah was also in the morning a pleasant place, sweet with the +honeysuckle fragrance still lingering, and traversed by a faint +intermittent breeze. Both ladies raised their heads to look at the +young man as he came towards them, and then, struck by something in his +face, could not take their eyes away. He came straight to his mother +and 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 have +given up fighting.' + +'Fighting!?' + +'Yes. The battle is won, and I have lost, and gained. I have given up +fighting, 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 has +made a free man of me?' + +His tone was not excited; it was quiet and sweet; but Mrs. Dallas was +excited. + +'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 years +to 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 was +right.' + +'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 you +ought 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 His +servant 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 I +was fighting? and I saw directly that I was fighting a won battle; that +my reason and conscience were entirely vanquished, and that the only +thing that held out was my will. I have given that up, and now I am the +Lord'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 my +Master. I am His for life and death; and now His commands seem the +pleasantest 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 own +supreme will.' + +'But, Pitt, you say you have come to know; what time has there been for +any such change?' + +'Not much time,' he replied; 'and I cannot tell how it is; but it +seemed 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 I +seemed 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 more +reasonable than His demands, or more delightful than yielding obedience +to them.' + +'Demands? what demands?' said Mrs. Dallas. + +Her son repeated the words with which the twelfth chapter of Romans +begins. + +'"I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye +present 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 it +gives all to God as entirely as the offering that imaged it went up in +smoke 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 been +studying all this for years, in the Bible and in the words of others +who _were_ clergymen; and now it is all plain before me. It became so +as 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 not +know where my orders will place me or what work they will give me. Only +I _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 should +certainly think I heard a Methodist talking. I suppose that is the way +they do.' + +'Did you ever hear one talk, mother?' + +'No, and do not want to hear one, even if it were my own son!' she +answered angrily. + +'But in all that I have been saying, if they say it too, the Methodists +are right, mother. A redeemed sinner is one bought with a price, and +thenceforth neither his spirit nor his body can be his own. And his +happiness is not to be his own.' + +Mrs. Dallas was violently moved, yet she had much self-command and +habitual dignity of manner, and would not break down now. More pitiful +than tears was the haughty gesture of her head as she turned it aside +to hide the quivering lips. And more tender than words was the air with +which 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 bitter +emphasis. + +'You never could have believed anything so good of me.' + +'What are you going to _do?_' she repeated vehemently. 'What does all +this amount to? or is it anything but dissenting rant?' + +'Anything but that,' he answered gravely. 'Mother, do you remember the +words,--"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 which +enter 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 do +not yet know; but this I know plainly, that my work in the world, one +way 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 I +have begun. But if I do, mother, my law will be only one of the means I +have 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 was +the 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 of +humanity understands it. The love that would win them for heaven would +also help them on earth; and if they do not see the one thing, they do +not 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 be +obliged to you, Pitt, to answer her.' + +The young man's countenance changed; a shadow fell over it which raised +Miss Frere's sympathy. He went into the house, however, for a Bible, +and coming back with it sat down and read quietly and steadfastly the +beautiful words in Isaiah: + +'"To loose the bands of wickedness, to undo the heavy burdens, and to +let the oppressed go free, and that ye break every yoke. ... To deal +thy bread to the hungry, and that thou bring the poor that are cast out +to thy house; when thou seest the naked, that thou cover him; and that +thou hide not thyself from thine own flesh."' + +'It would take a good deal of money, certainly,' said Miss Frere, 'to +do all that; indeed, I hardly think all the fortunes in the world would +be sufficient.' + +Pitt made no answer. He sat looking down at the page from which he had +been 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 any +fanaticism 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 cover +him"--"that ye break every yoke." And, "he that hath two coats, let him +impart to him that hath none; and he that hath meat, let him do +likewise."' + +'You can find Scripture to quote for everything, said Mrs. Dallas, +rising in anger; 'that is the way Methodists and fanatics always do, as +I have heard. But I can tell you one thing, Pitt, which you may not +have taken into account; if you persist in this foolishness, your +father, I know, will take care that the fortune you have to throw away +shall not be large!' + +With these words she swept into the house. The two left behind were for +some moments very still. Pitt had drooped his head a little, and rested +his brow in his hand; Miss Betty watched him. Her dismay and dislike of +Pitt's disclosures were scarcely less than his mother's, but different. +Disappointed pride was not here in question. That he should give up a +splendid and opulent career did not much trouble her. In the first +place, he might modify his present views; in the second place, if he +did not, if he lived up to his principles, there was something in her +which 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 her +sphere, and beyond her reach? For the present, at least, his mind was +utterly taken up by this one great subject; there was no room in it +left for light things; love skirmishes could not be carried on over the +ground he now occupied; he was wholly absorbed in his new decisions and +experiences, 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 at +the 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 manner +to his mother was perfect. So had not been her manner towards him. He +had been gentle, steadfast, and true, manly and tender. 'Happy will be +the woman that will share his life, whatever it be!' thought Betty, +with some constriction of heart; but to bring herself into that +favoured place she saw little chance now. She longed to say a word of +some sort that might sound like sympathy or intelligence; but she could +not find it, and wisely held her peace. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +_LIFE PLANS_. + + +Happily or unhappily,--it was as people looked at it,--Pitt's free days +in America were drawing to a close. There were few still remaining to +him before he must leave Seaforth and home, and go back to his reading +law in the Temple. In those days there was a little more discussion of +his new views and their consequences between him and his mother, but +not 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 ass +of 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 make +ducks 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 depend +upon it, London and law will scare all this nonsense away, fast enough.' + +Mrs. Dallas felt no comforting assurance of the kind. She watched her +son during the remaining days of his presence with them--watched him +incessantly; so did Betty Frere, and so, in truth, secretly, did his +father. Pitt was rather more quiet than usual; there was not much other +change to be observed in him, or so Mrs. Dallas flattered herself. + +'I see a difference,' said Miss Frere, to whom she communicated this +opinion. + +'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; there +was 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 with +the happiness of a good son; but neither she nor Miss Frere adverted to +that anomaly. + +'I should not wonder one bit,' said Mrs. Dallas bitterly, 'if he were +to disinherit himself.' + +That would be bad, Betty agreed--deplorable; however, the thought of +her own loss busied her most just now; not of what Pitt might lose. Two +days before his departure all these various feelings of the various +persons in the little family received a somewhat violent jar. + +It was evening. Miss Frere and Pitt had had a ride that afternoon--a +long and very spirited one. It might be the last they would take +together, and she had enjoyed it with the keenness of that +consciousness; as a grain of salt intensifies sweetness, or as discords +throw out the value of harmony. Pitt had been bright and lively as much +as ever, the ride had been gay, and the one regret on Betty's mind as +they dismounted was that she had not more time before her to try what +she could do. Pitt, as yet at least, had not grown a bit precise or +sanctimonious; he had not talked nonsense, indeed, but then he never +had paid her the very poor compliment of doing that. All the more, she +as 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. Dallas +roused up to bear his part in the conversation. When supper was done +they still sat round the table, lingering in talk. Then, after a slight +pause which had set in, Pitt leaned forward a little and spoke, looking +alternately 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 more +of shocked surprise. Dumb silence followed. Angry eyes were directed +towards the speaker from the top and from the bottom of the table. Miss +Frere cast down hers with the inward thought, 'Oh, you foolish, foolish +fellow! what did you do that for, and spoil everything!' Pitt waited a +little. + +'It is duty,' he said. 'You yourselves will grant me that.' + +'And you fancy it is _your_ duty to remind us of ours!' said his +father, with contained scorn. + +The mother's agitation was violent--so violent that she had difficulty +to command herself. What it was that moved her so painfully she could +not have told; her thoughts were in too much of a whirl. Between anger, +and fear, and something else, she was in the greatest confusion, and +not able to utter a syllable. Betty sat internally railing at Pitt's +folly. + +'The only question is, Is it duty?--in either case,' the son said +steadfastly. + +'Exactly!' said his father. 'Well, you have done yours; and I will do +mine.' + +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 a +moved conscience, or mere policy and curiosity; she could not tell +which. The words were enough, however, whatever had moved them. Pitt +took a Bible and read, still sitting at the table, the Parable of the +Talents; and then he kneeled down. The elder Dallas never stirred. +Betty knelt at once. Mrs. Dallas sat still at first, but then slipped +from her chair to the floor and buried her face in her hands, where +tears that were exceedingly bitter flowed beyond all her power to +hinder them. For Pitt was praying, and to his mother's somewhat shocked +astonishment, not in any words from a book, but in words--where did he +get them?--that broke her heart. They were solemn and sweet, tender and +simple; there was neither boldness nor shyness in them, although there +was a frankness at which Mrs. Dallas wondered, along with the +tenderness that quite subdued her. + +The third one kneeling there was moved differently. The fountain of her +tears was not touched at all, neither had she any share in the passion +of displeasure which filled the father and mother. Yet she was in a +disturbance almost as complete as theirs. It was a bitter and secret +trouble, which as a woman she had to keep to herself, over which her +head bowed as she knelt there. Just for that minute she might bow her +head 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's +proceedings; she did not sympathize with his motives; at the same time +they did not make her like him the less. On the contrary, and Betty +felt it was on the contrary, she could not help admiring his bravery, +and she was almost ready to worship his strength. Somebody brave enough +to avow truth that is unwelcome, and strong enough to do what goes +against the grain with himself; such a person is not to be met with +every day, and usually excites the profound respect of his fellows, +even when they do not like him. But Betty liked this one, and liked him +the more for doing the things she disliked, and it drove her to the +bounds of desperation to feel that in the engrossment of his new +principles he was carried away from her, and out of her power. Added to +all this was the extreme strangeness of the present experience. +Absolutely kneeling round the dinner-table!--kneeling to pray! Betty +had never known such a thing, nor conceived the possibility of such a +thing. In an unconsecrated place, led by unconsecrated lips, in words +nowhere set down; what could equal the irregularity and the +impropriety? The two women, in their weakness, kneeling, and the master +of the house showing by his unmoved posture that he disallowed the +whole thing! Incongruous! unfortunate! I am bound to say that Betty +understood little of the words she so disapproved; the sea under a +stormy wind is not more uneasy than was her spirit; and towards the end +her one special thought and effort was bent upon quieting the +commotion, and at least appearing unmoved. She was pretty safe, for the +other members of the family had each enough to busy him without taking +much note of her. + +Pitt had but a day or two more to stay; and Miss Frere felt an +irresistible impulse to force him into at least one talk more. She +hardly knew what she expected, or what she wished from it; only, to let +him go so, without one more word, was unbearable. She wanted to get +nearer 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 with +him. 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; and +after breakfast Mr. and Mrs. Dallas both disappeared. Betty seized her +opportunity, and reminded Pitt that he had never showed her his +particular room, his old workshop and play place. 'It was not much to +see,' he said; however, he took her through the house, and up the open +flight of steps, where long ago Esther had been used to go for her +lessons. The room looked much as it had done at that time; for during +Pitt's stay at home he had pulled out one thing after another from its +packing or hiding place; and now, mounted birds and animals, coins, +shells, minerals, presses, engravings, drawings, and curiosities, made +a delightful litter; delightful, for it was not disorderly; only gave +one the feeling of a wealth of tastes and pursuits, every one of them +pursued to enjoyment. Betty studied the place and the several objects +in 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 is +small. 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 I +have reserved to the last, for I like to have them about while I am +here.' + +He began as he spoke to put away some little articles, and got out +paper to wrap up others. + +'And how came you by all these tastes? Mr. and Mrs. Dallas do not share +them, 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, I +believe, on both sides of the house. My mother has not that on her +conscience.' + +'But you sympathize with such supposititious ancestors?' + +'Why do you say so?' + +'Mr. Pitt,' said Betty, sitting down and folding her hands seriously in +her 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 it +on, 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 something +like an earthquake; and what is the use of earthquakes?' + +'You remember the Eastern theory--Burmese, is it? or +Siamese?--according to which the world rests on the heads of four +elephants; when one of the elephants shakes his head, there is an +earthquake. 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 small +piece of it does rest on my head, as on that of every other human +creature. On the right position and right movement of every one of us +depends more than we know. What we have to do is to keep straight and +go 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 just +raised a storm; you know it did; they did not like it; and it would +only make them more opposed to your new principles. I do not see how it +could do any good.' + +'Yes,' said Pitt, who meanwhile was going on with his packing and +putting away. 'I know all that. But don't you think people ought to +show 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 for +suspicion. It shows that they are for some reason either afraid or +ashamed 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 more +than that.' Pitt stopped in his going about the room and stood opposite +his fair opponent, if she can be called so, facing her with steady eyes +and 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 of +belonging to Him, I wish exceedingly that everybody else should see it +and know it as I do.' + +'And, if I remember, you intimated once that it was to be the business +of 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 your +business?' + +'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 into +all the world and make disciples of every creature.' + +'All the disciples!' + +'And to all the disciples that other command was given,--"Whatsoever ye +would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them." And of all the +things that a man can want and desire to have given him, there is +nothing 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, I +think 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 sat +and looked at him, and looked at the varieties of things he was putting +under shelter or out of the way. One after another, all bearing their +witness to the tastes and appetite for knowledge possessed by the +person who had gathered them together. Yes, if Pitt was not a +scientist, he was very fond of sciences; and if he were not to be +called an artist in some kinds, he was full of feeling for art. What an +anomaly he was! how very unlike this room looked to the abode of a +fanatic! + +'What is to become of all these things?' she asked, pursuing her +thoughts. + +'They will be safe here till I return.' + +'But I mean-- You do not understand me. I was thinking rather, what +would 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_ for +the service or honour of God. Did you think they were to be renounced +in all cases?' + +'Then what did you mean?' + +'The Bible means, evidently, that we are to be so minded, toward them +and toward God, that we are ready to give them up and do give them up +just so far and so fast as His service calls for it. That is all, and +it 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 I +put it?--to set people right, in short. Why don't you begin at the +beginning, 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 in +the shape of ordnance.' + +'Why do you say that? I have been very much interested in all I have +heard you say.' + +'I know that; and not in the least moved.' + +Betty was vexed. Had her tactics failed so utterly? Did Pitt think she +was a person quite and irremediably out of his plane, and inaccessible +to the interests which he ranked first of all? She had wanted to get +nearer to him. Had she so failed? She would not let the tears come into +her 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 you +will not look the way I have been pointing you. Of course, you do not +see what I see.' + +'In what direction are my eyes so set?' + +'I will not presume to tell Miss Frere what she knows so much better +than 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 are +like witnesses, stepping out from the darkness of the past and telling +the history of it--history in which they moved and had a part, you +understand.' + +'But the history of the past is not so delightful, is it, that one +would care much about hearing the witnesses? What is in that other +cabinet, where you are standing?' + +'That contains my herbarium.' + +'All that? You don't mean that all those drawers are filled with dried +flowers?' + +'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 you +going to be unlike other men? Your mother seems to apprehend some +disastrous and mysterious change in all your prospects; I cannot see +the necessity of that. In what are you going to be other than she +wishes you to be? Are not her fears mistaken?' + +Pitt smiled a grave smile; again stopped in his work and stood opposite +her. + +'I might say "yes" and "no,"' he answered. 'I do not expect to have a +red cross embroidered on my sleeve, like the old crusaders. But judge +yourself. Can those who live to do the will of God be just like those +whose 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, and +too much sense not to know what was truth. She accordingly did not say +anything, and after waiting a minute or two Pitt went on with his +preparations, locking up drawers, packing up boxes, taking down and +putting away the many objects that filled the room. There was not a +little work of this sort to be done, and he went on with it busily, and +with an evidently trained and skilled hand. + +'Then, after finishing with law, do you expect to come back here and +unpack 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 to +Greenland; or it may be to come here. Though I do not now see what I +should 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 was +something indeed very different from the general run of rich young men, +and that Mrs. Dallas had not been so far wrong in her forebodings. 'How +very absurd!' she said to herself as she went away down the open +staircase; 'and what a pity!' + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +_SKIRMISHING_. + + +To the great chagrin of his mother, and, indeed, of everybody, Pitt +took his departure a few days before the necessary set termination of +his visit. He must, he declared, have a few days to run down from +London into the country and find out the Gainsborough family; if +Colonel Gainsborough and his daughter had really gone home, he must +know. + +'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 all +the 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 me +very well. She has not money, but she has everything else. There has +been no girl more admired in Washington these two winters past; no +girl. You would have a prize, I can tell you, that many a one would +like to hinder your getting.' + +'I have no time, sir, now; and I must find out my old friends, first of +all.' + +'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. He +was manipulating skilfully, as one accustomed to the business, with awl +and a large needle, surrounded by his glue-pot and bits of leather and +paper. 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 much +recognition in it; he feared he had unwarily showed his play. But Pitt +answered then quietly, going on with his work again. + +'I said nothing of that, sir; I do not know anything about that. My old +friends may be in distress; both or one of them; it is not at all +unlikely, I think. If things had gone well with them, you would have +been almost sure to hear of their whereabouts at least. I made a +promise, at any rate, and I am bound to find them, one side or the +other of the Atlantic.' + +'Don Quixote!' muttered his father. 'Colonel Gainsborough, I have no +doubt, 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; he +let the matter drop, though his mouth was full of things he would have +liked to speak. + +So the time came for Pitt's departure, and he went; and the two women +he left behind him hardly dared to look at each other; the one lest she +should betray her sorrow, and the other lest she should seem to see it. +Betty honestly suffered. She had found Pitt's society delightful; it +had all the urbanity without the emptiness of that she was accustomed +to. Whether right or wrong, he was undoubtedly a person in earnest, who +meant his life to be something more than a dream or a play, and who had +higher ends in view than to understand dining, or even to be an +acknowledged critic of light literature, or a leader of fashion. Higher +ends even than to be at the head of the State or a leader of its +armies. There was enough natural nobleness in Betty to understand Pitt, +at least in a degree, and to be mightily attracted by all this. And his +temper was so fine, his manners so pleasant, his tender deference to +his mother so beautiful. Ah, such a man's wife would be well sheltered +from 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 Betty +half hoped, half inconsistently feared, would fade away with time. He +had stayed just long enough to kindle a tire in her heart, which now +she could not with a blow or a breath extinguish; not long enough for +the 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, so +far, at least, as she was concerned; and Betty had nothing to do now +but 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 have +had her see for any money. + +'_I_ think Pitt was taken with her,' she said to her husband, as one +seeks 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 always +like 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 all +over England to discover the family place; and then he will know that +there is more looking to be done in America.' + +'And he talked of coming over next year! Husband, he must not come. We +must 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's +gathering at Seaforth. That was a very doubtful possibility; the hope +built upon it was vaporously unsubstantial. She debated with herself +whether the best thing were not to take the first passable offer that +should present itself, marry and settle down, and so deprive herself of +the power of thinking about Pitt, and him of the fancy that she ever +had thought about him. Poor girl, she had verified the truth of the +word 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 at +different times, allowed them to come near enough to be looked at; +dallied with them, discussed, and rejected, successively, without her +own heart ever even coming in danger; as to danger to their's, that +indeed had not been taken into consideration, or had not excited any +scruple. Now, now, the fire bit her, and she could not stifle it; and a +grave doubt came over her whether even that expedient of marriage might +be found able to stifle it. She went away from Seaforth a few days +after 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 there +it chanced that she had a meeting which, in the young lady's then state +of 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 its +developments, the developments were different. Small companies, even of +fashionable 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 much +more necessarily and universally dependent on the accessories of birth, +breeding, and education, than is the case at present. It was known who +everybody was; parvenus were few; and there was still a flavour left of +old-world traditions and colonial antecedents. So, when Miss Frere was +invited to one of the best houses in the city to spend the evening, she +was not surprised to find only a moderate little company assembled, and +dresses and appointments on an easy and unostentatious footing, which +now is nearly unheard of. There was elegance enough, however, both in +the dresses and persons of many of those present; and Betty was quite +in her element, finding herself as usual surrounded by attentive and +admiring eyes, and able to indulge her love of conversation; for this +young lady liked talking better than dancing. Indeed, there was no +dancing in the early part of the evening; it was rather a musical +company, and Betty's favourite amusement was often interrupted; for the +music was too good, and the people present too well-bred, to allow of +that 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 Mozart +and Beethoven and Handel; and Betty had got into full swing of +conversation again, when a pause around her gave notice that another +performer was taking her seat at the piano. Betty checked her speech +with 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 gentlemen +immediately at hand did not know; then she was told, 'It is a Miss +Gainsborough.' + +'Gainsborough!' Betty's eyes grew large, and her face took a sudden +gravity. 'What Gainsborough?' + +Nobody knew. 'English, I believe,' somebody said. + +All desire to talk died out of Betty's lips; she became as silent as +the most rigid decorum could have demanded, and applied herself to +listen, and of course those around her were becomingly silent also. +What was the astonishment of them all, to hear the notes of a hymn, and +then the hymn itself, sung by a sweet voice with very clear accent, so +that every word was audible! The hymn was not known to Miss Frere; it +was fine and striking; and the melody, also unfamiliar, was exceedingly +simple. Everybody listened, that was manifest; it was more than the +silence of politeness which reigned in the rooms until the last note +was ended. And Betty listened more eagerly than anybody, and a strange +thrill 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 and +had a very full and rich tone; its power was only moderate. The +peculiarity lay in the manner with which the meaning was breathed into +the notes. Betty could not get rid of the fancy that it was a spirit +singing, and not a woman. Simpler musical utterance she had never +heard, 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 voice +was tender, pleading, joyous, triumphant. How anybody should dare sing +such words in a mixed company, Betty could not conceive; yet she envied +the singer; and heard with a strange twinge at her heart the words of +the 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 the +redeemed in heaven,--'Worthy is the Lamb that was slain.' + +As sweet and free as the jubilant shout of a bird the notes rang; with +a _lift_ in them, however, which the unthinking creature neither knows +nor can express. Betty's eye roved once or twice round the room during +the 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 some +others shocked. Others looked curiously grave. + +The music ceased and the singer rose. Nobody proposed that she should +sing again. + +'What do you think of the good taste of that?' one of Betty's cavaliers +asked 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 teacher +somewhere. She has tried her hand on us, hasn't she?' + +'A teacher!' Betty repeated the word, but gave no attention to the +question. She was looking across the room at the musician, who was +standing by the piano talking with a gentleman. The apartment was not +so large but that she could see plainly, while it was large enough to +save her from the charge of ill-bred staring. She saw a moderately tall +figure, as straight as an Indian, with the head exquisitely set on the +shoulders, the head itself covered with an abundance of pale brown +hair, disposed at the back in a manner of careless grace which reminded +Betty of a head of Sappho on an old gem in her possession. The face she +could not see quite so well, for it was partly turned from her; Betty's +attention centred on the figure and carriage. A pang of jealous rivalry +shot through her as she looked. There was not a person in the room that +carried 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, nor +of pride at all; it was not that; it was simple, maidenly dignity, not +dignity aped. Betty read so much, and rapidly read what else she could +see. She saw that the figure she was admiring was dressed but +indifferently; the black silk had certainly seen its best days, if it +was not exactly shabby; no ornaments whatever were worn with it. The +fashion of garments at that day was, as I have remarked, very trying to +any but a good figure, while it certainly showed such a one to +advantage. Betty knew her own figure could bear comparison with most; +the one she was looking at would bear comparison with any. Miss +Gainsborough was standing in the most absolute quiet, the arms crossed +over 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 was +commenting on. 'You don't speak of _balance_ unless--how shall I put +it? Don't you know what I mean?' + +'No!' laughed her companion. + +'You might save me the trouble of telling you, if you were clever. You +know you do not speak of "balance," except--well, except where either +the 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 still +laughing. + +'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 at +this moment near her, Betty went on: 'Dear Mrs. Chatsworth, do take me +over and introduce me to Miss Gainsborough! I am filled with admiration +and curiosity. But first, who is she?' + +'I really can tell you little. She is a great favourite of my friend +Miss 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 is +very 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 Miss +Gainsborough withdrew; the two girls were left face to face. + +Yes, what a face! thought Betty, as soon as it was turned upon her; and +with every minute of their being together the feeling grew. Not like +any face she had ever seen in her life, Betty decided; what the +difference was it took longer to determine. Good features, with +refinement in every line of them; a fair, delicate skin, matching the +pale brown hair, Betty had seen as good repeatedly. What she had not +seen was what attracted her. The brow, broad and intellectual, had a +most beautiful repose upon it; and from under it looked forth upon +Betty 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 faces +but of those who have gone through discipline and have learned the +habit 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 ask +you a question or two. May I? and will you hear me patiently? I see you +will.' + +The other made a courteous, half smiling sign of assent, _not_ as if +she were surprised. Betty noticed that. + +'It is very bold, for a stranger,' she went on, making her observations +while she spoke; 'but the thing is earnest with me, and I must seize my +chance, if it _is_ a chance. It has happened,'--she lowered her voice +somewhat and her words came slower,--'it has happened that I have been +studying 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 usual +thing, you know.' + +'May I ask you a counter question? What should be the motive with which +one 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 as +well as I do, what people thought of it. What is she up to?' But aloud +she answered,-- + +'I think it was very happy, as regarded the choice of the hymn; it was +peculiar, but very effective. My question meant, why did you sing a +hymn at all?' + +'I will tell you,' said the other. 'I do not know if you will +understand me. I sang that, because I have given myself to Christ, and +my voice must be used only as His servant.' + +Quick as thought it flashed upon Betty, the words she had heard Pitt +Dallas quote so lately, quote and descant upon, about giving his body +'a living sacrifice.' 'How you two think alike!' was her instant +reflection; 'and how you would fit if you could come together!--which +you never shall, if I can prevent it.' But her face showed only serious +attention 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 everybody +sings?' + +'_I_ cannot sing them,' said Esther simply. 'My voice is Christ's +servant.' But the smile with which these (to Betty) severe words were +spoken was entirely charming. There was not severity but gladness upon +every line of the curving lips, along with a trait of tenderness which +touched Betty's heart. In all her life she had never had such a feeling +of inferiority. She had given due reverence to persons older than +herself; it was the fashion in those days; she had acknowledged a +certain social precedence in ladies who were leaders of society and +heads of families; she had never had such a feeling of being set down, +as before this young, pure, stately creature. Mentally, Betty, as it +were, stepped down from the dais and stood with her arms folded over +her breast, in the Eastern attitude of reverence, during the rest of +the interview. + +'Then you do not do anything,' said Betty incredulously, 'if you cannot +do it _so?_' + +'Not if I know it,' the other said, smiling more broadly and with some +archness. + +'But still--may I speak frankly?--that does not tell me all. You +know--you _must_ know--that not everybody would like your choice of +music?' + +'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, that +His 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 could +never be free.' + +'Free for what?' + +'Whatever one likes! I should be miserable if I felt I could not do +what 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 you +cannot 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 her +grey 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 I +know Him?' + +'Do you wish me to tell you?' + +'Indeed, yes.' + +'If you are in dead earnest, and seek Him, He will reveal Himself to +you. But then, you must be willing to obey every word He says. Good +night.' + +She offered her hand. Before Miss Frere, however, could take it, up +came 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 saw +several gentlemen casting longing looks in this direction, but they did +not 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 her +life is not a failure?' + +'Miss Gainsborough will say that,' replied Betty. 'As for me, my life +is a problem that I have not solved.' + +'What do you mean by a "failure," Mrs. Chatsworth?' the other girl +asked. + +'Oh, just a failure! Turning out nothing, coming to nothing; nothing, I +mean, that is satisfying. "_Tout lasse,--tout casse,--tout passe!_" A +true 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 envy +you. And yet I do not. You have got to wake up from all that. You are +seventeen, eighteen--nineteen, is it?--and you have not found out yet +that 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 was +speaking of life now.' + +'Does not everlasting life begin now?' said Esther, with another of +those rare smiles. They were so rare and so beautiful that Betty had +come to watch for them,--arch, bright, above all happy, and full of a +kind 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 the +simplest truth. We were made to be happy in the love of God; and as we +were made for that, nothing less will do.' + +'Are you happy? My dear, I need not ask; your face speaks for you. I +believe that pricked me on to ask the question with which we began, in +pure envy. I see you are happy. But confess honestly now, honestly, and +quite between ourselves, confess there is some delightful lover +somewhere, who provokes those smiles, with which no doubt you reward +him?' + +Esther's grey eyes opened unmistakeably at her hostess while she was +speaking, and then a light colour rose on her cheek, and then she +laughed. + +'I neither have, nor ever expect to have, anything of the kind,' she +said. And then she was no longer to be detained, but took leave, and +went 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. I +believe she supports herself and her father--he is old or invalid or +something--by teaching; perhaps they have a little something to help +her out. But I fancy she sees very little society. I never meet her +anywhere. The lady in whose house she was educated is a very warm +friend of hers, and she introduced her to me. So I get her to come here +sometimes for a little change.' + +Betty went home with a great many thoughts in her mind, which kept her +half the night awake. Jealousy perhaps pricked her the most. Not that +Pitt loved this girl; about that Betty was not sure; but how he would +love her if he could see her! How anybody would, especially a man of +refined nature and truth of character, who requires the same in those +connected with him. What a pure creature this was! and then, she was +not only tender, but strong. The look on her face, the lines of her +lips, 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 had +something to bear, and something to do, both of which called for and +called out that strength and sweetness; and yet she was so +happy!--happy after Pitt's fashion. And this was the girl he had been +looking to find. Betty could deserve well of him by letting him know +where to find her! But then, all would be lost, and Betty's life a +failure indeed. She could not face it. And besides, as things were, +they were quite safe for the other two. The childish friendship had +faded out; would start up again, no doubt, if it had a chance; but +there was no need that it should. Pitt was at least heart-whole, if not +memory-free; and as for Esther, she had just declared a lover to be a +possibility nowhere within the range of her horizon. Esther would not +lose anything by not seeing Pitt any more. But then, _would_ she lose +nothing? The girl teaching to support herself and her father, alone and +poor, what would it be to her life if Pitt suddenly came into it, with +his strong hand and genial temper and plenty of means? What would it be +to Betty's life, if he went out of it? She turned and tossed, she +battled and struggled with thoughts; but the end was, she went on to +Washington without ever paying Esther a visit, or letting her know that +her 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 it +all winter, so it ought to be ripe now. We are going over to spend the +summer 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 to +us, and to him it is something; for although he will have no need to +practise in any profession, I agree with him and Mr. Dallas in thinking +that it is good a young man should _have_ a profession; and, at any +rate, what has been begun had better be finished. So, some time in May +we think to leave Seaforth, on our way to London. Dear Betty, will you +take pity on an old woman and go with us, to give us the brightness of +your youth? Don't you want to see London? and I presume by this time +Pitt has qualified himself to be a good cicerone. Besides, we shall not +be fixed in London. We will go to see whatever you would most like to +see in the kingdom; perhaps run up to Scotland. Of course what _I_ want +to see is my boy; but other things would naturally have an attraction +for you. Do not say no; it would be a great disappointment to me. Meet +us in New York about the middle of May. Mr. Dallas wishes to go as soon +as the spring storms are over. I have another reason for making this +journey; I wish to keep Pitt from coming over to America.' + +Betty's heart made a bound as she read this letter, and went on with +faster beats than usual after she had folded it up. A voyage, and +London, and Pitt Dallas for a showman! What could be more alluring in +its temptation and promise? Going about in London with him to guide and +explain things--could opportunity be more favourable to finish the work +which last summer left undone? Betty's heart jumped at it; she knew she +would 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 unduly +forward? would it not look as though she went on purpose to see--not +London but somebody in London? That would be the very truth, Betty +confessed to herself, with a pang of shame and humiliation; the pang +was keen, yet it did not change her resolution. What if? Nobody knew, +she argued, and nobody would have cause to suspect. There was reason +enough, ostensible, why she should go to England with Mrs. Dallas; if +she refused to visit all the old ladies who had sons, her social limits +would be restricted indeed. But Mrs. Dallas herself; would not she +understand? Mrs. Dallas understood enough already, Betty said to +herself defiantly; they were allies in this cause. It was very +miserable that it should be so; however, not now to be undone or set +aside. 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 no +need 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 Pitt +Dallas again at Seaforth and again spent weeks in his mother's house +while he was there, would have been too obvious; this was better every +way. Of course she could not refuse such an invitation; such a chance +of seeing something of the world; she who had always been too poor to +travel. Pitt could not find any matter of surprise nor any ground for +criticism in her doing that. And it would give her all the opportunity +she wished for. + +Here, most inopportunely, came before her the image of Esther. How +those two would suit each other! How infallibly Pitt would be devoted +to her if he could see her! But Betty said to herself that _she_ had a +better 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. Dallas +that she would be delighted to go. + +And then, having made her choice, she put away thought. All through the +voyage she was a most delightful companion. A little stifled +excitement, like forcing heat in a greenhouse, made all her social +qualities blossom out in unwonted brilliancy. She was entertaining, +bright, gay, witty, graceful; she was the admiration and delight of the +whole company on board; and Mrs. Dallas thought to herself with proud +satisfaction that Pitt could find nothing better than that, nor more +attractive, and that she need wish nothing better than that at the head +of her son's household and by his side. That Pitt could withstand such +enchantment was impossible. She was doing the very best thing she could +do in coming to England and in bringing Betty with her. + +Having meditated this journey for months, Mr. Dallas had made all his +preparations. Rooms had been engaged in a pleasant part of the city, +and there, very soon after landing, the little party found themselves +comfortably established and quite at home. + +'Nothing like England!' Mr. Dallas grumbled with satisfaction. 'You +couldn't do this in New York; they understand nothing about it, and +they are too stupid to learn. I believe there isn't a lodging-house in +all the little Dutch city over there; you could not find a single house +where 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 an +excellent dinner, and went to rest in rooms pleasant and well +appointed; but Betty was in a state of feverish excitement which would +not let her be a moment at ease. Now she was here, she almost was ready +to wish herself back again. How would Pitt look at her? how would he +receive her? and yet, what affair was it of his, if his mother brought +a young friend with her, to enjoy the journey and make it agreeable? It +was nothing to Pitt; and yet, if it _were_ nothing to him, Betty would +want to take passage in the next packetship sailing for New York or +Boston. 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 on +one part, most anxious and painful on the other. The first sight of him +calmed Betty's heart-beating; at the same time it gave her a great +thrill of pain. Pitt was himself so frank and so quiet, she said to +herself, there was no occasion for her to fear anything in his +thoughts; his greeting of her was entirely cordial and friendly. He was +neither surprised nor displeased to see her. At the same time, while +this was certainly comforting, Pitt looked too composedly happy for +Betty's peace of mind. Apparently he needed neither her nor +anybody;--'Do men ever?' said Betty to herself bitterly. And besides, +there was in his face and manner a nobleness and a pureness which at +one blow drove home, as it were, the impressions of the last year. Such +a look she had never seen on any face in her life; _except_--yes, there +was one exception, and the thought sent another pang of pain through +her. But women do not show what they feel; and Pitt, if he noticed Miss +Frere at all, saw nothing but the well-bred quiet which always belonged +to 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 a +great deal these last weeks. You got my letter in which I told you he +was 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, and +asked abruptly,-- + +'Then what were you doing at Kensington?' + +'There was business. I have been obliged to give some time to it. You +will be as much surprised as I was, to learn that my old uncle has left +all he had in the world to me.' + +'To you!' Mrs. Dallas did not utter a scream of delight, or embrace her +son, or do anything that many women would have done in honour of the +occasion; 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 could +have done anything else; but I did not know the old gentleman had so +much sense, for all that. Is the property large?' + +'Rather large.' + +'My dear, I am very glad. That makes you independent at once. I do not +know whether I ought to be glad of that; but you would never be led off +from any line of conduct you thought fit to enter, by either having or +wanting 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 at +Kensington 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 not +move in and take possession?' + +'Take possession!--we?' + +'Yes, mother; it is all ready. The old servants are there, and will +take very passably good care of you. Mrs. Bunce can cook a chop, and +boil an egg, and make a piece of toast; let me see, what else can she +do? Everything that my old uncle liked, I know; beyond that, I cannot +say how far her power extends. But I think she can make you +comfortable.' + +'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 of +things 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 will +always 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 set +up housekeeping there yourself; you might never wish it; and in the +meantime all this expense going on?' + +'I know what uncle Strahan would have liked, mamma; but apart from +that, I could never turn adrift his old servants. They are devoted to +me now; and, besides, I wish to have the house taken care of. When you +have seen it, you will not talk any more about having it let. You will +come at once, will you not? It is better than _this_. I told Mrs. Bunce +she might make ready for you; and there is a special room for Miss +Frere, where she may study several things.' + +He gave a pleasant glance at the young lady as he spoke, which +certainly assured her of a welcome. But Betty felt painfully +embarrassed. + +'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's +hospitality, generous as it is.' + +'You will come with us, of course,' said Mrs. Dallas. 'You are one of +us, as much as anybody could be.' + +'And you would be very sorry afterwards if you did not, I can tell +you,' said Pitt frankly. 'My old house is quite something to see; and I +promise 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 an +honour?' + +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 a +bewildering prospect of pleasure. She heard with but half an ear what +Pitt and his mother were saying; yet she did hear it, and lost not a +word, braiding in her own reflections diligently with the thoughts thus +suggested. They talked of Mr. Strahan, of his illness, through which +Pitt had nursed him; of the studies thus interrupted; of the property +thus suddenly come into Pitt's hands. + +'I do not see why you should go on with your law reading,' Mrs. Dallas +broke out at last. 'Really,--why should you? You are perfectly +independent already, without any help from your father; house and +servants 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 law +for any more?' + +'One must do something, you know.' + +'Something--but I never heard that law was an amusing study. Is it not +the 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 used +for its legitimate purposes! I want to have the command of it. If the +study is sometimes dry, the practice is often, or it often may be, in +the highest degree interesting.' + +'Purposes! What purposes?' Mrs. Dallas pursued, fastening on that one +word in Pitt's speech. + +'Righting the wrong, mother, and lifting up the oppressed. A knowledge +of 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 entrance +broke off the conversation. Then it was all gone over again, Mr. +Strahan's illness, Pitt's ministrations, the will, the property, the +house; concluding with the plan of removing thither. Betty, saying +nothing herself, watched the other members of the party; the gleam in +Mr. Dallas's money-loving eyes, the contained satisfaction of Mrs. +Dallas's motherly pride, and the extremely different look on the +younger man's face. With all the brightness and life of his talk to +them, with all the interest and pleasure he showed in the things talked +about, there was a quiet apartness on his brow and in his eyes, a lift +above trifles, a sweetness and a gravity that certainly found their +aliment neither in the sudden advent of a fortune nor in any of the +accessories of money. Betty saw and read, while the others were +talking; and her outward calm and careless demeanour was no true +indication 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 her +restless soul in common with that happy repose that was about him? And +yet, how restlessness is attracted by rest! Of all things it seemed to +Betty one of the most delightful and desirable. Not to be fretted, not +to be anxious; to be never 'out of sorts,' never, seemingly, +discontented with anything or afraid of anything!--while these terms +were the very reverse of all which must describe her and every one else +whom she knew. Where did that high calm come from? No face that Betty +had ever seen had that look upon it; except-- + +Oh, she wished she had never seen that other, or that she could forget +it. Those two fitted together. 'But I should make him just as good a +wife,' 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 contented +with 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 to +be a little awkward, at the same time it was most deliciously +adventurous and novel. She sat demurely enough by Mrs. Dallas's side, +eyeing the strange streets through which they passed, hearing every +word that was spoken by anybody, and keeping the while herself an +extremely smooth and careless exterior. She was full of interest for +all she saw, and yet the girl saw it as in a dream, or only as a +background upon which she saw Pitt. She saw him always, without often +seeming to look at him. The content of Mr. and Mrs. Dallas was +inexpressible. + +'Where will you find anything like that, now?' said Mr. Dallas, as they +were passing Hyde Park. 'Ah, Miss Betty, wait; you will never want to +see Washington again. The Capitol? Pooh, pooh! it may do for a little +beginning 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 takes +precedence of all other things for the present.' + +'Not my _new_ house,' said Pitt. 'It is anything but that. There is +nothing new about it but the master. I thought I should bring you back +with me, mother; so I told Mrs. Bunce to have luncheon ready. As I +said, she can cook a chop.' + +By degrees the houses became thinner, as they drove on; grass and trees +were again prominent; and it was in a region that looked at least half +country that the carriage at last stopped. Indeed more than half +country, for the city was certainly left behind. Everything was in +fresh green; the air was mild and delicious; the place quiet. The +carriage turned from the road and passed through an iron gateway and up +a gravel sweep to the door of an old house, shaded by old trees and +surrounded by a spread of velvety turf. The impression, as Betty +descended from the carriage, was that here had been ages of dignified +order and grave tranquillity. The green-sward was even and soft and of +vivid freshness; the old trees were stately with their length of limb +and great solid trunks; and the house?-- + +The house, towards which she turned, as if to ask questions of it, was +of moderate size, built of stone, and so massively built as if it had +been meant to stand for ever. That was seen at once in the thickness of +the walls, the strong oaken doorway, and the heavy window frames. But +as soon as Betty set foot within the door she could almost have +screamed with delight. + +'Upon my word, very good! very well!' said Mr. Dallas, standing in the +hall and reviewing it. And then, perceiving the presence of the +servants, 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 for +travellers, Mrs. Bunce?' + +Dignified order and grave tranquillity was the impression on Betty's +mind again, as they were ushered into the dining-room. It was late, and +the party sat down at once to table. + +But Betty could hardly eat, for feasting her eyes. And when they went +up-stairs to their rooms that feast still continued. The house was +irregular, with rather small rooms and low ceilings; which itself was +pleasant after the more commonplace regularity to which Miss Frere had +been accustomed; and then it was full--all the rooms were full--of +quaintness and beauty. Oak wainscottings, dark with time; oaken +doorways with singular carvings; chimney-pieces, before which Betty +stood in speechless delight and admiration; small-paned windows set in +deep window niches; in one or two rooms dark draperies; but the late +Mr. Strahan had not favoured anything that shut out the light, and in +most of the house there were no curtains put up. And then, on the +walls, in cupboards and presses, on tables and shelves, and in +cabinets, there was an endless variety and wealth of treasures and +curiosities. 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. To +examine them must be the work of many days; it was merely the fact of +their being there which Betty took in now, with a sense of the great +riches of the new mental pasture-ground in which she found herself. She +changed her dress in a kind of breathless mood; noticing as she did so +the old-fashioned and aged furniture of her room. Aged, not infirm; the +manufacture solid and strong as ever; the wood darkened by time, the +patterns quaint, but to Betty's eye the more picturesque. Her apartment +was a corner room, with one deep window on each of two sides; the +look-out over a sunny landscape of grass, trees, and scattered +buildings. On another side was a deep chimney-place, with curious +wrought-iron fire-dogs. What a delightful adventure--or what a terrible +adventure--was it which had brought her to this house! She would not +think of that; she dressed and went down. + +The rest of the party were gathered in the library, and this room +finished Betty's enchantment. It was a well-sized room, the largest in +the house, on the second floor; and all the properties that made the +house generally interesting were gathered and culminated here. Dark +wainscotting, dark bookcases, and dark books, gave it an aspect that +might have been gloomy, yet was not so; perhaps because of the many +other objects in the room, which gave points of light or bits of +colour. What they were, Betty could only find out by degrees; she saw +at once, in general, that this must have been a favourite place of the +late owner, and that here he had collected a special assemblage of the +things 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 the +same hand. The floor was dark and polished, and on it lay here and +there bits of soft carpeting, which were well worn. Betty advanced +slowly to the corner where the party were siting, taking in the effect +of all this; then almost started as Pitt gave her a chair, to see in +the corner just beyond the group a stuffed bear showing his teeth at +her. + +The father and mother had been talking about various matters at home, +and the talk went on. Betty presently left them, and began to examine +the sides of the room. She studied the bear, which was in an upright +position, 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 before +the empty chimney, and then she went to look at it nearer by. It was a +most exquisite thing. Two great panes of plate glass were so set in a +frame that a space of some three or four inches separated them. In this +space, in every variety of position, were suspended on invisible wires +some twenty humming birds, of different kinds; and whether the light +fell upon this screen in front or came through it from behind, the +display was in either case most beautiful and novel. Betty at last +wandered to the chimney-piece, and went no farther for a good while; +studying the rich carving and the coat of arms which was both +sculptured and painted in the midst of it. By and by she found that +Pitt was beside her. + +'Mr. Strahan's?' she asked. + +'No; they belonged to a former possessor of the house. It came into my +uncle'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 back +to 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 as +that. 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 followed +them, and was looking at a sort of cabinet which was framed into the +wall. + +'I was going to invite Miss Frere's attention to it; yet, on +reflection, 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, while +Betty 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 a +medal struck for the members of the Amphictyonic Council. But see this +coin of Syracuse; _this_ was a common coin of trade; only of a size not +the most common.' + +'All I can say is, their coinage was far handsomer than ours, if it was +like 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 is +what you mean by the _obverse_--of this particular coin? Are you sure?' + +Pitt produced a key from his pocket, unlocked the glass door of the +cabinet, and took the coin from its bed. On the other side was what he +had stated to be there. Betty took the piece in her hands to look and +admire. + +'That is certainly very fine,' she said; but her attention was not +entirely 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 presided +over the fine fountain of sweet water near Syracuse. The coinage of +that city was extremely beautiful and diversified; yielding to hardly +any other in design and workmanship. Here is an earlier one; you see +the very different stage art had attained to.' + +'A regular Greek face,' remarked Betty, going back to the coin she held +in her hand. 'See the straight line of the nose and the very short +upper 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 at +least that which the soul shines through.' + +'What are these little fish swimming about the head? They would seem to +indicate a marine deity.' + +'The dolphin; the Syracusan emblem.' + +'I wish I had been born in those times!' said Betty. And the wish had a +meaning 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 been +born 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 to +its place, 'you are not an enthusiastic numismatist!' + +'No; how should I? Coins are not a thing to excite enthusiasm. They are +beautiful, and curious, but not exactly--not exactly stirring.' + +'I had a scholar once,' remarked Pitt, as he locked the glass door of +the cabinet, 'whose eyes would have opened very wide at sight of this +collection. Have you heard anything of the Gainsboroughs, mother?' + +Betty started, inwardly, and was seized with an unreasoning fear lest +the question might next be put to herself. Quietly, as soon as she +could, she moved away from the coin cabinet, and seemed to be examining +something 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 looked +up the family after I came home last fall; their headquarters are at a +nice old place down in Devonshire. I introduced myself and got +acquainted with them. They are pleasant people. But they knew nothing +of the colonel. He has not come home, and he has not written. Thus much +I 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 Betty +herself. + +'Show you London, mamma! Show you a bit of it, you mean. It would take +something like a lifetime to show you London. What bit will you begin +with?' + +'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; 'and +the wax-work.' + +'Do you think I have never seen a lion, Mr. Dallas?' said the young +lady. + +'Well,--small ones,' said the gentleman, stroking his chin. 'But the +Tower is a big lion itself. I believe _I_ should like to go to the +Tower. 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 care +for that kind of thing. I should like to see the Temple, and Pitt's +chambers.' + +'So should I,' said the younger lady. + +'You might do worse,' said Pitt. 'Then to-morrow we will go to the +Temple, and to St. Paul's.' + +'St. Paul's? _that_ will not hold us long, will it?' said Betty. 'Is it +so 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 just +so. 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 standing +before those coins; and Pitt would be showing them to her; and she--she +would enter into his talk about them, and would understand and have +sympathy, and there would be sympathy on other points too. If Esther +ever stood there, in that beautiful old library, it would be as +mistress and at home. Betty had a premonition of it; she put her hands +before her eyes to shut out the picture. Suppose she earned well of the +two and gained their lasting friendship by saying the words that would +bring them to each other? That was one way out of her difficulty. But +then, why should she? What right had Esther Gainsborough to be happy +more than Betty Frere? The other way out of her difficulty, namely, to +win Pitt's liking, would be much better; and then, they both of them +might be Esther's friends. For of one thing Betty was certain; _if_ she +could win Pitt, he would be won. No half way-work was possible with +him. He would never woo a woman he did not entirely love; and any woman +so loved by him would not need to fear any other woman; it would be +once for all. Betty had never, as it happened, met thoroughgoing truth +before; she recognised it and trusted it perfectly in Pitt; and it was +one of the things, she confessed to herself, that drew her most +mightily to him. A person whom she could absolutely believe, and always +be sure of. Whom else in the world could she trust so? Not her own +brothers; not her own father; mother she had none. How did she know so +securely that Pitt was an exception to the universal rule?--the +question might be asked, and she asked it. She had not seen him tested +in any great thing. But she had seen him tried in little bits of +everyday things, in which most people think it is no harm to dodge the +truth a little; and Betty recognised the soundness of the axiom,--'He +that 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 two +ladies. Mr. Dallas preferred some other occupation. But the interest +brought to the inspection was not altogether legitimate. Mrs. Dallas +cared principally to see how comfortable her son's chambers were, and +to refresh herself with the tokens of antiquity and importance which +attached to the place and the institution to which he belonged. Betty +was no antiquarian in the best of times, and at present had all her +faculties concentrated on one subject and one question which was not of +the past. Nevertheless, it is of the nature of things that a high +strain of the mind renders it intensely receptive and sensitive for +outward impressions, even though they be not welcomed; like a taut +string, which answers to a breath breathed upon it. Betty did not care +for the Temple; had no interest in the old Templars' arms on the sides +of the gateways; and thought its medley of dull courts and lanes a very +undesirable place. What was it to her where Dr. Johnson had lived? she +did not care for Dr. Johnson at all, and as little for Oliver +Goldsmith. Pitt, she saw, cared; how odd it was! It was some comfort +that 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. How +little, she did not show. The beauty of the old church, its venerable +age, and the strange relics of the past in its monuments, did command +some attention. Yet Betty grudged it; and went over the Halls and the +Courts afterward with a half reluctant foot, hearing as if against her +will all that Pitt was telling her and his mother about them. Oh, what +did it matter, that one of Shakspeare's plays had been performed in the +Middle Temple Hall during its author's lifetime? and what did it +signify whether a given piece of architecture were Early English or +Perpendicular Gothic? What did interest her, was to see how lively and +warm was Pitt's knowledge and liking of all these things. Evidently he +delighted in them and was full of information concerning them; and his +interest did move Betty a little. It moved her to speculation also. +Could this man be so earnest in his enjoyment of Norman arches and +polished shafts and the effigies of old knights, and still hold to the +views and principles he had avowed and advocated last year? Could he, +who took such pleasure in the doings and records of the past, really +mean to attach himself to another sort of life, with which the honours +and dignities and delights of this common world have nothing to do? + +The question recurred again afresh on their return home. As Betty +entered the house, she was struck by the beauty of the carved oak +staircase, and exclaimed upon it. + +'Yes,' said Pitt; 'that is the prettiest part of the house. It is said +to 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 is +the 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 up +together? it is one whole; and I take it to be certain that in +proportion to anyone's love for spiritual and moral beauty will be, +_coeteris paribus_, his appreciation of all expression of it, in nature +or art.' + +'_But_', said Betty, '"spiritual and moral beauty"! You do not mean +that 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 it +really took up more room than was proportionate to the size of the +house. What did Pitt mean by those last words? she was querying. And +could it be possible that the owner of a house like this, with a +property corresponding, would not be of the world and live in the world +like other men? He must, Betty thought. It is all very well for people +who have not the means to make a figure in society, to talk of +isolating themselves from society. A man may give up a little; but when +he has much, he holds on to it. But how was it with Pitt? She must try +and find out. + +She accordingly made an attempt that same evening, beginning with the +staircase again. + +'I admired Inigo Jones all the way up-stairs,' she said, when she had +an opportunity to talk to Pitt alone. Mr. Dallas had gone to sleep +after dinner, and his wife was knitting at a sufficient distance. 'The +quaint fancies and delicate work are really such as I never imagined +before 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 not +new?' + +'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 of +truth?' + +'Well, I suppose so; of some truth. Roses must be roses, and trees must +be 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 not +true 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 talking +mystery, or--forgive me--transcendentalism.' + +'No; nothing but simple and very plain fact. It is this first,--that +all truth is one; and this next,--that in the world of creation things +material are the expression of things spiritual. So all real beauty in +form 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 of +what I am saying, in some things. For instance, you cannot look up +steadily into the blue infinity of one of our American skies on a clear +day--at least _I_ cannot--without presently getting the impression of +truth, pure, unfailing, incorruptible truth, in its Creator. The rose, +everywhere in the world, so far as I know, is the accepted emblem of +love. And for another very familiar instance,--Christ is called in the +Bible the Sun of righteousness--the Light that is the life of man. Do +you know how close to fact that is? What this earth would be if +deprived of the sun for a few days, is but a true image of the +condition of any soul finally forsaken by the Sun of righteousness. In +one word, death; and that is what the Bible means by death, of which +the death we commonly speak of is again but a faint image.' + +Betty fidgeted a little; this was not what she wished to speak of; it +was getting away from her point. + +'Your staircase set me wondering about _you_,' she said boldly, not +answering his speech at all. + +'In yet another connection?' said Pitt, smiling. + +'In another connection. You remember you used to talk to me pretty +freely 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 as +beautiful. Whatever it signifies to you, to my lower vision it means a +position in the world and the means to maintain it. And I debated with +myself, 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 for +himself 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 the +question 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 its +arising.' + +'Is one responsible for doubts? One _may_ be responsible for the state +of mind from which they spring. Then, if you will allow me, I will say +no more on the subject for a day or two. But I will not leave you +unanswered; that is, unless you refuse to submit to my guidance, and +will 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; her +husband was of the party instead. The inspection of the place was +thorough, and occupied some hours; Pitt, being able, through an old +friend of Mr. Strahan's who was now also _his_ friend, to obtain an +order from the Constable for seeing the whole. At dinner Betty +delivered 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 take +time, if you want to see anything.' + +'Well,' said Betty, 'I must say, if this is what it means, to live in +an 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 have +supped fall of horrors." Really I have read history, but that gives it +to 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 no +such monument in America. I shouldn't think snow would lie on the +Tower!' + +'Doesn't often,' said Pitt. + +'Think, Mrs. Dallas! I stood in that little chapel there,--the +prisoners' chapel,--and beneath the pavement lay between thirty and +forty people, the remains of them, who lay there with their heads +separated from their bodies; and some of them with no heads at all. The +heads had been set up on London bridge, or on Temple Bar, or some other +dreadful place. And then as we went round I was told that here was the +spot where Lady Jane Grey was beheaded; and there was the window from +which she saw the headless body of her husband carried by; and _there_ +stood the rack on which Anne Askew was tortured; and there was the +prison where Arabella Stuart died insane; and here was the axe which +used to be carried before the Lieutenant when he took a prisoner to his +trial, and was carried before the prisoner when he returned, mostly +with the sharp edge turned towards him. I do not see how people used to +live in those times. There are Anne Boleyn and her brother, Lady Jane +Grey and her husband, and other Dudleys innumerable'-- + +'My dear, do stop,' said Mrs. Dallas. 'I cannot eat my dinner, and you +cannot.' + +'Eat dinner! Did anybody use to eat dinner, in those times? Did the +world go on as usual? with such horrors on the throne and in the +dungeon?' + +'It is a great national monument,' said Mr. Dallas, 'that any people +might 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't +so blue, either, if you could know all.' + +'Where are you going to take us next, Pitt?' Mrs. Dallas asked, to give +things a pleasanter turn. + +'How did you like St. Paul's, Miss Betty?' her husband went on, before +Pitt 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 a +reminiscence of the Tower and the axe there very often. I had no +conception 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 hear +a debate--if it could be managed.' + +Pitt said it could be managed; and it was managed; and they went to the +Park; and they drove out to see some of the beauties near London, +Richmond, Hampton Court, and Windsor; and several days passed away in +great enjoyment for the whole party. Betty forgot the Tower and grew +gay. The strangeness of her position was forgotten; the house came to +be familiar; the alternation of sight-seeing with the quiet household +life was delightful. Nothing could be better, might it last. Could it +not last? Nay, Betty would have relinquished the sight-seeing and +bargained 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 galleries +and 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 her +which 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 doubtful +invitation.' + +Betty, however, declared herself ready for anything. So she was, under +such guidance. + +They took a cab for a certain distance; then Pitt dismissed it, and +they went forward on foot. It was a dull, hot day; clouds hanging low +and threatening rain, but no rain falling as yet. Rain, if decided, to +a good degree keeps down exhalations in the streets of a city, and so +far is a help to the wayfarer who is at all particular about the air he +breathes. No such beneficent influence was abroad to-day; and Betty's +impressions 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 fashionable +quarter. This particular street is a business thoroughfare, as you see.' + +Betty was silent, and they went on a while; then turned sharp out of +this thoroughfare into a narrow alley. It was hot and close and dank +enough 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 thermometer +well up, on a summer day, altogether make an atmosphere not suited to +delicate senses. Pitt picked the way along the narrow passage, which at +the end opened into a little court. This was somewhat cleaner than the +alley; also it lay so that the sun sometimes visited it, though here +too his visits could be but brief, for on the opposite side the court +was shut in and overshadowed by the tall backs of great houses. They +seemed, to Betty's fancy, to cast as much moral as physical shadow over +the place. The houses in this court were small and dingy. If one looked +straight up, there was a space of grey cloud visible; some days it +would no doubt be a space of blue sky. No other thing even dimly +suggesting refreshment or purity was within the range of vision. Pitt +slowly paced along the row of houses. + +'Who lives here?' Betty asked, partly to relieve the oppression that +was creeping upon her. + +'No householders, that I know of. People who live in one room, or +perhaps in two rooms; therefore in every house there are a number of +families. This is Martin's court. And _here_,'--he stopped before one +of the doors,--'in this house, in a room on the third floor--let me +suppose a case'-- + +'Third floor? why, there are only two stories.' + +'In the garret, then,--there lives an old woman, over seventy years +old, all alone. She has been ill for a long time, and suffers a great +deal of pain.' + +'Who takes care of her?' Betty asked, wondering at the same time why +Pitt 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 the +kindness of her neighbours. They are poor, too, and have their hands +full; 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 they +did not forget it.' + +'And what if they did forget it?' + +'Then she must wait till somebody remembered; wait perhaps days, to get +her bed made; lie alone in her pain all day, except for those rare +visits; and even have to hire a boy with a penny to bring her a pitcher +of water; lie alone all night and wait in the morning till somebody +could give her her breakfast.' + +'Why do you tell me all this, Mr. Pitt?' said Betty, facing round on +him. + +'Ask me that by and by. Come a little farther. Here, in this next house +but one, there is a man sick with rheumatism--in a fever; when I first +saw 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 to +light 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 all +this to me? I have no power to help them. Do you know these people +yourself?' + +'Yes, I know them. In the last house of the row there is another old +woman I want to tell you of; and then we will go. She is not ill, nor +disabled; she is only very old and quite alone. She is not unhappy +either, for she is a true old Christian. But think of this: in the room +which she occupies, which is half underground, there is just one hour +in 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 and +holds it in the sunshine to read for that blessed hour. It is all she +has in the twenty-four. The rest of the time she must only think of +what 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 the +alley, and through the alley back to the street. There they walked more +moderately a space of some rods before she found breath and words. She +faced 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 he +spoke Pitt called another cab, and Betty and he were presently speeding +on again, whither she knew not. It was a good time to talk, and she +repeated 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 of +Christ, 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 parishes +are often very large, the sufferers very many, the cases of fraud and +trickery almost--perhaps quite--as numerous as those at least which +come to the notice of the parish authorities. The parish authorities +are but average men; is it wonderful if they are hard administrators? I +can 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 darkened +and flashing; she half laughed. + +'You are eloquent,' she said. 'You ought to be representing the case on +the floor of the House of Commons.' + +'Well,' he said, coming down to an easier tone, 'the parish authorities +are but men, as I said, and they grow suspicious, naturally; and in any +case 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 been +telling you of? And it is hard dealing with the parish authorities. I +know 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 runs +the risk of being taken in, and throwing money away upon rogues which +ought 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 you +time 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 that +elephant 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; the +world does not rest on your head.' + +'Part of it does. Go on and answer my question. What ought I to do for +these 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 anything +about, equally miserable?' + +'_More_ miserable, I assure you,' said Pitt, looking at her. 'What +then? Answer my question, like a good woman.' + +'I am not a good woman.' + +'Answer it _like_ a good woman, anyhow,' said Pitt, smiling. 'What +should I do, properly, for such people as those I have brought to your +notice? Apply the golden rule--the only one that _can_ give the measure +of things. In their place, what would you wish--and have a right to +wish--that some one should do for you? what may those who have nothing +demand 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? I +am not talking for nothing. Take my old Christian, near eighty, who +sees 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 hours +without even the company of a sunbeam. Imagine--what would you, in her +place, wish for?' + +'I should wish to die, I think.' + +'It would be welcome to Mrs. Gregory, I do not doubt, though perhaps +for a different reason. Still, you would not counsel suicide, or +manslaughter. While you continued in life, what would you like?' + +'Oh,' said Betty, with an emphatic utterance, 'I would like a place +where I could breathe!' + +'Better lodgings?' + +'Fresh air. I would beg for air. Of all the horrors of such places, the +worst seems to me the want of air fit to breathe.' + +'Then you think she ought to have a better lodging, in a better +quarter. 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 of +much 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 in +this 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 in +summer and make my fire in winter, and prepare nice meals for me. I +would like good bread, and a cup of drinkable tea, and a little bit of +butter on my bread. And clothes enough to keep clean; and then I would +like to live to thank you!' + +Betty had worked herself up to a point where she was very near a great +burst of tears. She stopped with a choked sob in her throat, and looked +out 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 have +got it, I believe. Go on now, please, and tell me what ought to be done +for 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 that +cannot 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 condition +I have described; the chill of a rheumatic fever, and a room without +fire, in the depth of winter. What would your sense of justice demand +from the well and strong and comfortable and _able?_ Honestly.' + +'Why,' said Betty, again surveying Pitt from one side, '_with my +notions_, I should want a doctor, and an attendant, and a comfortable +room.' + +'I do not doubt his notions would agree with yours,--if his fancy could +get 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, "Whatsoever +thy 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 I +found, some time ago, a man who had been injured by an accident. A +heavy piece of iron had fallen on his foot; he worked in a machine +shop. For months he was obliged to stay at home under the doctor's +care. He used up all his earnings; and strength and health were alike +gone. The man of fifty looked like seventy. The doctor said he could +hardly 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 the +world's failures.' + +'Suppose for a moment it were Christ the Lord himself in either of +these 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 He +counts 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 perfectly +well. But then his employers would not take him on again; they said +they 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 his +family 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 all +you 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 and +pursuits,--literary, and artistic, and antiquarian, and I don't know +what all,--and be a mere walking Benevolent Society?' + +'No need to give them up, any further than as they would interfere with +something more important and more enjoyable.' + +'_More enjoyable!_' + +'Yes. I think, Miss Betty, the pleasure of doing something for Christ +is the greatest pleasure I know.' + +Betty could have cried with vexation; in which, however, there was a +distracting mingling of other feelings,--admiration of Pitt, envy of +his evident happiness, regret that she herself was so different; but, +above all, dismay that she was so far off. She was silent the rest of +the drive. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + +_THE DUKE OF TREFOIL_. + + +They drove a long distance, much of the way through uninteresting +regions. Pitt stopped the cab at last, took Betty out, and led her +through one and another street and round corner after corner, till at +last he turned into an alley again. + +'Where are you taking me now, Mr. Pitt?' she asked, in some +trepidation. '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 a +very narrow alley, leading again, as might be seen by the gleam of +light at the farther end, into a somewhat more open space--another +court. _Here_ the word open had no application. The sides of the alley +were very near together and very high, leaving a strange gap between +walls of brick, at least strange when considered with reference to +human habitation; all of freedom or expanse there was indicated +anywhere being a long and very distant strip of blue sky overhead when +the 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 under +their breathless envelopment. Hot, sultry, stifling, the air felt to +Betty; well-nigh unendurable; but Pitt seemed to be of intent that she +should endure it for a while, and with some difficulty she submitted. +Happily the place was cleaner than Martin's Court, and no dead cats nor +decaying vegetables poisoned what air there was. But surely somewhat +else poisoned it. The doors of dwellings on the one side and on the +other stood open, and here and there a woman or two had pressed to the +opening with her work, both to get light and to get some freshness, if +there were any to be had. + +Half way down the alley, Pitt paused before one of these open doors. A +woman had placed herself as close to it as she could, having apparently +some fine work in hand for which she could not get light enough. Betty +could without much difficulty see past her into the space behind. It +was a tiny apartment, smaller than anything Miss Frere had ever seen +used as a living room; yet a living room it was. She saw that a very +minute stove was in it, a small table, and another chair; and on some +shelves against the wall there was apparently the inmate's store of +what stood to her for china and plate. Two cups Betty thought she could +perceive; what else might be there the light did not serve to show. The +woman was respectable-looking, because her dress was whole and +tolerably clean; but it showed great poverty nevertheless, being +frequently mended and patched, and of that indeterminate dull grey to +which all colours come with overmuch wear. She seemed to be +middle-aged; but as she raised her head to see who had stopped in front +of her, Betty was so struck by the expression and tale-telling of it +that she forgot the question of age. Age? she might have been a hundred +and fifty years old, to judge by the life-weary set of her features. A +complexion that told of confinement, eyes dim with over-straining, +lines of face that spoke weariness and disgust; and further, what to +Betty's surprise seemed a hostile look of defiance. The face cleared, +however, as she saw who stood before her; a great softening and a +little light came into it; she rose and dropped a curtsey, which was +evidently not a mere matter of form. + +'How do you do, Mrs. Mills?' said Pitt, and his voice was very gentle +as 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 stifles +the 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 you +business 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 is +an American lady, from over the sea ever so far; and I want her to know +what sort of a place London is.' + +'It's a bitter poor place for the likes of us,' said the woman. 'You +should show her where the grand folk lives, that built these houses for +the poor to be stowed in.' + +'Yes, I have showed her some of those, and now I have brought her to +see your part of the world.' + +'It's not to call a part o' the world!' said the woman. 'Do you call +this a part of the world, Mr. Dallas? I mind when I lived where trees +grow, and there was primroses in the grass; them's happier that hasn't +known 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, and +bless 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 which +Betty guessed was assumed to hide the tenderer feeling beneath. 'He's +done for. There ain't nothin' but ill luck comes upon folks as lives in +such a hole, and couldn't other!' + +'I'll come and see you about Tim,' said Pitt. 'Keep up a good heart in +the 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 her +questions. The way was long enough to let her think them all over +several times. At last the cab stopped, Pitt handed her out, and led +her into the Gardens. Here was a change. Trees of noble age and growth +shadowed the ground, greensward stretched away in peaceful smoothness, +the dust and the noise of the great city seemed to be escaped. It was +fresh and shady, and even sweet. They could hear each other speak, +without unduly raising their voices. Pitt went on till he found a place +that 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 that +last 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 like +that?' + +'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 are +congregated 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 large +incomes. That woman we visited--what did you think of her?' + +'She impressed me very much, and oddly. I could not quite read her +look. She seemed to be in a manner hostile, not to you, but I thought +to 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 her +child sleep. For that lodging that woman pays half-a-crown a week--that +is, about five shillings American money--to one of the richest noblemen +in England.' + +'A nobleman!' cried Betty. + +'The Duke of Trefoil.' + +'A nobleman!' Betty repeated. 'A duke, and a lace-mender, and five +shillings a week!' + +'The glass roofs of his hothouses and greenhouses would cover an acre +of ground. His wife sits in a boudoir opening into a conservatory where +it is summer all the year round; roses bloom and violets, and geraniums +wreathe the walls, and palm trees are grouped around fountains. She +eats 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 so +plenty, the while my lace-mender strains her eyes to get half-a-crown a +week for his Grace. All that alley and its poor crowded lodgings belong +to him.' + +'I don't wonder she looks bitter, poor thing. Do you suppose she knows +how her landlord lives?' + +'I doubt if she does. She perhaps never heard of the house and gardens +at Trefoil Park. But in her youth she was a servant in a good house in +the country,--not so great a house,--and she knows something of the +difference between the way the rich live and the poor. She is very +bitter 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 last +winter, late, and found my way obstructed by the crowd of arrivals to +an entertainment given at a certain great house. The house stood a +little back from the street, and carpeting was laid down for the softly +shod feet to pass over. Of course there were gathered a small crowd of +lookers-on, pressing as near as they were allowed to come; trying to +catch, if they might, a gleam or a glitter from the glories they could +not approach. I don't know if the contrast struck them, but it struck +me; the contrast between those satin slippers treading the carpet, and +the bare feet standing on the muddy stones; feet that had never known +the touch of a carpet anywhere, nor of anything else either clean or +soft.' + +'But those contrasts must be, Mr. Dallas.' + +'Must they? Is not something wrong, do you think, when the Duke of +Trefoil eats strawberries all the year long, and my lace-mender, in the +height of the season, perhaps never sees one?--when the duchess sits in +her bower of beauty, with the violets under her feet and the palms over +her head, and the poor in her husband's houses cannot get a flower to +remind them that all the world is not like a London alley? Does not +something within you say that the scales of the social balance might be +a 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 the +lower classes do. I said I did not know whether the contrast struck the +people that night, but I do know it did. I heard words and saw looks +that betrayed it. And when the day comes that the poor will know more +and begin to think about these things, I am afraid there will be +trouble.' + +'But what can you do?' + +'That is exactly what I was going to ask you,' said Pitt, changing his +tone 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 the +feeling of wrong done her somewhere, bitter to hatred; what can, not +you, 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 exception +of 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, in +full 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 child +some things that he could eat. He is well now; as well as he ever will +be.' + +'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 is +concerned?' + +'Have I? Would _you_ stop with that?' + +Betty sat very quiet, but internally fidgeted. What did Pitt ask her +these questions for? Why had he taken her on this expedition? She +wished she had not gone; she wished she had not come to England; and +yet she would not be anywhere else at this moment but where she was, +for any possible consideration. She wished Pitt would be different, and +not fill his head with lace-menders and London alleys; and yet--even +so--things might be worse. Suppose Pitt had devoted his energies to +gambling, and absorbed all his interests in hunters and racers. Betty +had known that sort of thing; and now summarily concluded that men must +make themselves troublesome in one way or another. But this particular +turn 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 cadence +in 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 come +somebody else into them, and you might begin the whole thing over +again. In that way the Duke of Trefoil might give you enough to do for +a 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 impart +to him that hath none"?' + +'I don't think it means _that_,' said Betty. 'That you are to give away +all you have, till you haven't left yourself an overcoat.' + +'Are you sure? Not if somebody else needed it more? That is the +question. We come back to the--"Whatsoever ye would that men should do +unto you." "Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out +devils." 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 of +Trefoil 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, 'they +must be taken out of that hole where they are now.' + +'And, as you truly suggest that the number of persons wanting such +relief is unlimited, the first thing to be done is to build proper +houses 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, easy +to keep clean, and rentable for what the industrious poor can afford to +pay. That will give sufficient interest for the capital expended, and +even allow me, without further outlay, to go on extending my +accommodations. Mrs. Mills will move into the first of my new houses, I +hope, 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 were +minded still as I seemed to be minded last year. I have showed you a +fraction of the reasons why I should not have changed, and you have +approved them.' + +Betty found nothing to answer; it was difficult not to approve them, +and yet she hated the conclusion. The conversation was not resumed +immediately. All the quiet beauty of the scene around them spoke, to +Betty, for a life of ease and luxury; it seemed to say, Keep at a +distance from disagreeable things; if want and squalor are in the +world, you belong to a different part of the world; let London be +London, you stay in Kensington Gardens. Take the good of your +advantages, and enjoy them. That this was the noblest view or the +justest conclusion, she would not say to herself; but it was the view +in which she had been brought up; and the leopard's spots, we know, are +persistent. Pitt had been brought up so too; what a tangent he had +taken 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 see +at some distance what looks like a large and fine mansion, amongst +trees 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 inside +than outside.' + +'You have been inside?' + +'A number of times. I am sorry I cannot take you in; but it is not open +to 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, was +a very uncommon man, full of rare knowledge, and very highly regarded +by those who knew him. Lord Holland was a great friend of his, and he +was 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 in +the 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 for +our sakes. Mrs. Dallas would not like that.' + +'No,' said Pitt, 'the case is not such. Once in a while I have gone to +Holland 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's +court, 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 two +opposite sides of a cup at the same time?' + +'But one has _duties_ to Society!' objected Betty, bewildered somewhat +by the argument and the smile together. + +'So I think, and I am trying to meet them. Do not mistake me. I do not +mean to undervalue _real_ society; I will take gladly all I can that +will give me mental stimulus and refreshment. But the round of fashion +is somewhat more vapid than ever, I grant you, after a visit to my +lace-mender. Those two things cannot go on together. Shall we walk +home? 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. Pitt +let the subject that day so thoroughly handled thenceforth drift out of +sight; he referred to it no more; and continually, day after day, he +gave himself up to the care of providing new entertainment for his +guests. Drives into the country, parties on the river, visits to grand +places, 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 things +were going well for her hopes concerning her son and Miss Frere; but +Betty herself was going through an experience of infinite pain. It was +impossible not to enjoy at the moment these enjoyable things; the life +at Pitt's old Kensington house was like a fairy tale for strangeness +and prettiness; but Betty was living now under a clear impression of +the fact that it _was_ a fairy tale, and that she must presently walk +out of it. And gradually the desire grew uppermost with her to walk out +of it soon, while she could do so with grace and of her own accord. The +pretty house which she had so delighted in began to oppress her. She +would presently be away, and have no more to do with it; and somebody +else would be brought there to reign and enjoy as mistress. It +tormented Betty, that thought. Somebody else would come there, would +have a right there; would be cherished and cared for and honoured, and +have the privilege of standing by Pitt in his works and plans, helping +him, and sympathizing with him. A floating image of a fair, stately +woman, with speaking grey eyes and a wonderful pure face, would come +before her when she thought of these things, though she told herself it +was little likely that _she_ would be the one; yet Betty could think of +no other, and almost felt superstitiously sure at last that Esther it +would be, in spite of everything. Esther it would be, she was almost +sure, if she, Betty, spoke one little word of information; would she +have done well to speak it? Now it was too late. + +'I think, Mrs. Dallas,' she began, one day, 'I cannot stay much longer +with you. Probably you and Mr. Dallas may make up your minds to remain +here all the winter; I should think you would. If I can hear of +somebody 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 at +first; things came about naturally, and it could not be helped; and I +am sure I have enjoyed it exceedingly; but, dear Mrs. Dallas, I cannot +stay here always, you know. I am ashamed to remember how long it is +already.' + +'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, she +was not in the least light-hearted; bitterness can laugh as easily as +pleasure sometimes. 'He is a very kind friend, and a perfect host; but +there is no reason why he should care about my coming or going, you +know.' + +'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 for +important exceptions. I shall have his respect, and my own too, better +if I go now.' + +'My dear, I cannot have you!' said Mrs. Dallas uneasily, but afraid to +ask a question. 'No, we shall not stay here for the winter. Wait a +little longer, Betty, and we will take you down into the country, and +make 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 can +grant me that, my dear?' + +Betty did not know how to refuse. + +'Has Pitt got over his extravagancies of last year?' the older lady +ventured, after a pause. + +'I do not think he gets over anything,' said Betty, with inward bitter +assurance. + +The day came that had been fixed for a visit to the Abbey. Pitt had not +been eager to take them there; had rather put it off. He told his +mother that one visit to Westminster Abbey was nothing; that two visits +were nothing; that a long time and many hours spent in study and +enjoyment of the place were necessary before one could so much as begin +to know Westminster Abbey. But Mrs. Dallas had declared she did not +want 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 and +fixed for this day. + +'You did not want to bring us here, because you thought we would not +appreciate it?' Betty said to Pitt, in an aside, as they were about +entering. + +'Nobody can appreciate it who takes it lightly,' he answered. + +That day remained fixed in Betty's memory for ever, with all its +details, sharp cut in. The moment they entered the building, the +greatness and beauty of the place seemed to overshadow her, and roused +up all the higher part of her nature. With that, it stirred into keen +life 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 of +the 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 she +could not but feel met in the girl's heart with the pain which she +could not bid away, and the one heightened the other, after the strange +fashion that pain and pleasure have of sharpening each other's powers. +Betty took in with an intensity of perception all the riches of the +Abbey that she was capable of understanding; and her capacity in that +way was far beyond the common. She never in her life had been quicker +of appreciation. The taste of beauty and the delight of curiosity were +at times exquisite; never failing to meet and heighten that underlying +pain which had so moved her whole nature to sentient life. For the +commonplace and the indifferent she had to-day no toleration at all; +they were regarded with impatient loathing. Accordingly, the progress +round the Poets' corner, which Mrs. Dallas would make slowly, was to +Betty almost intolerable. She must go as the rest went, but she went +making silent protest. + +'You do not care for the poets, Miss Betty,' remarked Mr. Dallas +jocosely. + +'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 honour +to be left out of Westminster Abbey as to be put in.' + +'Fie, fie, Miss Betty! what heresy is here! Westminster Abbey! why, it +is 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. You +are devoted to _The Faerie Queene_, of course!' + +'I never read it.' + +'You might do worse,' remarked Pitt, who was just before them with his +mother. + +'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 glad +to see _his_ monument.' + +It was a relief to pass on at last from the crowd of literary folk into +the nobler parts of the Abbey; and yet, as the impression of its +wonderful beauty and solemn majesty first fully came upon Miss Frere, +it was oddly accompanied by an instant jealous pang: 'He will bring +somebody else here some day, who will come as often as she likes, be at +home here, and enjoy the Abbey as if it were her own property.' And +Betty wished she had never come; and in the same inconsistent breath +was exceedingly rejoiced that she had come. Yes, she would take all of +the beauty in that she could; take it and keep it in her memory for +ever; taste it while she had it, and live on the after-taste for the +rest 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's +friend, an order which permitted them to go their own way and take +their own time, unaccompanied and untrammelled by vergers. No showman +was necessary in Pitt's presence; he could tell them all, and much more +than they cared about knowing. Mrs. Dallas, indeed, cared for little +beyond the tokens of England's antiquity and glory; her interest was +mostly expended on the royal tombs and those connected with them. For +was not Pitt now, virtually, one of the favoured nation, by habit and +connection as well as in blood? and did not England's greatness send +down a reflected light on all her sons?--only poetical justice, as it +was earlier sons who had made the greatness. But of that Mrs. Dallas +did not think. 'England' was an abstract idea of majesty and power, +embodied in a land and a government; and Westminster Abbey was in a +sort the record and visible token of the same, and testimony of it, in +the face of all the world. So Mrs. Dallas enjoyed Westminster Abbey, +and her heart swelled in contemplation of its glories; but its real +glories she saw not. Lights and shadows, colouring, forms of beauty, +associations of tenderness, majesties of age, had all no existence for +her. The one feeling in exercise, which took its nourishment from all +she looked upon, was pride. But pride is a dull kind of gratification; +and the good lady's progress through the Abbey could not be called +satisfactory to one who knew the place. + +Mr. Dallas was neither proud nor pleased. He was, however, an +Englishman, and Westminster Abbey was intensely English, and to go +through and look at it was the right thing to do; so he went; doing his +duty. + +And beside these two went another bit of humanity, all alive and +quivering, intensely sensitive to every impression, which must needs be +more or less an impression of suffering. Her folly, she told herself, +it was which had so stripped her of her natural defences, and exposed +her to suffering. The one only comfort left was, that nobody knew it; +and nobody should know it. The practice of society had given her +command 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 apart +from the others with her son,--'come here and see this! Look here--the +tomb of two little children of Edward III.!' + +'After going over some of the other records, ma'am, I can but call them +happy to have died little.' + +'But isn't it interesting? Pitt tells me there were _six_ of the little +princess's brothers and sisters that stood here at her funeral, the +Black Prince among them. Just think of it! Around this tomb!' + +'Why should it be more interesting to us than any similar gathering of +common people? There is many a spot in country graveyards at home where +more 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? And +why should we care,'--Betty hastily went on to generalities, seeing the +astonishment in Mrs. Dallas's face,--'why should we be more interested +in the monuments and deaths of the great, than in those of lesser +people? 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's +daughter and the little village girl stand on the same footing, when +once they have left this state of things. There is only one nobility +that can make any difference then.' + +'"One nobility!"' repeated Mrs. Dallas, bewildered. + +'You remember the words,--"Whosoever shall do the will of my Father +which is in heaven, the same is _my mother_, _and my sister_, _and +brother_." The village girl will often turn out to be the daughter of +the King then.' + +'But you do not think, do you,' said Betty, 'that _all_ that one has +gained in this life will be lost, or go for nothing? +Education--knowledge--refinement,--all that makes one man or woman +really greater and nobler and richer than another,--will _that_ be all +as though it had not been?--no advantage?' + +'What we know of the human mind forbids us to think so. Also, the +analogy of God's dealings forbids it. The child and the fully developed +philosopher do not enter the other world on an intellectual level; we +cannot suppose it. _But_, all the gain on the one side will go to +heighten his glory or to deepen his shame, according to the fact of his +having been a servant of God or no.' + +'I don't know where you are getting to!' said Mrs. Dallas a little +vexedly. + +'If we are to proceed at this rate,' suggested her husband, 'we may as +well 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 we +should be so much more interested in this tomb of Edward the Third's +children than in that of any farmer's family?' + +'My dear,' said Mrs. Dallas, 'I am astonished to hear you speak so. Are +not _you_ interested?' + +'Yes ma'am; but why should I be? For really, often the farmer's family +is 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 even +a republican may allow. The contrast here is greater. The glory and +pomp of earthly power is here brought into sharp contact with the +nothingness of it, So much yesterday,--so little to-day. Those uplifted +hands in prayer are exceedingly touching, when one remembers that all +their 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 not +think at all.' + +'Here is a tablet to Lady Knollys,' said Pitt, moving on. 'She was a +niece of Anne Boleyn, and waited upon her to the scaffold.' + +'But that is only a tablet,' said Mrs. Dallas. 'Who is this, Pitt?' She +was 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 the +chapel. How comes she to be here?' + +'Her funeral was after Elizabeth came to the throne. But she had been +in miserable circumstances, poor woman, before that.' + +'I wonder she lived at all,' said Betty, 'after losing husband and +daughter in that fashion! But people do bear a great deal and live +through it!' + +Which words had an application quite private to the speaker, and which +no one suspected. And while the party were studying the details of the +tomb of John of Eltham, Pitt explaining and the others trying to take +it 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 delight +themselves in its glories, and in each other, alternately. What do I +here? 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 to +everything she saw and everything she heard. Her words, she knew, +though she could not help it, were now and then flavoured with +bitterness. + +In the next chapel Mrs. Dallas heard with much sympathy and wonder the +account of Catharine of Valois and her remains. + +'I don't think she ought to lie in the vault of Sir George Villiers, if +he _was_ father of the Duke of Buckingham,' she exclaimed. + +'That Duke of Buckingham had more honour than belonged to him, in life +and 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 way +thither, Betty almost for a while forgot her troubles in the exceeding +majesty and beauty of the place. The power of very exquisite beauty, +which always and in all forms testifies to another world where its +source and its realization are, came down upon her spirit, and hushed +it as with a breath of balm; and the littleness of this life, of any +one individual's life, in the midst of the efforts here made to deny +it, stood forth in most impressive iteration. Betty was awed and +quieted for a minute. Mr. and Mrs. Dallas were moved differently. + +'And this was Henry the Seventh's work!' exclaimed Mr. Dallas, making +an effort to see all round him at once. 'Well, I didn't know they could +build so well in those old times. Let us see; when was he +buried?--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 he +had in his lifetime. Being king of England was not just so easy to him +as his son found it. Crowns are heavy in the best of times; and his was +specially.' + +'It is a strange ambition, though, to be glorified so in one's funeral +monument,' said Betty. + +'A very common ambition,' remarked Pitt. 'But this chapel was to be +much more than a monument. It was a chantry. The king ordered ten +thousand masses to be said here for the repose of his soul; and +intended that the monkish establishment should remain for ever to +attend to them. Here around his tomb you see the king's particular +patron saints,--nine of them,--to whom he looked for help in time of +need; all over the chapel you will find the four national saints, if I +may so call them, of the kingdom; and at the end there is the Virgin +Mary, with Peter and Paul, and other saints and angels innumerable. The +whole chapel is like those touching folded hands of stone we were +speaking of,--a continual appeal, through human and angelic mediation, +fixed in stone; though at the beginning also living in the chants of +the monks.' + +'Well, I am sure that is being religious!' said Mrs. Dallas. 'If such a +place 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." What +have 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 pains +about it.' + +'If he had believed on Christ, mother, he would have known he had no +need. Think of those ten thousand masses to be said for him, that his +sins might be forgiven and his soul received into heaven; you see how +miserably 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 to +have ten thousand masses said for him, and filled his chapel with +intercessory saints.' + +'But I do not see how any one is to have certainty, Mr. Pitt,' Betty +said. '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 believeth +in me _shall never die_." The love that came down here to die for us +will 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 partial +disobedience, cannot perfectly trust.' + +'How can sinful creatures do anything perfectly, Pitt?' his mother +asked, almost angrily. + +'Mamma,' said he gravely, 'you trust _me_ so.' + +Mrs. Dallas made no reply to that; and they moved on, surveying the +chapels. The good lady bowed her head in solemn approbation when shown +the place whence the bodies of Cromwell and others of his family and +friends were cast out after the Restoration. 'They had no business to +be 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 others +were buried, not honourably, not far off. One of Cromwell's daughters, +who was a Churchwoman and also a royalist, they allowed to remain in +the 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 with +dishonour, 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 did +not seem to hear it. They passed on, from one chapel to another, going +more 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 is +one of the sorrowfullest things in the world. I wonder if all other +countries are as bad? Think of this woman's troublesome, miserable +life; and now, after Fotheringay, the honour in which she lies in this +temple 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 are +all composed now; and all interests fade away before the one supreme, +eternal; they are gone where "the honour that cometh from God" is the +only honour left. Well for them if they have that! Here is the Countess +of Richmond, the mother of Henry VII. She was of kin or somehow +connected, it is said, with thirty royal personages; the grand-daughter +of Catharine of Valois, grandmother of Henry VIII., Elizabeth's +great-grandmother. She was, by all accounts, a noble old lady. Now all +that is left is these pitiful folded hands.' + +Mrs. Dallas passed on, and they went from chapel to chapel, and from +tomb to tomb, with unflagging though transient interest. But for Betty, +by and by the brain and sense seemed to be oppressed and confused by +the multitude of objects, of names and stories and sympathies. The +novelty wore off, and a feeling of some weariness supervened; and +therewith the fortunes and fates of the great past fell more and more +into the background, and her own one little life-venture absorbed her +attention. Even when going round the chapel of Edward the Confessor and +viewing the grand old tombs of the magnates of history who are +remembered there, Betty was mostly concerned with her own history; and +a dull bitter feeling filled her. It was safe to indulge it, for +everybody else had enough beside to think of, and she grew silent. + +'You are tired,' said Pitt kindly, as they were leaving the Confessor's +chapel, and his mother and father had gone on before. + +'Of course,' said Betty. 'There is no going through the ages without +some fatigue--for a common mortal.' + +'We are doing too much,' said Pitt. 'The Abbey cannot be properly seen +in 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.' She +looked back as she spoke towards the tombs they were leaving, and +wished, almost, that she were as still as they. She felt her eyes +suffusing, and hastily went on. 'I shall be going home, I expect, in a +few 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, at +any rate.' + +She was capable of no more words just then, and was about to move +forward, when Pitt by a motion of his hand detained her. + +'One moment,' said he. 'Do you say that you are thinking of returning +to America?' + +'Yes. It is time.' + +'I would beg you, if I might, to reconsider that,' he said. 'If you +could stay with my mother a while longer, it would be, I am sure, a +great boon to her; for _I_ am going away. I must take a run over to +America--I have business in New York--must be gone several weeks at +least. Cannot you stay and go down into Westmoreland with her?' + +It seemed to Betty that she became suddenly cold, all over. Yet she was +sure there was no outward manifestation in face or manner of what she +felt. She answered mechanically, indifferently, that she 'would see'; +and they went forward to rejoin their companions. But of the rest of +the 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; in +Westminster Abbey, brought thither by him, and lingering where her own +feet now lingered; in the house at Kensington, going up the beautiful +staircase, and standing before the cabinet of coins in the library. +Above all, found by Pitt in New York. For he would find her; perhaps +even now he had news of her; _she_ would be coming with hope and +gladness and honour over the sea, while she herself would be returning, +crossing the same sea the other way,--in every sense the other way,--in +mortification and despair and dishonour. Not outward dishonour, and yet +the worst possible; dishonour in her own eyes. What a fool she had +been, to meddle in this business at all! She had done it with her eyes +open, trusting that she could exercise her power upon anybody and yet +remain in her own power. Just the reverse of that had come to pass, and +she had nobody to blame but herself. If Pitt was leaving his father and +mother 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,--slow +torture,--during which she must show as little of what she felt as an +Indian at the stake. She must be with Mrs. Dallas, and hear the whole +matter talked of, and from point to point as the history went on; and +must help talk of it. For if Pitt was going to New York now, Betty was +not; that was a fixed thing. She must stay for the present where she +was. + +She was a little pale and tired, they said on the drive home. And that +was all anybody ever knew. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + +_A VISIT_. + + +Pitt sailed for America in the early days of Autumn; and September had +not yet run out when he arrived in New York. His first researches, as +on former occasions, amounted to nothing, and several days passed with +no fruit of his trouble. The intelligence received at the post office +gave him no more than he had been assured of already. They believed a +letter did come occasionally to a certain Colonel Gainsborough, but the +occasions 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 much +to observation and conjecture. To exercise the former, he perambulated +the 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. He +watched keenly all the figures he passed, at least until assured they +had 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 were +looking for somebody; the streets were not as now filled with a +confused and confusing crowd going all ways at once; and no policeman +was needed, even for the most timid, to cross Broadway where it was +busiest. What a chance there was then for the gay part of the world to +show itself! A lady would heave in sight, like a ship in the distance, +and come bearing down with colours flying; one all alone, or two +together, having the whole sidewalk for themselves. Slowly they would +come and pass, in the full leisure of display, and disappear, giving +place to a new sail just rising to view. No such freedom of display and +monopoly of admiration is anywhere possible any longer in the city of +Gotham. + +Pitt had been walking the streets for days, and was weary of watching +the various feminine craft which sailed up and down in them. None of +them were like the one he was looking for, neither could he see +anything that looked like the colonel's straight slim figure and +soldierly bearing. He was weary, but he persevered. A man in his +position was not open to the charge of looking for a needle in a +haystack, such as would now be justly brought to him. New York was not +quite so large then as it is now. It is astonishing to think what a +little place it was in those days; when Walker Street was not yet built +on 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 State +Street, and St. George's Church was in Beekman Street, and Beekman +Street was a place of fashion. The city was neither so dingy nor so +splendid as it is now, and the bright sun of our climate was pouring +all the gold it could upon its roofs and pavements, those September +days when Pitt was trying to be everywhere and to see everything. + +One of those sunny, golden days he was sauntering as usual down +Broadway, enjoying the clear aether which was troubled by neither smoke +nor cloud. Sauntering along carelessly, yet never for a moment +forgetting his aim, when his eye was caught by a figure which came up +out of a side street and turned into Broadway just before him. Pitt had +but a cursory glance at the face, but it was enough to make him follow +the owner of it. He walked behind her at a little distance, +scrutinizing the figure. It was not like what he remembered Esther. He +had said to himself, of course, that Esther must be grown up before +now; nevertheless, the image in his mind was of Esther as he had known +her, a well-grown girl of thirteen or fourteen. This was no such +figure. It was of fair medium height, or rather more. The dress was as +plain as possible, yet evidently that of a lady, and as unmistakeable +was the carriage. Perhaps it was that more than anything which fixed +Pitt's attention; the erect, supple figure, the easy, gliding motion, +and the set of the head. For among all the multitude that walk, a truly +beautiful 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 strides +brought him near her, and he followed, watching; balancing hopes and +doubts. That was not Esther as he remembered her; but then years had +gone by; and was not that set of the head on the shoulders precisely +Esther'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 a +door, without ever giving him the chance he wanted. She had a little +portfolio under her arm, like a teacher, and she paused to speak to the +servant who opened the door to her; Pitt judged that it was not her own +house. 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 went +in, she would probably come out again. + +But Pitt had a tiresome waiting of an hour. He strolled up and down or +stood still leaning against a railing, never losing that door out of +his range of vision. The hour seemed three; however, at the end of it +the lady did come out again, but just when he was at his farthest, and +she turned and went up the street again the way she had come, walking +with a quick step. Pitt followed. Where she had turned into Broadway +she turned out of it, and went down an unattractive side street; +passing from that into another and another, less and less promising +with every corner she turned, till she entered the one which we know +was not at all eligible where Colonel Gainsborough lived. Pitt's hopes +had been gradually falling, and now when the quarry disappeared from +his 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 have +thought she had come merely to visit some poor protégé, but that she +had certainly seemed to take a latch-key from her pocket and let +herself in with it. Pitt reviewed the place, waited a few minutes, and +then 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 live +in that street. + +But as soon as the door was opened Pitt knew where he was; for he +recognised Barker. She was not the one, however, with whom he wished +first to exchange recognitions; so he contented himself with asking in +an assured manner for Colonel Gainsborough. + +'Yes, sir, he's in,' said Barker doubtfully; as he stood in the doorway +she 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 the +colonel's particular room, and was face to face with his old friend. +Esther was not there; and without looking at anything Pitt felt in a +moment 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 the +colonel and him. But the colonel was like himself. They stood and faced +each other. + +'Have I changed so much, colonel?' he said at last. 'Do you not know +me?' + +'William Dallas?' said the colonel. 'I know the voice! But yes, you +have changed,--you have changed, certainly. It is the difference +between the boy and the man. What else it is, I cannot see in this +light,--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 before +this.' + +'So I suppose,' said the colonel drily. 'Of course, hearing nothing of +you, 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 you +know where to look.' + +'Pardon me, Colonel Gainsborough, that was precisely not my case. I did +not know where to look. I have been here for days now, looking, till I +was almost in despair; only I knew you must be somewhere, and I would +not despair. I have looked for you in America and in England. I went +down to Gainsborough Manor, to see if I could hear tidings of you +there. Every time that I came home to Seaforth for a visit I took a +week of my vacation and came here and hunted New York for you; always +in vain.' + +'The shortest way would have been to ask your father,' said the +colonel, still drily. + +'My father? I asked him, and he could tell me nothing. Why did you not +leave us some clue by which to find you?' + +'Clue?' said the colonel. 'What do you mean by clue? I have not hid +myself.' + +'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 head +like 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 intercourse +with Mr. Dallas for a long time; not since we moved into our present +quarters; and our address _here_ he does not know, I suppose. He ceased +writing to me, and of course I ceased writing to him. From you we have +never heard at all, since we came to New York.' + +'But I wrote, sir,' said Pitt, in growing embarrassment and +bewilderment. 'I wrote repeatedly.' + +'What do you suppose became of your letters?' + +'I cannot say. I wrote letter after letter, till, getting no answer, I +was 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 my +father, 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 a +mortified 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 Dallas +that I used to know; or rather, not like the _young_ William. I +supposed you had grown old; and with age comes wisdom. That is the +natural 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 never +neglected. I sought for you as long as possible, and in every way that +was possible, whenever I was in this country. I left off writing, but +it was because writing seemed useless. I have come now in pursuance of +my 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 look +for 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 expect +it, 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 Pitt +did not feel the truth of the declaration.) 'Now tell me about +yourself.' + +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 colonel +listened, growing more and more interested; thawed out a good deal in +his manner; yet maintained on the whole an indifferent apartness which +was not in accordance with the old times and the liking he then +certainly cherished for his young friend. Pitt could not help the +feeling that Colonel Gainsborough wished him away. It began to grow +dark, and he must bring this visit to an end. + +'May I see Esther?' he asked, after a slight pause in the consideration +of this fact, and with a change of tone which a mother's ear would have +noted, and which perhaps Colonel Gainsborough's was jealous enough to +note. The answer had to be waited for a second or two. + +'Not to-night,' he said a little hurriedly. 'Not to-night. You may see +her to-morrow.' + +Pitt could not understand his manner, and went away with half a frown +and half a smile upon his face, after saying that he would call in the +morning. + +It had happened all this while that Esther was busy up-stairs, and so +had 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 was +lit, the little fire kindled for the kettle, the table brought up to +the colonel's couch, which, as in old time, he liked to have so; and +Esther made his toast and served him with his cups of tea, in just the +old fashion. But the way her father looked at her was _not_ just in the +old fashion. He noticed how tall she had grown,--it was no longer the +little Esther of Seaforth times. He noticed the lovely lines of her +supple figure, as she knelt before the fire with the toasting-fork, and +raised her other hand to shield her face from the blaze. His eye +lingered 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 did +not dwell there. Yet it could not but come back again; and the +colonel's own face took a grim set as he looked. Oddly enough, he said +never 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. It +wasn't anything about taxes?' + +'No.' + +'I've got all _that_ ready,' said Esther contentedly, 'so he may come +when 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 set +right. 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 let +the 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, I +think not. I loved Seaforth once--dearly!--but we had friends there +then; or we thought we had. I do not think it would be pleasant to be +there 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 you +here too long!' + +What had stirred the colonel up to so much speculation? Esther +hesitated. + +'Papa, I know our friends there seem very eager to have us; and so far +it would be good; but--if we went back, have we enough to live upon and +be independent?' + +'No.' + +'Then I would rather be here. We are doing very nicely, papa; you are +comfortable, are you not? I am very well placed, and earning +money--enough money. Really we are not poor any longer. And it is so +nice to be independent!' + +'Not poor!' said the colonel, between a groan and a growl. 'What do you +call poor? For you and for me to be in this doleful street is to be all +that, I should say.' + +'Papa,' said Esther, her lips wreathing into a smile, 'I think nobody +is 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 by +deprivation?--'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 never +knew. For _us_ to be in a prison like this, and shut out from the +world!' + +'Papa, I never thought you cared for the world. And this does not feel +like a prison to me. I have been very happy here, and free, and oh, so +thankful! If you remember how we were before, papa.' + +'All the same,' said the colonel, 'it is not fitting that those who are +meant for the world should live out of it. I wish I had taken you home +years ago. You see nobody. You have seen nobody all your life but one +family; 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 very +much, once; but I have given him up long ago. When I found he had +forgotten us, it was not worth while for me to remember. That is all +dead. 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 his +father's fault, perhaps.' + +'It does not make much difference,' said Esther easily. 'If anything +could make him forsake us--after the old times--he is not worth +thinking 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 which +allowed the hearer to divine that the closing of that chapter had not +been without pain, and that the pain had perhaps scarcely died out. But +he did not pursue the subject, nor say any more about anything. He only +watched his daughter, uninterruptedly, though stealthily. Watched every +line of her figure; glanced at the sweet, fair face; followed every +quiet graceful movement. Esther was studying, and part of the time she +was drawing, absorbed in her work; yet throughout, what most struck her +father was the high happiness that sat on her whole person. It was in +the supreme calm of her brow; it was in a half-appearing smile, which +hardly 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 an +uneasy figure, nor do the movements of grace come from a restless +spirit. 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 watching +eyes, and now and then set his teeth, in a grim kind of way for which +there seemed no sort of provocation. 'The heart knoweth his own +bitterness;' no doubt Colonel Gainsborough's tasted its own particular +draught 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 be +no harm to see how that was. She was up very early, a long while before +the sun; and after a somewhat careful dressing, for it was not in +Esther's nature to do anything imperfectly, she went down-stairs, to +her father's little study or dwelling room. It was free for her use at +this time of day; the colonel took a late breakfast, and was never up +long before it. This had grown to be his invalid habit; in the early +days of his life and of military service, no doubt it had been +different. The room was empty and still at this hour; even Mrs. Barker +was not yet astir, and a delightful sense of privacy and security +encompassed the temporary occupant. The weather was still warm; no fire +would be needed till it was time for the colonel's toast. Moving like a +mouse, 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 school +work? 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 them +too, as things were, but this must come first. She must 'draw water +from the wells of salvation,' before she felt freshened up for the +rather weary encounters and dry routine of school life; she must feel +the Rock under her feet, and breathe the air of heaven a bit before she +ventured forth into the low-lying grounds and heavy vapours of earthly +business and intercourse; and she must have her armour well on, and +bright, before she dared to meet the possible dangers and temptations +which might come to her in the course of the day. It is true, this day +was a free day, but that made no difference. Being at home had its +trials and difficulties as well as being abroad. + +But drawing from those wells, and breathing that air, Esther thought +nothing of trials or difficulties; and, in matter of fact, for her they +hardly seemed to exist, or were perceived, as it were, dimly, and their +contact scarce felt. I suppose it is true in all warfares, that a +well-armed and alert soldier is let alone by the foes that would have +swallowed him up if he had been defenceless or not giving heed. And if +you could have seen Esther's face during that hour, you would +understand that all possible enemies were, at least for the time, as +hushed as the lions in Daniel's den; so glad, so grave, so pure and +steadfast, so enjoying, was the expression which lay upon it. Reading +and praying--praying and reading--an hour good went by. Then Esther +rose up, ready for the work of the day. + +She threw open all the windows and put out her lamp. Then she gave both +the rooms a careful cleaning and dusting and putting in order; set the +table in the one for breakfast, and laid the fire in the other, to be +lit whenever her father might desire it. All this done and in +readiness, she sat down again to study. This time it was study of a +lower grade; partly preparation for school work, partly reading for her +own advancement, though there was not much time for this latter. It was +long past eight, and Mrs. Barker came with the chafing-dish of red +coals and the tea-kettle. She stood by while Esther made the tea, +looking on or meditating; and then began to blow the coals in the +chafing-dish. She blew the coals and looked at Esther. + +'Miss Esther,' she began, 'did master say anything about the visitor +that 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 had +opened 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's +nearer me. But howsomever, mum, what I did see of him, somehow, it put +me 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 light +behind 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. Papa +went there, you know, last summer, to see old friends, or to see what +had become of them; and Mr. and Mrs. Dallas were gone to England, to +their son, and with them the young lady he is to marry. I daresay he +may be married by this time, or just going to be married. He has quite +forgotten 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 to +see his face!--but it may be as you say.' + +Perhaps Esther would have put some further question to her father at +breakfast about his yesterday's visit, but as it happened she had other +things to think of. The colonel was in a querulous mood; not altogether +uncommon in these days, but always very trying to Esther. When he +seemed contented and easy, she felt repaid for all labours or +deprivations; but when that state of things failed, and he made himself +uncomfortable about his surroundings, there would come a miserable _cui +bono_ 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 a +question, 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 to +to-day with a sudden pull. 'It is Mrs. Bounder's butter, and we have +always found it very good; and she lets us have it at a lower rate than +we could get it in the stores.' + +'Nothing is good that is got "at a low rate." I do not believe in that +plan. It is generally a cheat in the end.' + +'It has been warm weather, you know, papa; and it is difficult to keep +things so nice without a cool cellar.' + +'That is one of the benefits of living in Major Street. It ought to be +called "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 comes +it 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! My +dear, 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 such +people 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 to +a crisp.' + +'Papa, I am very sorry! I did not mean to give you a burnt piece. Mine +is very good. Let me find you a better bit.' + +'It doesn't matter!' said the colonel, giving his plate an unloving +shove. 'A man lives and dies, all the same, whether his bacon is burnt +or not. I suppose nothing matters! Are you going to that party, at +Mrs.-- 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 extremely +unwilling 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 to +go 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 would +pay, you know, as part of the rent. The money is ready, and that is a +great deal more pleasure than a dress and a party would be to me. And +then, winter is coming on, and we must lay in our fuel. I think to do +it 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 the +end.' + +'Deucedly pleasant!' said the colonel grimly, and rising from the +table. 'I am going to my room, Esther, and I do not wish to be called +to see any body. If business comes, you must attend to it.' + +'Called to see anybody'! Who ever came to that house, on business or +otherwise, but at the most rare intervals! And now one business visit +had just come yesterday, there might not be another in months. Esther +looked a little sorrowful, for her father's expression, most unwonted +from his mouth, showed his irritation to be extreme; but what had +irritated him? However, she was somewhat accustomed to this sort of +demonstration, which nevertheless always grieved her; and she was glad +that she had escaped telling her father her second reason. The truth +was, Esther's way of life was so restricted and monotonous +outwardly--she lived so by herself and to herself--that the stimulus +and refreshment of a social occasion like that one when she had met +Miss Frere a year ago was almost too pleasant. It made Esther feel a +little too sensibly how alone and shut out from human intercourse was +the nobler part of herself. A little real intellectual converse and +contact was almost too enjoyable; it was a mental breath of fresh air, +in which life seemed to change and become a different thing; and +then--we all know how close air seems after fresh--the routine of +school teaching, and the stillness and uniformity of her home +existence, seemed to press upon her painfully, till after a time she +became wonted to it again. So, on the whole, she thought it not amiss +that 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 usually +did, and she set herself to the doing of what this holiday at home gave +her to do. There was mending, making up accounts, a drawing to finish +for a model; after that, if she could get it all done in time, there +might be a bit of blessed reading in a new book that her old friend +Miss Fairbairn had lent her. Esther set her face bravely to her day's +work. + +The morning was not far advanced, and the mending was not finished, +when the unwonted door-knocker sounded again. This time the door was +opened 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 just +in her bread, had volunteered to go to the door for her. Pitt was +ushered into the little parlour, in which, as nobody was there, he had +leisure to make several observations. Yesterday he had had no leisure +for them. Now he looked about him. That the fortunes of the family must +have come down very much it was evident. Such a street, in the first +place; then this little bit of a house; and then, there was more than +that; he could see tokens unmistakeable of scantness of means. The +drugget was well worn, had been darned in two places--very neatly, but +darned it was, and the rest of it threatened breaches. The carpet +beyond the drugget was old and faded, and the furniture?--Pitt wondered +if it could be the same furniture, it looked so different here. There +was the colonel's couch, however; he recognised that, although in its +chintz cover, which was no longer new, but faded like the carpet. Books +on the table were certainly the colonel's books; but no pictures were +on the walls, no pretty trifles lying about; nothing was there that +could testify of the least margin of means for anything that was not +strictly necessary. Yet it was neat and comfortable; but Pitt felt that +expenditures were very closely measured, and no latitude allowed to +ease or to fancy. He stood a few minutes, looking and taking all this +in; and then the inner door opened, and he forgot it instantly. At one +stroke, as it were, the mean little room was transformed into a sacred +temple, and here was the priestess. The two young people stood a second +or two silent, facing each other. + +But Esther knew him at once; and more, as she met the frank, steadfast +eyes that she had known and trusted so long ago, she trusted them at +once again and perfectly. There was no mistaking either their truth or +their kindness. In spite of his new connections and alienated life, her +old friend had not forgotten her. She extended her hand, with a flash +of 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 no +words for what went on within him. With the first sight of Esther he +knew that he had met his fate. Here was all that he had left six or +seven years ago, how changed! The little head, so well set on its +shoulders, with its wealth of beautifully ordered hair; those wonderful +grave, soft, sweet, thoughtful eyes; the character of the quiet mouth; +the pure dignity and grace of the whole creature,--all laid a spell +upon the man. He found no words to speak audibly; but in his mind words +heaped on words, and he was crying to himself, 'Oh, my beauty! Oh, my +gazelle! My fair saint! My lily! My Queen!' What right he had to the +personal pronoun does not appear; however, we know that appropriation +is an instinct of humanity for that which it likes. And it may also be +noted, that Pitt never thought of calling Esther a _rose_. Nor would +any one else. That was not her symbol. Roses are sweet, sweeter than +anything, and yielding in fairness to nothing; but--let me be pardoned +for saying it--they are also common. And Esther was rather something +apart, rare. If I liken her to a lily, I do not mean those fair white +lilies which painters throw at the feet of Franciscan monks, and +dedicate also to the Virgin,--Annunciation lilies, so called. They are +common too, and rather specially emblems of purity. What I am thinking +of, and what Pitt was thinking of, is, on the contrary, one of those +unique exotic lilies, which are as much wonders of colour as marvels of +grace; apart, reserved, pure, also lofty, and delicate to the last +degree; queening it over all the rest of the flowers around, not so +much by official pre-eminence of beauty as by the superiority of the +spiritual nature. A difference internal and ineffable, which sets them +of necessity aside of the crowd and above it. + +Pitt felt all this in a breath, which I have taken so many words +clumsily to set forth. He, as I said, took no words, and only gave such +expression to his thoughts as he could at the moment by bowing very low +over Esther's hand and kissing it. Something about the action hurt +Esther; 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; not +that I am here now.' + +'I got over _that_ surprise a great while ago,' said Esther. 'At least +I thought I did; but it comes back to me now that I see you. How was +it? How could it be?' + +In answer to which, Pitt gave her a detailed account of his various +efforts in past years to discover the retreat of his old friends. This +was useful to him; he got his breath, as it were, which the sight of +Esther had taken away; was himself again. + +Esther listened silently, with perfect faith in the speaker and his +statements, with a little undefined sort of regretfulness. So, then, +Pitt need not have been lost to them, if only they could have been +found! 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 had +done. 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 the +dead-letter office, the fire.' + +'It was not very strange that you could not find us when you came to +New York. We really troubled the post office very little, having after +a while nothing to expect from it, and that was the only place where +you 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 not +right in that quarter; indeed, had suspected it long ago. + +'But you got some letters from me?' Pitt went on, 'while you were in +Seaforth? 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, the +second year after I went?' + +'Yes,' she said, without looking at him. + +'Esther, that letter was worth everything to me. It was like a sunbeam +coming out between misty clouds and showing things for a moment in +their true colours. I never forgot it. I never could forget it, though +I fought for some years with the truth it revealed to me. I believed +what you told me, and so I knew what I ought to do; but I struggled +against my convictions. I knew from that time that it was the happiest +thing and the worthiest thing to be a saint; all the same, I wanted to +be a sinner. I wanted to follow my own way and be my own master. I +wanted 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 well +as other people do, and was unwilling to give up a life of +self-indulgence, which I had means to gratify. Esther, I fought hard! I +fought 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 to +know the truth of what you told me; I have learned to know Christ; and +I know, as you know, that all things that may be desired are not to be +compared with that knowledge. I understand what Paul meant when he said +he had suffered the loss of all things for it and counted them less +than nothing. So do I; so would I; so have I, as far as the giving up +of 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 that +possessed her. She did not know what in the world could make her think +of tears at that moment; but there was a strange sensation as if, had +she been alone, she would have liked to cry. No shadow of such a +softness 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 lighting +a lost battle; that my sense and reason and conscience were all gained +over, 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 you +wrote that letter?' + +'Yes,' she said quietly. 'More happy.' But she did not look up. + +'The happiness in your letter was the sunbeam that cleared up +everything for me. Now I have talked enough; tell me of yourself and +your father.' + +'There is not much to tell,' said Esther, with that odd quietness. She +felt somehow oppressed. 'We are living in the old fashion; have been +living so all along.' + +'But-- _Quite_ in the old fashion?' he said, with a swift glance at the +little 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 to +New 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 some +stocks that gave out somehow. He lost it all. So then we had nothing +but the stipend from England; and I think papa somehow lost part of +that, 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 very +well now. We are out of debt, and that is everything. And I think papa +is pretty comfortable.' + +'And Esther?' + +'Esther is happy.' + +'But--I should think--forgive me!--that this bit of a house would +hardly 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 on +quickly: 'Papa thought he could not give me all the advantages he +wished, if we stayed in Seaforth. So we came to New York. And now, you +see, 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 to +do, you know; and this certainly was given me. And by means of that we +get 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 thoughts +the 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 fancy +that teaching for money is just the same as teaching for pleasure. But +I am very glad to be able to do it. Before that, there was a time when +I did not know just what was going to become of us. Now I am very +happy.' + +Pitt could not at the moment speak all his thoughts. Moreover, there +was something about Esther that perplexed him. She was so unmovedly +quiet in her manner. It was kind, no doubt, and pleasant, and pleased; +and yet, there was a smooth distance between him and her that troubled +him. He did not know how to get rid of it. It was so smooth, there was +nothing to take hold of; while it was so distant, or put her rather at +such a distance, that all Pitt's newly aroused feelings were stimulated +to the utmost, both by the charm and by the difficulty. How exquisite +was this soft dignity and calm! but to the man who was longing to be +permitted 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 too +frank and free. Pitt wished she would have shown a little embarrassment +or consciousness. 'Christopher is happy. He has become a householder +and a market-gardener, and, above all, a married man. Married a +market-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. 'It +was very good for us, almost as good for us as for him. Christopher has +become a man of substance. We hire this house of him, or rather of his +wife.' + +'Are the two not one, then?' + +Esther laughed. 'Yes,' she said; 'but you know, _which_ one it is +depends 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 of +kindnesses, to which Pitt listened eagerly though with a some what +distracted 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 the +kitchen?' + +'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 table +to-day.' + +'Never mind. If the supplies fall short, I will go out and get some +oysters. I know the colonel likes oysters. Sit still, and let us talk +while 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 not +begin to talk. He was thinking; and words were not ready. It was Esther +who 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 old +fashion. 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 it +was that her father should have been so reticent; that he should not +have so much as informed her who his visitor had been. And then it also +occurred to her how he had desired not to be called down to see anybody +that morning. Then it must be that he did not want to see Pitt? Had he +taken a dislike to him? disapproved of his marriage, perhaps? And how +would luncheon be under these circumstances? One thought succeeded +another in growing confusion, but then Pitt began to talk, and she was +obliged to attend to him. + +'Then your father did not tell you that I have become a householder +too?' + +'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 his +uncle, of Mr. Strahan's excellences and peculiarities, of his favour, +his illness and death, and the property he had bequeathed intact to his +grand-nephew. He described the house at Kensington, finding a singular +pleasure in talking about it; for, as his imagination recalled the old +chambers and halls, it constantly brought into them the sweet figure of +the girl he was speaking to, and there was a play of light often, or a +warm glow, or a sudden sparkle in his eyes, which Esther could not help +noticing. Woman-like, she was acute enough also to interpret it +rightly; only, to be sure, she never put _herself_ in the place of the +person concerned, but gave all that secret homage to another. 'It is +like Pitt!' she thought, with a suppressed sigh which she could not +stop to criticize,--'it is like him; as much in earnest in love as in +other things; always in earnest! It must be something to be loved so.' +However, carrying on such aside reflections, she kept all the while her +calm, sweet, dignified manner, which was bewitching Pitt, and entered +with generous interest into all he told her; supplying in her own way +what he did not tell, and on her part also peopling the halls and +chambers at Kensington with two figures, neither of which was her own. +Her imagination flew back to the party, a year ago, at which she had +seen Betty Frere, and mixed up things recklessly. How would _she_ fit +into this new life of Pitt, of which he had been speaking a little +while 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 there +was a little pause. Esther half wondered that he did not get up and go +away; but there was no sign of that. Pitt sat quietly, thoughtfully, +also contentedly, before her, at least so far as appeared; of all his +thoughts, not one of them concerned going away. It had begun to be a +mixed pleasure to Esther, his being there; for she thought now that he +was married he would be taken up with his own home interests, and the +friend of other days, if still living, would be entirely lost. And so +every look and expression of his which testified to a fine and sweet +and strong character, which proved him greatly ennobled and beautified +beyond what she had remembered him; and all his words, which showed the +gentleman, the man of education and the man of ability; while they +greatly delighted Esther, they began oddly to make her feel alone and +poor. Still, she would use her opportunity, and make the most of this +interview. + +'And what are you going to be, Pitt?' she asked, when both of them had +been quite still for a few minutes. He turned his face quick towards +her 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 come +to me for the answer.' + +'I do. What is the answer? Give it, please. Is there any reason why a +man 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 business +view, 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 the +wrong and delivering the oppressed.' + +'That is my view,' said Pitt quietly. + +'And is that what you are going to do?' she said with smothered +eagerness, and as well a smothered pang. + +'I do not propose to be a lawyer merely,' he said, in the same quiet +way, not looking at her. 'But I thought it would give me an advantage +in the great business of righting the wrong and getting the oppressed +go 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 unaccountable +feeling 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 and +sweet smile. The sweetness of it was so unlike the Pitt Dallas she used +to know, that Esther was confounded. 'Do you ask me? What should be the +work 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 He +immediately gave the gauge and measure of that love, the greatest +possible,--"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 that +the only use of it is to do His work. I will study law for that, and +practise as I may have occasion; and for that I will use all the means +He may give me: so far as I can, to "break every yoke, and let the +oppressed go free;" to "heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the +dead, cast out devils," so far as I may. Surely it is the least I can +do for my Master.' + +Pitt spoke quietly, gravely, with the light of a settled purpose in his +eye, and also with the peace of a fixed joy in his face. Indeed, his +face said more than his words, to Esther who knew him and it; she read +there the truth of what he said, and that it was no phantasy of passing +enthusiasm, but a lifelong choice, grave and glad, of which he was +telling 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 a +minute, 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; she +was not crying. 'Glad for you,--and sorry that there are so very few +who 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 the +old 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,' she +thought, 'he is going to tell me about his bride and his marriage.' And +she rather wished she could be spared that special communication. At +the same time, the wondering speculation seized her again, whether +Betty Frere, as she had seen her, was likely to prove a good helpmeet +for this man. + +'You suppose it is true? There can be no doubt about that, I think, for +the 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 the +woman when she is old.' + +'Neither ought to be independent of the other!' + +'They seldom are,' said Esther, feeling inclined to laugh, although not +in the least merry. Pitt was silent a few minutes, evidently revolving +something in his mind. + +'You said you had two rooms unoccupied,' he began at last. 'I want to +be 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,--and +I do.' + +'I do not believe they would suit you, Pitt,' said Esther, consumed +with 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 be +taken 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 going +to tell me who the lady is supposed to be?' + +'Oh, I know,' said Esther, smiling, yet perplexed. 'I believe I have +seen her. And I admire her too, Pitt, very much. Though when I saw her +I do not think she would have agreed with the views you have been +expressing to me.' + +'Where did you see her?' + +'Last fall. Oh, a year ago, almost; time enough for minds to change. It +was 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 I +ask 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 of +things, however, might not long survive our proposing to be anything +more. But we never did propose to be anything more. What made you think +it?' + +'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; for +he goes nowhere, and it is very hard for him to move; but he went. It +was 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 from +you; and papa had a mind to see what was the meaning of it all, and +whether anybody was left in Seaforth or not. I thought everybody had +forgotten 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, and +had been in Seaforth a long while; and the lady was there too whom you +were going to marry; and that this year they had all gone over to see +you, 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 eyes +avoided Pitt now, and her colour went and came. 'It was a very straight +story.' + +'Yet not a bit of truth in it. Oh yes, they came over to see me; but I +have never thought of marrying Miss Frere, nor any other lady; nor ever +shall, unless--you have forgotten me, Esther?' + +Esther sat so motionless that Pitt might have thought she had not heard +him, but for the swift flashing colour which went and came. She had +heard him well enough, and she knew what the words were meant to +signify, for the tone of them was unmistakeable; but answer, in any +way, Esther could not. She was a very fair image of maidenly modesty +and womanly dignity, rather unmistakeable, too, in its way; but she +spoke not, nor raised an eyelid. + +'Have you forgotten me, Esther?' he repeated gently. + +She did not answer then. She was moveless for another instant; and +then, rising, with a swift motion she passed out of the room. But it +was not the manner of dismissal or leave-taking, and Pitt waited for +what was to come next. And in another moment or two she was there +again, all covered with blushes, and her eyes cast down, down upon an +old book which she held in her hand and presently held open. She was +standing before him now, he having risen when she rose. From the very +fair brow and rosy cheek and soft line of the lips, Pitt's eye at last +went down to the book she held before him. There, on the somewhat large +page, lay a dried flower. The petals were still velvety and rich +coloured, 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 tell +him. She was filled with confusion. What dreadful thing was this, that +his memory should be not so good as hers! She could not speak; the +lovely shamefaced flushes mounted up to the delicate temples and told +their tale, but Pitt, though he read them, did not at once read the +flower. Esther made a motion as if she would take it away, but he +prevented her and looked closer. + +'The red Cheiranthus,' he repeated. 'Did it come from Seaforth? I +remember, 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 of +the rest of it?' + +'Papa made me burn all the rest,' said Esther, with her own cheeks now +burning. 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 Pitt +got rid of the book and took herself in his arms instead. + +And then for a few minutes there was no more conversation. They had +reached a point of mutual understanding where words would have been +superfluous. + +But words came into their right again. + +'Esther, do you remember my kissing you when I went away, six or seven +years ago?' + +'Certainly!' + +'I think that kiss was in some sort a revelation to me. I did not fully +recognise it then, what the revelation was; but I think, ever since I +have been conscious, vaguely, that there was an invisible silken thread +of some sort binding me to you; and that I should never be quite right +till 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 a +little effort. 'You always liked certainties.' + +'Did you miss me?' + +'Pitt, more than I can possibly tell you! Not then only, but all the +time since. Only one thing has kept me from being very downhearted +sometimes, when time passed, and we heard nothing of you, and I was +obliged 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 think +about you at all. Happily I had plenty of duties to think of. And +duties, 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 a +queen, 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 always +had 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, and +Mrs. Barker does not know that you are here. And it would be a sort of +relief to take hold of something so commonplace as luncheon; I seem to +myself 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 will +look on complacently and see you, who have been wholly his possession +and property, pass over out of his hands into mine? It is not human +nature.' + +Esther stood still and coloured high. + +'Does papa know?' + +'He knows all about it, Queen Esther; _except_ what you may have said +to 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 him +together, much better than you could alone.' + +Esther drew a long breath. + +'Then you speak to Barker, and I will get some oysters,' said Pitt with +a parting kiss, and was off in a moment. + +The luncheon after all passed off quite tolerably well. The colonel +took the oysters, and Pitt, with a kind of grim acquiescence. He was an +old soldier, and no doubt had not forgotten all the lessons once +learned in that impressive school; and as every one knows, to accept +the inevitable and to make the best of a lost battle are two of those +lessons. Not that Colonel Gainsborough would seriously have tried to +fight off Pitt and his pretensions, if he could; at least, not as +things were. Pitt had told him his own circumstances; and the colonel +knew that without barbarity he could not refuse ease and affluence and +an excellent position for his daughter, and condemn her to +school-keeping and Major Street for the rest of her life; especially +since the offer was accompanied with no drawbacks, except the one +trifle, that Esther must marry. That was an undoubtedly bitter pill to +swallow; but the colonel swallowed it, and hardly made a wry face. He +would be glad to get away from Major Street himself. So he ate his +oysters, as I said, grimly; was certainly courteous, if also cool; and +Pitt 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, just +enough for politeness, and then went off to his room again, with the +dry 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 my +work. There is something I must do, and I can do it just as well while +you are talking.' + +She went off, and returned with drawing-board and pencils; took her +seat, 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. I +can 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 it +was 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 any +longer. You may give me lessons; nobody else.' + +'But!'--said Esther, catching her breath; then, not willing to open the +whole chapter of discussion she saw ahead, she caught at the nearest +and smallest item. 'You know, I am under obligations; and I must meet +them until other arrangements are made. I am expected, I am depended +on; 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 from +her fingers. 'Give me your place, please.' + +Esther gave him her chair and took his. And then she sat down and +watched the drawing. Now and then her eyes made a swift passage to his +face for a half second, to explore the features so well known and yet +so new; but those were a kind of fearful glances, which dreaded to be +caught, and for the most part her eyes were down on the drawing and on +the hands busied with it. Hands, we know, tell of character; and +Esther's eyes rested with secret pleasure on the shapely fingers, which +in their manly strength and skilful agility corresponded so well to +what 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 a +great deal too elaborate and difficult for my scholar. She is not far +enough advanced for that.' + +'I'll take another piece of paper, then, and begin again. What do you +want?' + +'Just a tree, lightly sketched, and a bit of rock under it; something +like 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 at +all. I will go and see your school madam and tell her you have made +another engagement.' + +'But every honest person fulfils the obligations he is under, before +assuming new ones.' + +'That's past praying for!' said Pitt, with a shake of his head. 'You +have 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 will +not 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 so +far from presuming, it was so delicate in its urgency, there was so +much wistfulness in it, and at the same time the whole magnetism of his +personal influence. Esther placed her hand within his, she could not +help that; the bright colour flamed up in her cheeks; words were not +ready. + +'What are you thinking about?' said he. + +'Papa,' Esther said, half aloud; but she was thinking of a thousand +things 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 to +be 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 her +heart and filling it; like as the tide at flood comes in upon the empty +shore. Whatever her father might think upon the just mooted question, +those two hands had found each other, once and for all. Thoughts went +roving, aimlessly, meanwhile, as thoughts will, in such a flood-tide of +content. 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 here +nearly all my life.' + +'Do you like New York?' + +'I was not thinking of New York. Yes, I like it. I think I like any +place 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, the +immediate response, that where he was would be what she liked best. It +flushed in her cheek and it parted her lips, but it came not forth in +words. 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, I +suppose,--almost never,--sights of human distress. There are no poor +there.' + +'And in London?' + +'The distress is before you and all round you; and such distress as I +suppose your heart cannot imagine.' + +'Then,' said Esther softly, 'as far as _that_ goes, Pitt, it seems to +me an argument for living in London.' + +He met her eyes with an earnest warm look, of somewhat wistful +recognition, intense with his own feeling of the subject, glad in her +sympathy, and yet tenderly cognizant of the way the subject would +affect 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 living +there.' + +Esther was silent; her recollection of Betty quite agreed with this +observation. + +'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 Spanish +proverb would have held good in her case; 'If you do not want a thing +known of you, _don't do it_.' Pitt's pencil went on furiously fast, and +Esther sat by, wondering what he was thinking of. But soon his brow +cleared again as his drawing was done, and he flung down the pencil and +turned 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, and +serve together, in London or anywhere, in the work given us to do. That +is only the small beginning. Beyond all that stretches an endless life +and ages of better service, in which we shall still be together and +love and live with each other. In the light of such a distant glory, is +it much, if we in this little life on earth give all we have to Him who +has bought all that, and all this too, for us?' + +'It is not much,' said Esther, with a sudden veil of moisture coming +over her eyes, through which they shone like two stars. Pitt took both +her hands. + +'I mean it literally,' he said. + +'So do I.' + +'We will be only stewards, using faithfully everything, and doing +everything, so as it seems would be most for His honour and best for +His work.' + +'Yes,' said Esther. But gladness was like to choke her from speaking at +all. + +'In India there is not the poorest Hindoo but puts by from his every +meal of rice so much as a spoonful for his god. That is the utmost he +can do. Shall we do less than our utmost?' + +'Not with my good-will,' said Esther, from whose bright eyes bright +drops fell down, but she was looking steadfastly at Pitt. + +'I am not a very rich man, but I have an abundant independence, without +asking my father for anything. We can live as we like, Esther; you can +keep your carriage if you choose; but for me, I would like nothing so +well 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, with +a glad sealing of this compact; 'for unless we are strange people we +shall both need watching. And now come here and let me tell you about +your house. I think you will like that.' + +There is no need to add any more. Except only the one fact, that on the +day 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, no +other 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, Miss +Esther.= + +chapter 19: =And how are we going to get it= replaced by =And how are +we goin' to get it= + +chapter 25: =Maybe ye don't have none= replaced by =Maybe ye don't hev +none= + +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 I +was 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 =the +Prayer-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 the +doorway= + +chapter 47: =stedfast eyes= replaced by =steadfast eyes= + +chapter 48: =looking stedfastly= replaced by =looking steadfastly= + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Red Wallflower, by Susan Warner + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A RED WALLFLOWER *** + +***** This file should be named 26828-8.txt or 26828-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/8/2/26828/ + +Produced by Daniel Fromont + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + https://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/26828-8.zip b/26828-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..48ea1bb --- /dev/null +++ b/26828-8.zip diff --git a/26828.txt b/26828.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..09490e4 --- /dev/null +++ b/26828.txt @@ -0,0 +1,19309 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Red Wallflower, by Susan Warner + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: A Red Wallflower + +Author: Susan Warner + +Release Date: October 7, 2008 [EBook #26828] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A RED WALLFLOWER *** + + + + +Produced by Daniel Fromont + + + + + + + + + +[Transcriber's note: Susan Warner, _A red wallflower_, (1884), Nisbet +1913 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 a +true story. I beg to observe, in particular, that the denominational +feeling described in both families, with the ways it showed itself, is +part 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 from +the old country and established itself in one of the small villages +that are scattered along the shore of Connecticut. Why they came was +not clearly understood, neither was it at all to be gathered from their +way of life or business. Business properly they had none; and their way +of life seemed one of placid contentment and unenterprising domestic +pleasure. The head of the family was a retired army officer, now past +the prime of his years; tall, thin, grey, and grave; but a gentleman +through and through. Everybody liked Colonel Gainsborough, although +nobody could account for a man of his age leading what seemed such a +profitless life. He was doing really nothing; staying at home with his +wife and his books. Why had he come to Connecticut at all? If he lived +for pleasure, surely his own country would have been a better place to +seek it. Nobody could solve this riddle. That Colonel Gainsborough had +anything to be ashamed of, or anything to be afraid of, entered +nobody's head for a moment. Fear or shame were unknown to that grave, +calm, refined face. The whisper got about, how, it is impossible to +say, that his leaving home had been occasioned by a disagreement with +his relations. It might be so. No one could ask him, and the colonel +never volunteered to still curiosity on the subject. + +The family was small. Only a wife and one little girl came with the +colonel to America; and they were attended by only two old retainers, a +man 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 were +quite enough to look after three; the man outside and the woman inside +the house. Christopher Bounder took care of the garden and the cow, and +cut 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 the +combined duties of housekeeper, cook, lady's maid, and housemaid, which +she fulfilled to everybody's satisfaction, including her own. However, +after two or three years in Seaforth these duties were somewhat +lessened; the duties of Mrs. Barker's hands, that is, for her head had +more to do. Mrs. Gainsborough, who had been delicate and failing for +some time, at last died, leaving an almost inconsolable husband and +daughter behind her. I might with truth say quite inconsolable; for at +the 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 her +kitchen, and called to her brother to come in to breakfast. Christopher +slowly obeyed the summons, leaving his spade stuck upright in the bed +he was digging, and casting loving looks as he came at the budding +gooseberry bushes. He was a typical Englishman; ruddy, fair-skinned, +blue-eyed, of very solid build, and showing the national tendency to +flesh. He was a handsome man, and not without a sufficiency of +self-consciousness, both as regarding that and other things. Mrs. +Barker was a contrast; for she was very plain, some years older than +her brother, and of rather spare habit though large frame. Both faces +showed sense, and the manner of both indicated that they knew their own +minds. + +'Season's late,' observed Mrs. Barker, as she stepped back from the +door and lifted her coffee-pot on the table. + +'Uncommon late,' answered her brother. 'Buds on them gooseberry bushes +only just showin' green. Now everything will be coming all together in +a heap in two weeks more. That's the way o' this blessed climate! And +then when everything's started, maybe a frost will come and slap down +on 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 at +this time o' year, and I'd try him with 'em. But la! he don't care no +more 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 the +while in a business manner. 'When a man don't care no more what he +eats, the next thing'll be that he'll stop it; and then there's only +one thing more he will do.' + +'What's that?' + +'Die, to be sure!' + +'He ain't dyin' yet,' said Mrs. Barker thoughtfully, 'but he ain't +doin' the best he can wi's life, for certain. Can ye get me some +greens, Christopher?' + +'Nothing in _my_ department. I can take a knife and a basket and find +you some dandelions.' + +'Will ye go fur to find 'em?' + +'No furder'n I can help, you may make your affidavit, with all there is +to 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 no +chance for no diversion whatsomever when young Mr. Dallas don't come +along. She just mopes, she do; and it's on my mind, and master he don't +see it. I wish he would.' + +'The little one does wear an uncommon solemn countenance,' said the +gardener, who was in his way quite an educated man, and used language +above his station. + +'It do vex me,' repeated the housekeeper. + +'But young Mr. Dallas comes along pretty often. If Miss Esther was a +little older, now, we should see no more of her solemnity. What 'ud +master say to that?' + +'It's good things is as they be, and we've no need to ask. I don't want +no more complications, for my part. It's hard enough to manage as it +is.' + +'But things won't stay as they be,' said the gardener, with a twinkle +of his shrewd blue eye as he looked at his sister. 'Do you expect they +will, Sarah? Miss Esther's growin' up fast, and she'll be an uncommon +handsome girl too. Do you know that?' + +'I shouldn't say she was what you'd go fur to call handsome,' returned +the housekeeper. + +'I doubt you haven't an eye for beauty. Perhaps one ought to have a bit +of 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 no +more 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 another +twinkle of his own. 'But I tell you, there ain't two such eyes as Miss +Esther's between here and Boston. Look out; other folk will find it out +soon if you don't. There ain't but three years between twelve and +fifteen; 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 a +long time. And Miss Esther ain't twelve yet, neither. Then when'll ye +be 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 their +quest after greens. Yet it was still early, for the kitchen breakfast +was had betimes. The gardener carried a basket, and Esther too did the +like; in hers there was a small trowel, for 'she might find something,' +she said. Esther always said that, although hitherto her 'findings' had +amounted to nothing of any account; unless, indeed, I correct that, and +say, in any eyes but her own. For in Esther's eyes every insignificant +growth of the woods or the fields had a value and a charm +inexpressible. Nothing was 'common' to her, and hardly anything that +grew was relegated to the despised community of 'weeds.' + +'What are you going for now, Christopher?' she asked as they trudged on +together. + +'Well, miss, my old woman there has sent me for some greens. She has a +wild 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 the +herbs of the field are good for eating, at the different times o' the +year; even here in this country; and I do suppose there ain't a poorer +on 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 see +England once, Miss Esther! That's the place for gardens; and the fields +is 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 there +is no denying it, there do nevertheless come days of bewitching, +entrancing, delicious beauty, in the midst of the rest. Days when the +air and sky and sunlight are in a kind of poise of delight, and earth +beneath them, is, as it were, still with pleasure. I suppose the spring +may be more glorious in other lands,--more positively glorious; whether +relatively, I do not know. With such contrasts before and behind +them,--contrasts of raw, chill air, and rough, cutting winds, with +skies of grey and gloom,--one of these perfect days of a lost Paradise +stands in a singular setting. It was such a day when Esther and +Christopher went after dandelions. Still, balmy air, a tender sky +slightly veiled with spring mistiness, light and warmth so gentle that +they were a blessing to a weary brain, yet so abundant that every bud +and leaf and plant and flower was unfolding and out-springing and +stretching upward and dispensing abroad all it had of sweetness. The +air was filled with sweetness; not the heavy odours of the blossoms of +summer, or the South, but a more delicate and searching fragrance from +resinous buds and freshly-opened tree flowers and the young green of +the shooting leaf. I don't know where spring gets it all, but she does +fling abroad her handfuls of perfume such as summer has no skill to +concoct, or perhaps she lacks the material. Esther drew in deep breaths +for the mere pleasure of breathing, and looked on all the world of +nature before her with an eye of quiet but intense content. + +Christopher had been quite right in his hint about Esther's eyes. They +were of uncommon character. Thoughtful, grave, beautiful eyes; large, +and fine in contour and colour; too grave for the girl's years. But +Esther had lived all her life so far almost exclusively with grown +people, and very sober grown people too; for her mother's last years +had been dulled with sickness, and her father's with care, even if he +had not been--which he was--of a taciturn and sombre deportment in the +best of times. And this last year past had been one heavy with +mourning. So it was no wonder if the little girl's face showed undue +thoughtfulness, and a shade of melancholy all premature. And +Christopher was honestly glad to see the melancholy at least vanish +under the influence of the open earth and sky. The thoughtfulness, he +hoped, would go too some day. + +The walk in itself offered nothing remarkable. Fields where the grass +was very green and fast growing; other fields that were rocky and +broken, and good for little except the sheep, and sometimes rose into +bare ridges and heights where spare savins were mingled with a variety +of 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, grey +and green and brown; the buds and young leafage of the trees were of +every lovely hue and shade that young vegetation can take; and here and +there Esther found a wild flower. When she found one, it was very apt +to be taken up by the roots with her little trowel, and bestowed in her +basket for careful transport home; and on the so endangered beauties in +her basket Esther looked down from time to time with fond and delighted +eyes. + +'Are you going for cresses, Christopher?' + +'No, Miss Esther, not at this time. Sarah has set her mind that she +must have boiled greens for dinner; and her will must be done. And here +is the article--not boiled yet, however.' + +He stopped and stooped, and with a sharp knife cut a bunch of +stout-looking leaves growing in the grass; then made a step to another +bunch, 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 yellow +blossoms to guide him. + +'How can you be sure, Christopher, that you are always getting the +right 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 far +off 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 at +these 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 rocky +height which rose at one side of it; such as one is never very far from +in New England. Here there were no dandelions, but Esther eagerly +sought for something more ornamental. And she found it. With +exclamations of deep delight she endeavoured to dig up a root of +bloodroot which lifted its most delicate and dainty blossom a few +inches above the dead leaves and moss with which the ground under the +trees 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 is +freaky,' said he. 'They has notions. Now the _Sanguinaria_ likes just +what 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 a +lady.' + +'_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 dead +leaves and sticks from a little low bunch of purple flowers. She +stretched 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 he +bared the whole little tuft. + +Esther's sigh came from the depths of her breast, as she looked at it +lovingly. + +'This is _Hepatica acutiloba_. I dare say we'd find the other, if we +had 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 in +the 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 to +find 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, reaching +up to the branches of a young tree, the red blossoms of which were not +quite out of reach; 'here's something pretty for you; here's _Acer +rubrum_.' + +'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 it +would take all one man's life to know just the orchids of South +America; 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 the +question; 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 has +no manners.' + +'But some good plants have no manners,' said Esther, amused. 'I know +I've heard you say, they ran over everything, and wouldn't stay in +their places. You said it of moss pink, and lily of the valley. Don't +you remember?' + +'Yes mum, I've cause to remember; by the same token I've been trimming +the 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, and +holds 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 garden +ground. She planted it with all care in the shadow of a rose-bush; and +then 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 do +where people live who know how to live. The room, and the house, no +doubt, owed its character to the rule and influence of Mrs. +Gainsborough, who was there no longer, and to a family life that had +passed away. The traces abode still. The chintz hangings and the carpet +were of soft colours and in good harmony; chairs and lounges were +comfortable; a great many books lined the walls, so many indeed that +the room might have been styled the library. A portfolio with +engravings 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 was +sleeping on the rug before the fire; for the weather was still cold +enough within doors to make a fire pleasant, and Colonel Gainsborough +was a chilly man. + +He lay on the couch when Esther came in with her flowers; a book in his +hand, 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 the +spiritless, weary, depressed air which had become his habit; there was +a want of spring and life and hope in the features and in the manner +also of the occupant of the sofa. He looked at Esther languidly, as she +came in and busied herself with arranging her maple blossoms, her +Hepatica and one or two delicate stems of the bloodroot in a little +vase. Her father looked at the flowers and at her, in silence. + +'Papa, aren't those _beautiful?_' she asked with emphasis, bringing the +vase, 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 grow +nicely out there in the wood. Papa, what is the difference between a +weed 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, why +isn'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 talking +nonsense.' + +The colonel raised his book again, and Esther took the hint, and went +back 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 a +half-unconscious way, that somehow awakened by degrees almost as much +pain as pleasure. Or else, it was simply that the glow and stir of her +walk was fading away, and allowing the old wonted train of thought to +come in again. The bright expression passed from her face; the features +settled into a melancholy dulness, most unfit for a child and painful +to see; there was a droop of the corners of the mouth, and a lax fall +of the eyelids, and a settled gloom in the face, that covered it and +changed it like a mask. The very features seemed to grow heavy, in the +utter heaviness of the spirit. + +She sat so for a while, musing, no longer busy with such pleasant +things as flowers and weeds; then roused herself. The weariness of +inaction was becoming intolerable. She went to a corner of the room, +where a large mahogany box was half-concealed beneath a table covered +with a cloth; with a good deal of effort she lugged the box forth. It +was 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 Esther +sat down on the floor and unlocked the box. It was filled with casts in +plaster of Paris, of old medals and bas-reliefs; and it had long been a +great amusement of Esther's to take them all out and look at them, and +then carefully pack them all away again between their layers of soft +paper and cotton batting. In the nature of the case, this was an +amusement that would pall if too often repeated; so it rarely happened +that Esther got them out more than three or four times a year. This +time she had hardly begun to take them out and place them carefully on +the table, when Mrs. Barker came in to lay the cloth for dinner. Esther +must put the casts back, and defer her amusement till another time in +the day. + +Meals were served now for the colonel and his daughter in this same +room, which served for sitting-room and library. The dining-room was +disused. Things had come by degrees to this irregularity, Mrs. Barker +finding that it made her less work, and the colonel in his sorrowful +abstraction hardly knowing and not at all caring where he took his +dinner. The dinner was carefully served, however, and delicately +prepared; for there Barker's pride came in to her help; and besides, +little as Colonel Gainsborough attended now to the food he ate, it is +quite possible that he would have rebelled against any disorder in that +department of the household economy. + +The meal times were sorrowful occasions to both the solitary personages +who now sat down to the table. Neither of them had become accustomed +yet to the empty place at the board. The colonel ate little and talked +none at all; and only Esther's honest childish appetite saved these +times from being seasons of intolerable gloom. Even so, she was always +glad when dinner was done. + +By the time that it was over to-day, and the table cleared, Esther's +mood 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 she +should find. At the same time she was in desperate want of something to +amuse her, or at least to pass away the time, which went so slowly if +unaided. She bethought her of trying another box, or series of boxes, +over which she had seen her father and mother spend hours together; but +the contents hitherto had not seemed to her interesting. The key was on +the same chain with the key of the casts; Esther sat down on the floor +by one of the windows, having shoved one of the boxes into that +neighbourhood, turned the key, and opened the cover. Her father was +lying on the couch again and gave her no attention, and Esther made no +call upon him for help. + +An hour or two had passed. Esther had not changed her place, and the +box, which contained a quantity of coins, was still open; but the +child's hands lay idly in her lap, and her eyes were gazing into +vacancy. Looking back, perhaps, at the images of former days; smiling +images of light and love, in scenes where her mother's figure filled +all the foreground. Colonel Gainsborough did not see how the child sat +there, nor what an expression of dull, hopeless sorrow lay upon her +features. All the life and variety of which her face was abundantly +capable had disappeared; the corners of the mouth drawn down, the brow +rigid, the eyes rayless, she sat an image of childish desolation. She +looked even stupid, if that were possible to Esther's features and +character. + +What the father did not see was revealed to another person, who came in +noiselessly at the open door. This new-comer was a young man, hardly +yet arrived at the dignity of young manhood; he might have been +eighteen, but he was really older than his years. His figure was well +developed, with broad shoulders and slim hips, showing great muscular +power and the symmetry of beauty as well. The face matched the figure; +it was strong and fine, full of intelligence and life, and bearing no +trace of boyish wilfulness. If wilfulness was there, which I think, it +was rather the considered and consistent wilfulness of a man. As he +came in at the open door, Esther's position and look struck him; he +paused 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 of +indifferent recognition. + +'How do you do, sir, to-day?' + +'Not very well! my strength seems to be giving way, I think, by +degrees.' + +'We shall have warm weather for you soon again, sir; that will do you +good.' + +'I don't know,' said the colonel. 'I doubt it; I doubt it. Unless it +could 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 looking +down at him, the features, however, retaining their composed gravity. + +'Perhaps shad will tempt you. We shall have them very soon now. Can't +you eat shad?' + +'Shad,' repeated the colonel. 'That's your New England piscatory +dainty? I have never found out why it is so reckoned.' + +'You cannot have eaten them, sir; that's all. That is, not cooked +properly. 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 of +the fire comes to be the spirit of the fish. It is difficult to put +anything so ethereal into words.' This was spoken with the utmost +seriousness. + +'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 one +lives, one must try to do something. Bring your book here, William, if +you please. I can listen, lying here.' + +The hour that followed was an hour of steady work. The colonel liked +his young neighbour, who belonged to a family also of English +extraction, though not quite so recently moved over as the colonel's +own. Still, to all intents and purposes, the Dallases were English; had +English connections and English sympathies; and had not so long mingled +their blood with American that the colour of it was materially altered. +It was natural that the two families should have drawn near together in +social and friendly relations; which relations, however, would have +been closer if in church matters there had not been a diverging power, +which kept them from any extravagance of neighbourliness. This young +fellow, however, whom the colonel called 'William,' showed a +carelessness as to church matters which gave him some of the advantages +of a neutral ground; and latterly, since his wife's death, Colonel +Gainsborough had taken earnestly to the fine, spirited young man; +welcomed his presence when he came; and at last, partly out of +sympathy, partly out of sheer loneliness and emptiness of life, he had +offered to read the classics with him, in preparation for college. And +this for several months now they had been doing; so that William was a +daily 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 his +sofa and went out, and young Dallas turned to Esther. During this hour +Esther had been sitting still in her corner by her boxes; not doing +anything; and her face, which had brightened at William's first coming +in, had fallen back very nearly to its former heavy expression. Now it +lighted up again, as the visitor left his seat and came over to her. He +had not been so taken up with his reading but he had noticed her from +time to time; observed the drooping brow and the dull eye, and the sad +lines of the lips, and the still, spiritless attitude. He was touched +with pity for the child, whom he had once been accustomed to see very +different from this. He came and threw himself down on the floor by her +side. + +'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 you +going to do with these old things, eh?' + +'Nothing,' said Esther hopelessly. 'I used to hear papa talk about +them; 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 the +grave 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 us +see what you have got here. May I look?' + +He lifted a small piece of metal out of its nest, in a shallow tray +which was made by transverse slips of wood to be full of such nests, or +little square compartments. The trays were beautifully arranged, one +fitting close upon another till they filled the box to its utmost +capacity. + +'What have we here? This piece has seen service. Here is a tree, Queen +Esther,--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 is +plain,--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 us +try the other side. Ha! here we have it. "Lud. xvi."--two letters I +can't make out--then "Fr. and Nav. Rex." Louis the Sixteenth, king of +France and Navarre.' + +'I know him, I believe,' said Esther. 'He was beheaded, wasn't he, in +the 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 been +wise enough for that. You see, the people of France were mad; and when +a people get mad, they don't listen to reason, naturally. Here's +another, now; what's this? "Zeelandia, 1792," not so very old. On the +other side--here's a shield, peculiar too; with the motto plain +enough,--"Luctor et emergo." A good motto that.' + +'What does it mean?' + +'It means, something like--"Struggle and come out," or "come +through,"--literally, "emerge." Our English word comes from it. Colonel +Gainsborough does not teach you Latin, then?' + +'No,' said Esther, sighing. 'He doesn't teach me much lately, of +anything.' + +Dallas cast a quick look at the girl, and saw again the expression of +quiet hopelessness that had moved him. He went on turning over the +coins. + +'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 not +expected 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 lions +rampant--shield surmounted by a crown; motto, "Sp. nos in Deo." _Let us +hope in God_.' + +'Whose motto was that?' + +'Just what I can't make out. I don't know the shield--which I ought to +know; and the reverse of the coin has only some unintelligible letters: +D. Gelriae, 1752. Let us try another, Queen Esther. Ha! here's a coin +of William and Mary--both their blessed heads and names; and on the +reverse a figure three, and the inscription claiming that over Great +Britain, _France_ and Ireland, they were "Rex and Regina." Why, this +box 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 of +England--that's all. Mother gave me that. But when I read, there are so +many 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 of +France, and the name of the luckless Louis XVI. "Roi de France and de +Navarre" but no date. On the other side, "Isles de France and de +Bourbon." These coins seem to belong to European history.' + +'There's another box with Greek and Roman coins, and, the names of +Roman 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 the +other side "Justitia." Queen Esther, this box is a first-rate place to +study history.' + +'Is it?' + +'It is. What do you say? Suppose you let me come here and study history +with you over these old coins; and then you come over to my house and +learn 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 conceal +one's thoughts. I hope you are not labouring under the impression that +such 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 Boehmen, that is Bohemia. This old piece of +copper 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 want +another. 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 find +the columbine, but it must be out. Christopher calls them all sorts of +hard 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 the +Crowfoots--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 or +juice, exogenous plants, with many stamens. These are the stamens, do +you know? They have calyx and corolla both, and the corolla has +separate petals, see; and the Ranunculaceae have the petals and sepals +deciduous, and the leaves generally cut, as you see these are. They are +what you may call a bitter family; it runs in the blood, that is to +say, in the juice of them; and a good many of the members of the family +are 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 of +the 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 every +plant from the royal cedar to the hyssop on the wall; and I am sure a +queen ought to know as much. Now the blood of the Papaveraceae has a +taint 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 so +fast 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, or +opium?' + +'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 for +medicine 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 colour +in the cheeks, the brow busy with stirring thoughts. Esther's face was +a grave face still, for a child of her years; but now it was a noble +gravity, showing intelligence and power and purpose; indicating +capacity, and also an eager sympathy with whatever is great and worthy +to take and hold the attention. Whether it were history that Dallas +touched upon, or natural science; the divisions of nations or the +harmonies of plants; Esther was ready, with her thoughtful, intent +eyes, taking in all he could give her; and not merely as a snatch-bite +of curiosity, but as the satisfaction of a good healthy mental appetite +for mental food. + +Until to-day the young man had never concerned himself much about +Esther. Good nature had moved him to-day, when he saw the dullness that +had come over the child and recognised her forlorn solitude; and now he +began to be interested in the development of a nature he had never +known before. Young Dallas was a student of everything natural that +came in his way, but this was the first bit of human nature that had +consciously interested him. He thought it quite worth investigating a +little more. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +_LEARNING_. + + +They had a most delightful walk. It was not quite the first they had +taken together; however, they had had none like this. They roved +through the meadows and over the low rocky heights and among the +copsewood, searching everywhere for flowers, and finding a good variety +of the dainty and delicate spring beauties. Columbine, most elegant, +stood in groups upon the rocks; _Hepatica_ hid under beds of dead +leaves; the slender _Uvularia_ was met with here and there; anemone and +bloodroot and wild geranium, and many another. And as they were +gathered, Dallas made Esther observe their various features and family +characteristics, and brought her away from Christopher's technical +phraseology to introduce her instead to the living and everlasting +relations of things. To this teaching the little girl presently lent a +very delighted ear, and brought, he could see, a quick wit and a keen +power of discrimination. It was one thing to call a delicate little +plant arbitrarily _Sanguinaria canadensis;_ it was another thing to +find it its place among the floral tribes, and recognise its kindred +and associations and family character. + +On their way home, Dallas proposed that Esther should stop at his house +for a minute, and become a little familiar with the place where she was +to come to study Latin; and he led her in as he spoke. + +The Dallases' house was the best in the village. Not handsome in its +exterior, which bore the same plain and somewhat clumsy character as +all the other buildings in its neighbourhood; but inside it was +spacious, and had a certain homely elegance. Rooms were large and +exceedingly comfortable, and furnished evidently with everything +desired by the hearts of its possessors. That fact has perhaps more to +do with the pleasant, _liveable_ air of a house than aesthetic tastes +or artistic combinations apart from it. There was a roomy verandah, +with settees and cane chairs, and roses climbing up the pillars and +draping the balustrade. The hall, which was entered next, was wide and +homelike, furnished with settees also, and one or two tables, for +summer occupation, when doors could be set open front and back and the +wind play through. Nobody was there to-day, and Dallas turned to a door +at the right and opened it. This let them into a large room where a +fire was burning, and a soft genial warmth met them, along with a +certain odour, which Esther noticed and felt without knowing what it +was. It was very faint, yet unmistakeable; and was a compound probably +made up from the old wood of the house, burning coals in the chimney, +great cleanliness, and a distant, hidden, secret store of all manner of +delicate good things, fruits and sweets and spices, of which Mrs. +Dallas's store closet held undoubtedly a great stock and variety. The +brass of the old-fashioned grate glittered in the sunlight, it was so +beautifully kept; between the windows hung a circular mirror, to the +frame of which were appended a number of spiral, slim, curling +branches, 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 over +it. The place made a peculiar agreeable impression upon any one +entering 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 hardly +been in the house since the death of her mother, and it struck her +almost as a stranger. So did the lady sitting there, in state, as it +seemed to the girl. + +For Mrs. Dallas was a stately person. Handsome, tall, of somewhat large +and full figure and very upright carriage; handsomely dressed; and with +a calm, superior air of confidence, which perhaps had more effect than +all the other good properties mentioned. She was sitting in an +easy-chair, with some work in her hands, by a little work-table on +which lay one or two handsomely bound books. She looked up and reviewed +Esther 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 to +the child, who touched it as somewhat embodying a condescension rather +than 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 was +a pity, of course, that her father did not feel well. 'Where have you +been all this while?' the lady went on, addressing her son. + +'Where?--well, in reality, walking over half the country. See our +flowers! In imagination, over half the world. Do you know what a +collection 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, which +when it was current was worth only perhaps a farthing or two, now when +its currency is long past would sell maybe for fifty or a hundred +pounds.' + +'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 are +to 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 head +back laughingly as he went. + +'Lessons! In what?' + +'Anything she wants to learn, that I can teach her. We have been +studying history and botany to-day. Come along, Esther. We shall not +take our lessons _here_.' + +He led the way, going out into the hall and at the further end of it +passing into a verandah which there too extended along the back of the +house. The house on this side had a long offset, or wing, running back +at right angles with the main building. The verandah also made an angle +and followed the side of this wing, which on the ground floor contained +the kitchen and offices. Half way of its length a stairway ran up, on +the outside, to a door nearer the end of the building. Up this stair +young Dallas went, and introduced Esther to a large room, which seemed +to her presently the oddest and also the most interesting that she had +ever in her life seen. Its owner had got together, apparently, the old +bits of furniture that his mother did not want any longer; there was an +old table, devoid of all varnish, in the floor, covered, however, with +a nice green cloth; two or three chairs were the table's +contemporaries, to judge by their style, and nothing harder or less +accommodating to the love of ease ever entered surely a cabinetmaker's +brain. The wood of which they were made had, however, come to be of a +soft brown colour, through the influence of time, and the form was not +inelegant. The floor was bare and painted, and upon it lay here an old +rug and there a great thick bearskin; and on the walls there were +several heads of animals, which seemed to Esther very remarkable and +extremely ornamental. One beautiful deer's head, with elegant horns; +and one elk head, the horns of which in their sweep and extent were +simply 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 in +large numbers; a flower press was in one place, a microscope on the +table, a kind of _etagere_ was loaded with papers; and there were +boxes, and glasses, and cases; and a general air of a place where a +good deal of business was done, and where a variety of tastes found at +least attempted gratification. It was a pleasant room, though the +description may not sound like it; the heterogeneous articles were in +nice order; plenty of light blazed in at the windows, and the bearskin +on the floor looked eminently comfortable. If that were luxurious, it +was the only bit of luxury in the room. + +'Where will you sit?' asked its owner, looking round. 'There isn't +anything nice enough for you. I must look up a special chair for you to +occupy when you come here. How do you like my room?' + +'I like it--very much,' said Esther slowly, turning her eyes from one +strange 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 straight +through the house, out on the piazza, and up these stairs, with out +asking anybody; and then you will turn the handle of the door and come +in, 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 I +have 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 the +chance. 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 the +great European lammergeyer.' + +Esther had placed herself on one of the hard wooden chairs, but now she +rose and went nearer the birds, standing before them in great +admiration. Slowly then she went from one thing in the room to another, +pausing to contemplate each. A beautiful white owl, very large and +admirably mounted, held her eyes for some time. + +'That is the Great Northern Owl,' observed her companion. 'They are +found far up in the regions around the North Pole, and only now and +then 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 hosts +of smaller fry--squirrels, mice, and birds.' + +'He looks cruel,' observed Esther, with an abhorrent motion of her +shoulders. + +'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, for +instance, 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 other +part of creation--except that respectable number that are granivorous, +and herbivorous, and graminivorous.' + +Esther stood before the owl, musing; and Dallas, who was studying the +child now, watched her. + +'But what I want to know, is,' began Esther, as if she were carrying on +an argument, '_why_ those that eat flesh look so much more wicked than +the 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 are +sheep and cows and rabbits, and doves and chickens'-- + +'Halt there!' cried Dallas. 'Chickens are as good flesh-eaters as +anybody, and as cruel about it, too. See two chickens pulling at the +two ends of one earthworm.' + +'Oh, don't!' said Esther. 'I remember they do; and they haven't nice +eyes 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's +service; 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 is +something in it.' + +'Then don't you think there must be a _real_ difference, to make them +look 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 been +carried into a system. Meanwhile, suppose we come from what I cannot +teach, to what I can? Here's a Latin grammar for you.' + +Esther came to his side immediately, and listened with grave attention +to 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 put +a sudden irrelevant question. 'Pitt, why didn't you tell Mrs. Dallas +what you were going to teach me?' + +The young man looked at her, somewhat amused, but not immediately ready +with 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 who +am going to give you the lessons, not she. And now for a lesson in +botany.' + +He brought out a quantity of his dried flowers, beautifully preserved +and arranged; and showed Esther one or two groups of plants, giving her +various initiatory instruction by the way. It was a most delightful +half hour to the little girl; and she went home after it, with her +Latin grammar in her hands, very much aroused and wakened up and +cheered from her dull condition of despondency; just what Pitt had +intended. + + + + +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 with +his success. In his room, over Latin and botany, at her own home, over +history and the boxes of coins, he and Esther daily spent a good deal +of time together. They were pleasant enough hours to him; but to her +they were sources of life-giving nourishment and delight. The girl had +been leading a forlorn existence; mentally in a desert and alone; and, +added to that, with an unappeased longing for her departed mother, and +silent, quiet, wearing grief for the loss of her. Even now, her +features often settled into the dulness which had so struck Dallas; but +gradually there was a lightening and lifting of the cloud: when +studying she was wholly intent on her business, and when talking or +reciting or examining flowers there was a play of life and thought and +feeling in her face which was a constant study to her young teacher, as +well as pleasure, for the change was his work. He read indications of +strong capacity; he saw the tokens of rare sensitiveness and delicacy; +he saw there was a power of feeling as well as a capacity for suffering +covered 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 as +education, that her young teacher's estimation constantly grew, and to +interest was soon added liking. He had half expected that when the +novelty was off the pleasure of study would be found to falter; but it +was no such matter. Esther studied as honestly as if she had been a +fifth form boy at a good school; with a delight in it which boys at +school, in any form, rarely bring to their work. She studied +absorbedly, eagerly, persistently; whatever pleasure she might get by +the way, she was plainly bent on learning; and she learned of course +fast. And in the botanical studies they carried on together, and in the +historical studies which had the coins for an illumination, the child +showed as keen enjoyment as other girls of her age are wont to feel in +a story-book or in games and plays. Of games and plays Esther knew +nothing; she had no young companions, and never had known any; her +intercourse had been almost solely with father and mother, and now only +the father was left to her. She would have been in danger of growing +morbid in her sorrow and loneliness, and her whole nature might have +been permanently and without remedy dwarfed, if at this time of her +life 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 of +both to develop them to their full richness and fragrance; and Esther +was one of these. The loss of her mother had threatened to be an +irreparable injury to her. Colonel Gainsborough was a tenderly +affectionate father: still, like a good many men, he did not understand +child nature, could not adapt himself to it, had no sort of notion of +its wants, and no comprehension that it either needed or could receive +and return his sympathy. So he did not give sympathy to his child, nor +dreamed that she was in danger of starving for want of it. Indeed, he +had never in his life given much sympathy to anybody, except his wife; +and in the loss of his wife, Colonel Gainsborough thought so much of +himself was lost that the remainder probably would not last long. He +thought himself wounded to death. That it might be desirable, and that +it might be duty to live for his daughter's sake, was an idea that had +never entered his very masculine heart. Yet Colonel Gainsborough was a +good man, and even had the power of being a tender one; he had been +that towards his wife; but when she died he felt that life had gone +from him. + +All this, more or less, young Dallas came to discern and understand in +the course of his associations with the father and daughter. And now it +was with a little pardonable pride and a good deal of growing +tenderness 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's +presence; truly she was quiet as a mouse everywhere; but under the +outward quiet Dallas could see now the impulse and throb of the strong +and 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 of +great power and beauty. It was no wonder that the face through which +this nature shone was one of rare power and beauty too. Others could +see that, besides him. + +'What a handsome little girl that is!' remarked the elder Dallas one +evening. 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 a +pause. 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 are +rather 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 husband +repeated 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 his +head since his wife died. He fancies he is going after her as fast as +he 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 a +sort of outward care of her, and so far it is very particular care; but +there 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 he +thinks he is, which comes to the same thing. But I should say, that +child might better be in any other hands than his.' + +'Well, she is not shut up to them,' said young Dallas, 'since I have +taken her in hand.' + +He strolled out of the room as he spoke, and the two elder people were +left together. Silence reigned between them till the sound of his steps +had quite ceased to be heard. + +Mrs. Dallas was working at some wool embroidery, and taking her +stitches with a thoughtful brow; her husband in his easy-chair was +carelessly turning over the pages of a newspaper. They were a contrast. +She had a tall, commanding figure, a gracious but dignified manner, and +a very handsome, stately face. There was nothing commanding, and +nothing gracious, about Mr. Dallas. His figure was rather small, and +his manner insignificant. He was not a handsome man, either, although +he may be said to have but just missed it, for his features were +certainly 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 air +was unsympathetic. It was courteous enough; and he was careful and +particular in his dress. Indeed, Mr. Dallas was careful of all that +belonged to him. He wore long English whiskers of sandy hair, the head +crop being very thin and kept very close. + +'Hildebrand,' said Mrs. Dallas when the sound of her son's footsteps +had died away, 'when are you going to send Pitt to college?' + +Mr. Dallas turned another page of his newspaper, and did not hurry his +answer. + +'Why?' + +'And _where_ are you going to send him?' + +'Really,' said Mr. Dallas, without ceasing his contemplation of the +page before him, 'I do not know. I have not considered the matter +lately.' + +'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 on +presently. 'He is ready for college. All this pottering over the +classics with Colonel Gainsborough doesn't amount to anything. It keeps +him out of idleness,--if Pitt ever could be idle,--but he has got to go +to college after all, sooner or later. He must go!' she repeated with +another sigh. + +'No special hurry, that I see.' + +'What's gained by delay? He's eighteen. That's long enough for him to +have lived in a place like this. If I had my way, Hildebrand, I should +send 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 want +Pitt to be formed upon the model of things in this country. You would +not 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 educating +this girl, now.' + +'Educating her!' + +'Yes, he is with her and her father a great piece of every day; reading +and talking and walking and drying flowers and giving lessons. I don't +know what all they are doing. But in my opinion Pitt might be better +employed.' + +'That won't last,' said the father with a half laugh. + +'What ought not to last, had better not be begun,' Mrs. Dallas said +sententiously. + +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 you +stood in the way.' + +'He was not wasting his time until lately. He was as well at home. But +there must come an end to that,' the mother said, with another slight +sigh. 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 of +this country for a while; forget some of his American notions, and get +right English ones. Pitt is a little too independent.' + +The elder Dallas caressed his whiskers and pondered. If the truth were +told, he had been about as unwilling to let his son go away from home +as ever his mother could be. Pitt was simply the delight and pride of +both their hearts; the one thing they lived for; the centre of all +hopes, 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 was +a son for parents to be proud of. He had the good qualities of both +father 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,' the +father remarked. 'Oh, well! there's no raging hurry, wife.' + +'Husband, it would be a good thing for him to see the English Church as +it is in England, before he gets much older.' + +'What then?' + +'He would learn to value it. The cathedrals, and the noble services in +them, and the bishops; and the feeling that everybody around him goes +the same way; there's a great deal of power in that. Pitt would be +impressed by it.' + +'By the feeling that everybody around him goes that way? Not he. That's +quite 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, and +without 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 enough +left in him for proselyting.' + +'I am not speaking of anybody in particular. I am afraid of the air +here.' + +Mr. Dallas laughed a little, but his face took a shade of gravity it +had not worn. Must he send his son away? What would the house be +without him? + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +_GOING TO COLLEGE_. + + +Whatever thoughts were harboured in the elder heads, nothing was spoken +openly, and no steps were taken for some time. All through the summer +the pleasant intercourse went on, and the lessons, and the botanizing, +and the study of coins. And much real work was done; but for Esther one +invaluable and abiding effect of a more general character was gained. +She was lifted out of her dull despondency, which had threatened to +become stagnation, and restored to her natural life and energy and the +fresh spring of youthful spirits. So, when her friend really went away +to college in the fall, Esther did not slip back to the condition from +which he had delivered her. + +But the loss of him was a dreadful loss to the child, although Pitt was +not going over the sea, and would be home at Christmas. He tried to +comfort 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 was +saying. 'I will show you what to do, and when I come home I shall go +into a very searching examination to see whether you have done it all +thoroughly.' + +'Will you?' she said, lifting her eyes to him with a gleam of sudden +hope. + +'Certainly! I shall give you lessons just as usual whenever I come +home; indeed, I expect I shall do it all your life. I think I shall +always be teaching and you always be learning. Don't you think that is +how 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 her +face. Yet it was plain Esther was not cheated out of her perception of +the truth. She was going to lose her friend; and his absence would be +very different from his presence; and the bits of vacation time would +not help, or help only by anticipation, the long stretches of months in +which there would be neither sight nor sound of him. Esther's looks had +brightened for a moment, but then her countenance fell again and her +face 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 their +burden of sorrow. + +'Well, perhaps three years; unless I enter Junior, and then it would be +only 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 old +will you be in two years?' + +'Almost fourteen.' + +'Fourteen. Well, you see you will have a great deal to do before you +can afford to be fourteen years old; so much that you will not have +time to miss me.' + +Esther made no answer. + +'I'll be back at Christmas anyhow, you know; and that's only three +months away, or a little more.' + +'For how long?' + +'Never mind; we will make a little do the work of a great deal. It will +seem 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 much +about me. I don't deserve all that.' + +'I am not crying,' said the girl, rising with a sort of childish +dignity; 'but I shall be alone.' + +They had been sitting on a rock, resting and talking, and now set out +again to go home. Esther spoke no more; and Pitt was silent, not +knowing what to say; but he watched her, and saw that if she had not +been crying at the time she had made that declaration, the tears had +taken their revenge and were coming now. Yet only in a calm, repressed +way; now and then he saw a drop fall, or caught a motion of Esther's +hand which could only have been made to prevent a drop from falling. +She walked along steadily, turning neither to the right hand nor the +left; she who ordinarily watched every hedgerow and ran to explore +every group of plants in the corner of a field, and was keen to see +everything that was to be seen in earth or heaven. Pitt walked along +silently too. He was at a careless age, but he was a generous-minded +fellow; and to a mind of that sort there is something exceedingly +attractive and an influence exceedingly powerful in the fact of being +trusted and depended on. + +'Mother,' he said when he got home, 'I wish you would look after that +little 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, nor +anybody 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 was +about a week after Pitt's departure. She found father and daughter very +much as her son had found them the day he was introduced to the box of +coins. Esther was on the floor, beside the same box, and the colonel +was on his sofa. Mrs. Dallas did take the effect of the picture for +that moment before the colonel sprang up to receive her. Then she had +to do with a somewhat formal but courtly host, and the picture was +lost. The lady sat there, stately in her silks and laces, carrying on a +stiff conversation; for she and Colonel Gainsborough had few points of +sympathy or mutual understanding; and for a while she forgot Esther. +Then her eye again fell upon the child in her corner, sitting by her +box with a sad, uninterested air. + +'And how is Esther?' she said, turning herself a little towards that +end of the room. 'Really I came to see Esther, colonel. How does she +do?' + +'She is much obliged to you, and quite well, madam, I believe.' + +'But she must want playmates, colonel. Why don't you send her to +school?' + +'I would, if there were a good school at hand.' + +'There are schools at New Haven, and Hartford, and Boston,--plenty of +schools that would suit you.' + +'Only that, as you observe, they are at New Haven, and Hartford, and +Boston; 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, that +the other has.' + +'Pitt used to give you lessons, didn't he?' the lady went on, turning +more 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 this +handsome, stately, commanding woman. Yet it would have been impossible +to the girl to say why she had an instant unwillingness to answer this +simple question. She did not answer it, except under protest. + +'It began with the coins,' she said vaguely. 'He said we would study +history with them.' + +'And did you?' + +'Yes, ma'am.' + +'How did you manage it? or how did he? He has original ways of doing +things.' + +'Yes, ma'am. We used to take only one or two of the coins at once, and +then 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, and +Rollin, 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. 'Sounds +rather heterogeneous!' she said. + +It was on Esther's lips to justify her teacher, and say how far from +heterogeneous, how connected, and how thorough, and how methodical, the +reading and the study had been; and how enriched with talk and +explanations and descriptions and discussions. How delightful those +conversations were, both to herself and Pitt; how living the truth had +been made; how had names and facts taken on them the shape and +colouring of nature and reality. It rushed back upon Esther, and her +lips opened; and then, an inexplicable feeling of something like +caution 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 at +the child standing before her; a child truly, with childlike innocence +and ignorance in her large eyes and pure lips. But the eyes were eyes +of beauty; and the lips would soon and readily take to themselves the +sweetness and the consciousness of womanhood, and a new bloom would +come upon the cheek. The colonel had never yet looked forward to all +that; but the wise eyes of the matron saw it as well as if already +before 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, in +so far, at least, as Esther's further and future relations with her son +were 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 of +human nature as they came before her; but she was conscious of a +disagreeable, troubled sensation left by this visit of Mrs. Dallas. It +had not been pleasant. It ought to have been pleasant: she was Pitt's +mother; she came on a kind errand; but Esther felt at once repelled and +put at a distance. + +The child had not gone back to the dull despondency of the time before +Pitt busied himself with her; she was striving to fulfil all his +wishes, and working hard in order to accomplish more than he expected +of her. With the cherished secret hope of doing this, Esther was +driving at her books early and late. She went from the coins to the +histories Pitt had told her would illustrate them; she fagged away at +the dry details of her Latin grammar; she even tried to push her +knowledge of plants and see further into their relations with each +other, though in this department she felt the want of her teacher +particularly. From day to day it was the one pressing desire and +purpose in Esther's mind, to do more, and if possible much more, than +Pitt wanted her to do; so that she might surprise him and win his +respect and approbation. She thought, too, that she was in a fair way +to do this, for she was gaining knowledge fast, she knew; and it was a +great help towards keeping up spirit and hope and healthy action in her +mind. Nevertheless, she missed her companion and friend, with an +intense longing want of him which nobody even guessed. All the more +keen it was, perhaps, because she could speak of it to nobody. It +consumed the girl in secret, and was only saved from being disastrous +to her by the transformation of it into working energy, which +transformation daily went on anew. It did not help her much, or she +thought so, to remember that Pitt was coming home at the end of +December. He would not stay; and Esther was one of those thoughtful +natures that look all round a subject, and are not deceived by a first +fair show. He could not stay; and what would his coming and the delight +of it do, after all, but renew this terrible sense of want and make it +worse than ever? When he went away again, it would be for a long, long +time,--an absence of months; how was it going to be borne? + +The problem of life was beginning early for Esther. And the child was +alone. Nobody knew what went on in her; she had nobody to whom she +could open her heart and tell her trouble; and the troubles we can tell +to nobody else somehow weigh very heavy, especially in young years. The +colonel loved his child with all of his heart that was not buried in +his wife's grave; still, he was a man, and like most men had little +understanding 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 her +books; and it never crossed his thoughts that such is not the natural +condition and wholesome manner of life for twelve years old. He knew +nothing for himself so good as books; why should not the same be true +for Esther? She was a studious child; he was glad to see her so +sensible. + +As for Pitt, he had fallen upon a new world, and was busily finding his +feet, as it were. Finding his own place, among all these other +aspirants for human distinction; testing his own strength, among the +combatants in this wrestling school of human life; earning his laurels +in the race for learning; making good his standing and trying his power +amid the waves and currents of human influence. Pitt found his standing +good, and his strength quite equal to the call for it, and his power +dominating. At least it would have been dominating, if he had cared to +rule; all he cared for, as it happened, in that line, was to be +independent 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, his +abilities were unquestioned, and put him at once at the head of his +fellows. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +_COMING HOME_. + + +Without being at all an unfaithful friend, it must be confessed Pitt's +mind during this time was full of the things pertaining to his own new +life, and he thought little of Esther. He thought little of anybody; he +was 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 the +college behind him, and was on his journey home, that Esther's image +rose before his mental vision; the first time perhaps for months. It +smote him then with a little feeling of compunction. He recollected the +child's sensitive nature, her clinging to him, her lonely condition; +and the grave, sad eyes seemed to reproach him with having forgotten +her. He had not forgotten her; he had only not remembered. He might +have taken time to write her one little letter; but he had not thought +of it. Had she ceased to think of _him_ in any corresponding way? Pitt +was very sure she had not. Somehow his fancy was very busy with Esther +during this journey home. He was making amends for months of neglect. +Her delicate, tender, faithful image seemed to stand before +him;--forgetfulness would never be charged upon Esther, nor +carelessness 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 little +token of remembrance in all this time. He recalled the girl's eagerness +in study, her delight in learning, her modest, well-bred manner; her +evident though unconscious loving devotion to himself, and her profound +grief at his going away. There were very noble qualities in that young +girl that would develop--into what might they develop? and how would +those beautiful thoughtful eyes look from a woman's soul by and by? Had +his mother complied with his request and shown any kindness to the +child? Pitt had no special encouragement to think so. And what a life +it must be for such a creature, at twelve years old, to be alone with +that taciturn, reserved, hypochondriac colonel? + +It was near evening when the stage-coach brought Pitt to his native +village 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. The +mother and father were sitting at the two sides of the fireplace, busy +with keeping up the fire to an unmaintainable standard of brilliancy, +and looking at the clock; now and then exchanging a remark about the +weather, the way, the distance, and the proper time of the expected +arrival,--till that sharp sound of a step on the gravel came to their +ears, and both parents started up and rushed to the door. There was a +general confusion of kisses and hand-clasps and embraces, from which +Pitt 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 plank +floor; 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 supper +table stood ready, and all eyes could meet eyes, and read tokens each +of 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 home +is jolly, mother. That's the use of going away, I suppose,' said the +young 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 at +him 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 knew +it. I made sure you would.' + +'He hasn't worked too hard either,' said the mother, with a careful eye +of examination. 'He looks as he ought to look.' + +A bright glance of the eye came to her. 'I tell you I never had enough +to do yet,' he said. + +'And, Pitt, do you like it?' + +'Like what, mother?' + +'The place, and the work, and the people?--the students and the +professors?' + +'That's what I should call a comprehensive question! You expect one yes +or 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 have +something of a variety of material, don't you see? The people are all +sorts. 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 man +has 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 the +first 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 and +butter, 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 the +fire, that is.' + +The supper was a royal one, for Mrs. Dallas was a good housekeeper; and +the tone of it was festive, for the spirits of them all were in a very +gay and Christmas mood. So it was with a good deal of surprise as well +as chagrin that Mrs. Dallas, after supper, saw her son handling his +greatcoat 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; but +there's somebody else there that would like to see me. I'll be back +soon, 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,' said +Pitt, 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 behind +him. Mrs. Dallas went back to the supper room with a very discomfited +face. + +'Hildebrand,' she said, in a tone that made her husband look up, 'there +is 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 North +wind!--and no more to be held.' + +'That's nothing new. He never could be held. Pity we didn't name him +Boreas.' + +'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. And +that little girl is a child yet.' + +'You forget how soon she will be not a child. And she is going to be a +very remarkable-looking girl, I can tell you. And you must not forget +another thing, husband; that Pitt is as persistent as he is wilful.' + +'He's got a head, I think,' said Mr. Dallas, stroking his whiskers +thoughtfully. + +'_That_ won't save him. It never saved anybody. Men with heads are just +as much fools, in certain circumstances, as men without them.' + +'He might fancy some other child in England, if we sent him there, you +know.' + +'Yes; but at least she would be a Churchwoman,' said Mrs. Dallas, with +her 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 Colonel +Gainsborough's house. There he was told that the colonel had a bad +headache and was already gone to his room. + +'Is Miss Esther up?' + +'Oh yes, sir,' said Mrs. Barker doubtfully, but she did not invite the +visitor in. + +'Can I see her for a moment?' + +'I haven't no orders, but I suppose you can come in, Mr. Dallas. It is +Mr. Dallas, ain't it?' + +'Yes, it's I, Mrs. Barker,' said Pitt, coming in and beginning at once +to throw off his greatcoat. 'In the usual room? Is the colonel less +well 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. He +had a certain vague expectation of the delight his appearance would +give, and was a little eager to see it. So he went in with a bright +face to surprise Esther. + +The girl was sitting by the table reading a book she had laid close +under the lamp; reading with a very grave face, Pitt saw too, and it a +little sobered the brightness of his own. It was not the dulness of +stagnation or of sorrow this time; at least Esther was certainly busily +reading; but it was sober, steady business, not the absorption of happy +interest or excitement. She looked up carelessly as the door opened, +then half incredulously as she saw the entering figure, then she shut +her book and rose to meet him. But then she did not show the lively +pleasure 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 more +dignity and less eagerness than he was accustomed to from her. Pitt was +astonished, and piqued, and curious. However, he followed her lead, in +a 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 oddest +mingling of reserve and doubt in her manner; and the great grave eyes +were lifted to his face for a moment, with, it seemed to him, something +of 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 and +half-laughing, but wholly determined not to be kept at a distance in +this manner. 'I am not going to sit down, if you are going to treat me +like that.' + +'Treat you how?' + +'Why, as if I were a stranger, that you didn't care a pin about. What's +the matter, Queen Esther?' + +Esther was silent. Pitt was half-indignant; and then he caught the +shimmer of something like moisture in the eyes, which were looking away +from him to the fire, and his mood changed. + +'What is it, Esther?' he said kindly. 'Take a seat, your majesty, and +I'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 up +another 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 the +eyes, and rolled over. Esther brushed them hastily away. + +'And I hadn't the decency to write to you? Had that something to do +with it?' + +'I thought--if you _had_ remembered me, you would perhaps have written, +just a little word,' Esther confessed, with some hesitation and +difficulty. Pitt was more touched and sorry than he would have supposed +before that such a matter could make him. + +'Look here, Esther,' he said. 'There are two or three things I want you +to take note of. The first is, that you must never judge by +appearances.' + +'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'--(Esther +got the words out with some difficulty, without, however, breaking +down)--'and I thought, I had to get accustomed to doing without +you--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: 'I +told you, in the first place, you are not to judge by appearances. Do +you see that you have been mistaken in judging me?' + +She looked at him, a look that moved him a good deal, there was so much +wistfulness in it; so much desire revealed to find him what she had +found him in times past, along with the dawning hope that she might. + +'Yes,' said he, nodding, 'you have been mistaken, and I did not expect +it of you, Queen Esther. I don't think I am changeable; but anyhow, I +haven't changed towards you. I have but just got home this evening; and +I ran away from home and my mother as soon as we had done supper, that +I 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 much +more 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 time +to England; about that I can't tell; but if I go, I shall come back +again, supposing I am alive. And now, do you see that it would be very +foolish of you to try to get accustomed to doing without me? for I +shall not let you do it.' + +'I don't want to do it,' said Esther confidingly; 'for you know I have +nobody else except you and papa.' + +'What put such an absurd notion in your head! You a Stoic, Queen +Esther! You look like it!' + +'What is a Stoic?' + +'The sort of people that bite a nail in two, and smile as if it were a +stick 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 not +think 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 not +care.' + +'Did you! You did me honour. Now, Queen Esther, let us understand this +matter. I do care, and I am going to care, and I shall always care. Do +you believe it?' + +'I always believe what you say,' said the girl, with a happy change in +her face, which touched Pitt again curiously. Somehow, the contrast +between his own strong, varied, rich, and active life, with its +abundance of resources and enjoyments, careless and satisfied,--and +this little girl alone at home with her cranky father, and no variety +or change or outlook or help, struck him painfully. It would hardly +have struck most young men; but Pitt, with all his rollicking +waywardness and self-pleasing, had a fine fibre in him which could feel +things. Then Esther's nature, he knew, was one rich in possibilities; +to which life was likely to bring great joy or great sorrow; more +probably 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 say +it 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, and +holding it while he looked into her eyes. + +'I don't know--papa had gone to bed, and I was alone--and somehow it +seemed lonesome.' + +'Will you go with me to-morrow after Christmas greens?' + +'Oh, may I?' cried the girl, with such a flush of delight coming into +eyes and cheeks and lips, that Pitt was almost startled. + +'I don't think I could enjoy it unless you came. And then you will help +me dress the rooms.' + +'What rooms?' + +'Our rooms at home. And now, what have you been doing since I have been +away?' + +All shadows were got rid of; and there followed a half-hour of most +eager intercourse, questions and answers coming thick upon one another. +Esther was curious to hear all that Pitt would tell her about his life +and doings at college; and, nothing loath, Pitt gave it her. It +interested him to watch the play of thought and interest in the child's +features as he talked. She comprehended him, and she seemed to take in +without difficulty the strange nature and conditions of his college +world. + +'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 distinguish +yourself.' + +'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. People +sometimes hold opinions they have no business to hold, and that they +would not hold, if they were not perverse-minded.' + +Esther's face had all changed since he came in. The premature gravity +and sadness was entirely dispersed; the eyes were full of beautiful +light, the mouth taking a great many curves corresponding to as many +alternations and shades of sympathy, and a slight colour of interest +and pleasure had risen in the cheeks. If Pitt had vanity to gratify, it +was gratified; but he had something better, he had a genuine kindness +and liking for the little girl, which had suffered absolute pain, when +he saw how his absence and silence had worked. Now the two were in full +enjoyment of the old relations and the old intercourse, when the door +opened, 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?' said +Pitt, 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,' said +Esther. + +'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 and +kissing it. 'But this is what I call a very summary proceeding. Queen +Esther, does your majesty always do what you are expected to do, and +take orders from everybody!' + +'No; only from papa and you. Good-night, Pitt. Yes, I'll be ready +to-morrow.' + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +_A NOSEGAY_. + + +Pitt walked home, half amused at himself that he should take so much +pains about this little girl, at the same time very firmly resolved +that nothing should hinder him. Perhaps his liking for her was deeper +than he knew; it was certainly real; while his kindly and generous +temper responded promptly to every appeal that her affection and +confidence made upon him. Affection and confidence are very winning +things, even if not given by a beautiful girl who will soon be a +beautiful woman; but looking out from Esther's innocent eyes, they went +down into the bottom of young Dallas's heart. And besides, his nature +was not only kind and noble; it was obstinate. Opposition, to him, in a +thing 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 at +home, that night and the next morning; but then he went with Esther +after cedar and hemlock branches. It may be asked, what opposition had +he hitherto found to his intercourse with the colonel's daughter? And +it must be answered, none. Nevertheless, Pitt felt it in the air, and +it had the effect on him that the north wind and cold are said to have +upon timber. + +It was a day of days for Esther. First the delightful roving walk, and +cutting the greens, which were bestowed in a cart that attended them; +then the wonderful novelty of dressing the house. Esther had never seen +anything of the kind before, which did not hinder her, however, from +giving very good help. The hall, the sitting-room, the drawing-room, +and even Pitt's particular, out-of-the-way work-room, all were wreathed +and adorned and dressed up, each after its manner. For Pitt would not +have one place a repetition of another. The bright berries of the +winterberry and bittersweet were mingled with the dark shade of the +evergreens in many ingenious ways; but the crowning triumph of art, +perhaps, to Esther's eyes, was a motto in green letters, picked out +with brilliant partridge berries, over the end of the +sitting-room,--'Peace on earth.' Esther stood in delighted admiration +before it, also pondering. + +'Pitt,' she said at last, 'those partridge berries ought not to be in +it.' + +'Why not?' said Pitt, in astonishment. 'I think they set it off +capitally.' + +'Oh, so they do. I didn't mean that. They are beautiful, very. But you +know 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. No +partridge will get at them.' + +'Oh no, it isn't that, Pitt; but I was thinking--Poison shouldn't be in +that message of the angels.' + +Pitt's face lighted up. + +'Queen Esther,' said he solemnly, 'are you going to be _that_ sort of +person?' + +'What sort of person?' + +'One of those whose spirits are attuned to finer issues than their +neighbours? They are the stuff that poets are made of. You are not a +poet, are you?' + +'No, indeed!' said Esther, laughing. + +'Don't! I think it must be uncomfortable to have to do with a poet. You +may notice, that in nature the dwellers on the earth have nothing to do +with the dwellers in the air.' + +'Except to be food for them,' said Esther. + +'Ah! Well,--leaving that,--I should never have thought about the +partridge berries in that motto, and my mother would never have thought +of 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 the +earth; the wild beasts will not be wild, and so I suppose poison will +not 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 the +doorway. 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 swallow +them, I suppose.' + +'Esther finds in them an emblem of the time when the message of peace +shall have neutralized all the hurtful things in the world, and made +them harmless.' + +Mrs. Dallas's eye fell coldly upon Esther. 'I do not think the Church +knows of any such time,' she answered, as she turned away. Pitt +whistled 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 greens +and putting them up had taken both the morning and the afternoon to +accomplish. 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 the +stir and freshness and prettiness of life in the Dallases's house. It +struck Esther rather painfully. The room where she and her father took +their supper was pleasant and homely indeed; a bright fire burned on +the hearth, or in the grate, rather, and a bright lamp shone on the +table; Barker had brought in the tea urn, and the business of preparing +tea for her father was one that Esther always liked. But, nevertheless, +the place approached too nearly a picture of still life. The urn hissed +and bubbled, a comfortable sound; and now and then there was a falling +coal or a jet of gas flame in the fire; but I think these things +perhaps made the stillness more intense and more noticeable. The +colonel sat on his sofa, breaking dry toast into his tea and +thoughtfully swallowing it; he said nothing, unless to demand another +cup; and Esther, though she had a healthy young appetite, could not +quite stay the mental longing with the material supply. Besides, she +was 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 at +all. 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 is +nothing to me.' + +'But, papa, why then does anybody make much of it? Mrs. Dallas has her +house 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 so +beautifully! You can't think how pretty it all is. Is there any harm in +that, 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 was +born; and so in Romish times a special Popish mass was said on that +day; and from that the twenty-fifth of December got its present +name--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 was +the time of our Lord's coming into the world. The shepherds were +watching their flocks by night; that could not have been in the depth +of 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 of +ignorance, I suppose; and as all it means now is a time of feasting and +jollity, the dead of winter will do as well as another time. But it is +a Popish observance, my child; it is a Popish observance.' + +'There's no harm in it, papa, is there? if it means only feasting and +jollity, as you say.' + +'There is always harm in superstition. This is no more the time of +Christ's birth than any other day that you could choose; but there is a +superstition about it; and I object to giving a superstitious reverence +to 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 be +of the Popish church or any other, on a level with what the Bible +commands.' + +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 the +plays.' + +'Godless ways,' said the colonel, settling himself to his +reading,--'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 on +pondering, unsatisfied. In any question which put Mrs. Dallas and her +father on opposite sides, she had no doubt whatever that her father +must be in the right; but it was a pity, for surely in the present case +Mrs. Dallas's house had the advantage. The Christmas decorations had +been so pretty! the look of them was so bright and festive! the walls +she had round her at home were bare and stiff and cold. No doubt her +father must be right, but it was a pity! + +The next day was Christmas day. Pitt being in attendance on his father +and mother, busied with the religious and other observances of the +festival, Esther did not see him till the afternoon. Late in the day, +however, he came, and brought in his hands a large bouquet of hothouse +flowers. If the two had been alone, Esther would have greeted him and +them with very lively demonstrations; as it was, it amused the young +man to see the sparkle in her eye, and the lips half opened for a cry +of joy, and the sudden flush on her cheek, and at the same time the +quiet, unexcited demeanour she maintained. Esther rose indeed, but then +stood silent and motionless and said not a word; while Pitt paid his +compliments to her father. A new fire flashed from her eye when at last +he approached her and offered her the flowers. + +'Oh, Pitt! Oh, Pitt!' was all Esther with bated breath could say. The +colonel eyed the bouquet a moment and then turned to his book. He was +on his sofa, and seemingly gave no further heed to the young people. + +'Oh, Pitt, where _could_ you get these?' The girl's breath was almost +taken away. + +'Only one place where I could get them. Don't you know old Macpherson's +greenhouse?' + +'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 the +names. This beautiful white geranium with purple lines?' + +'It's a _Pelargonium;_ belongs to the Geraniaceae; this one they call +Mecranthon. It's a beauty, isn't it? This little white blossom is +myrtle; don't you know myrtle?' + +'And this geranium--this purple one?' + +'That is Napoleon, and this Louise, and this Belle. This red +magnificence is a _Metrosideros;_ this white flower, is--I forget its +name; but _this_, this sweet one, is Daphne. Then here are two heaths; +then this thick leaf is _Laurustinus_, and this other, with the red +bud, _Camellia japonica_.' + +'Oh, how perfectly beautiful!' exclaimed the delighted child. 'Oh, how +perfectly 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 the +cardinal flower; _that_ is _Lobelia cardinalis;_ these are _Lobelia +erinus_ and _Lobelia gracilis_.' + +He watched the girl, for under the surprise and pleasure of his gift +her face was itself but a nobler flower, all glowing and flashing and +fragrant. With eyes dewy with delight she hung over the bouquet, almost +trembling in her eagerness of joy. She set the flowers carefully in a +vase, with tender circumspection, lest a leaf might be wronged by +chance crowding or inadvertent handling. Pitt watched and read it all. +He felt a great compassion for Esther. This creature, full of life and +sensibility, receptive to every influence, at twelve years old shut up +to 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 his +child. Nobody cared, or was anywhere to sympathize with her. And if she +grew up so, shut up to herself, every feeling and desire repressed for +want of expression or of somebody to express it to, how would her +nature ever develop? would it not grow stunted and poor, compared with +what it might be? He was sorry for his little playmate and friend; and +it did the young fellow credit, I think, for at his age boys are not +wont to be tenderly sympathetic towards anything, unless it be a +beloved mother or sister. Pitt silently watched the putting the flowers +in water, speculating upon the very unhopeful condition of this little +human plant, and revolving schemes in his mind. + +After he had gone, Colonel Gainsborough bade Esther show him her +flowers. She brought the dish to his sofa. The colonel reviewed them +with a somewhat jealous eye, did not seem to perceive their beauty, and +told her to take them away again. But the next day, when Esther was not +in the room, he examined the collection carefully, looking to see if +there were anything that looked like contraband 'Christmas greens.' +There were some sprigs of laurel and holly, that served to make the +hues of the bouquet more varied and rich. _That_ the colonel did not +think of; all he saw was that they were bits of the objectionable +'Christmas.' Colonel Gainsborough carefully pulled them out and threw +them in the fire; and nothing, I fear, saved the laurustinus and +japonica from a like fate but their exquisite large blossoms. Esther +was not slow to miss the green leaves abstracted from her vase. + +'Papa,' she said, in some bewilderment, 'I think somebody has been at +my flowers; there is some green gone.' + +'I took out some sprigs of laurel and holly,' said her father. 'I +cannot 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 eyes +after that time. However, there was no more meddling; the brilliant +blossoms were allowed to adorn the place and Esther's life as long as +they would, or could. She cherished them to the utmost of her +knowledge, all the rather that Pitt was gone away again; she gave them +fresh water, she trimmed off the unsightly dry leaves and withered +blossoms; but all would not do; they lasted for a time, and then +followed the law of their existence and faded. What Esther did then, +was to fetch a large old book and lay the different sprigs, leaves or +flowers, carefully among its pages and put them to dry. She loved every +leaf of them. They were associated in her mind with all that pleasant +interlude of Christmas: Pitt's coming, his kindness; their going after +greens together, and dressing the house. The bright interlude was past; +Pitt had gone back to college; and the little girl cherished the faded +green 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, and +asked 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 the +great book to the side of the sofa, and turned over the pages +carefully, showing the dried and drying leaves. She had a great love to +them; what did her father want with them? + +'What do you propose to do with those things, when they are dry? They +are 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 here +permanently?' + +'Oh, no, sir; they are only put here to dry. I put a weight on the +book. 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? I +do not think that is worth while.' + +'_Some_ of their beauty is gone,' said Esther, with a certain +tenderness for the plants manifested in her manner,--'but I love them +yet, papa.' + +'That is not wise, my child. Why should you love a parcel of dry +leaves? Love what is worthy to be loved. I think I would throw them all +in the fire.' + +'Oh, papa!' + +'That's the best, my dear. They are only rubbish. I object to the +hoarding of rubbish. It is a poor habit.' + +The colonel turned his attention again to his book, and perhaps did not +even remark how Esther sat with a disconsolate face on the floor, +looking at her condemned treasures. He would not have understood it if +he had seen. In his nature there was no key to the feeling which now +was driving the tears into Esther's eyes and making her heart swell. +Like many men, and many women, for the matter of that, Colonel +Gainsborough had very little power of association. He would indeed have +regarded with sacred reverence anything that had once belonged to his +wife, down to her shoe; in that one instance the tension of feeling was +strong enough to make the chords tremble under the lightest touch. In +other relations, what did it matter? They were nothing to him; and if +Colonel Gainsborough made his own estimate the standard of the worth of +things, he only did what I am afraid we all do, more or less. At any +rate, his was not one of those finer strung natures which recognise the +possibility of worlds of knowledge and feeling not open to themselves. +It is also just possible that he divined his daughter's sentiment in +regard to the flowers enough to be jealous of it. + +But Esther did not immediately move to obey his order. She sat on the +floor with the big book before her, the open page showing a half dry +blossom of the Mecranthon geranium which was still to her eyes very +beautiful. And all the associations of that pleasant Christmas +afternoon when Pitt had brought it and told her what its name was, rose +up before her. She was exceedingly unwilling to burn it. The colonel +perhaps had a guess that he had given a hard command; for he did not +look again at Esther or speak to her, or take any notice of her delay +of obedience. That she would obey he knew; and he let her take her +time. So he did not see the big tears that filled her eyes, nor the +quiet way in which she got rid of them; while the hurt, sorrowful, +regretful look on her face would have certainly moved Pitt to +indignation if he had been where he could see it. I am afraid, if the +colonel had seen it, _he_ would have been moved quite in a different +way. Not to anger, indeed; Colonel Gainsborough was never angry with +his child, as truly she never gave him cause; but I think he would +privately have applauded the wisdom of his regulation, which removed +such objects of misplaced sentiment out of the way of doing further +harm. And Esther sat and looked at the Mecranthon, brushed away her +tears softly, swallowed her regrets and unwillingness, and finally rose +up, 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 the +Encyclopaedia again, to look at _the marks her flowers had left_ on the +pages. For they _had_ stained the book a little, and here and there she +could discern the outline of a sprig, and trace a faint dash of colour +left behind by the petals of some flower rich in its dyes. If it +appears from this that the colonel was right in checking the feeling +which ran to such extremes, I cannot help that; I am reporting the +facts. Esther turned over the book from one place to another where her +flowers had lain. Here had been heath; there coronilla; here--oh, here +was _still_ the wallflower! Dried beautifully; delicate and unbroken, +and perfect and sweet. There was nothing else left, but here was the +wallflower. A great movement of joy filled Esther's heart; then came a +doubt. Must this be burned too? Would this one little sprig matter? She +had obeyed her father, and destroyed all the rest of the bouquet; and +this wallflower had been preserved without her knowledge. Since it had +been saved, might it not be saved? Esther looked, studied, hesitated; +and finally could not make up her mind without further order to destroy +this last blossom. She never thought of asking her father's mind about +it. The child knew instinctively that he would not understand her; a +sorrowful 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 to +favour it. She kept the wallflower, took it away from its exposed +situation in the Encyclopaedia, and put it in great safety among her +own private possessions. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +_WANT OF COMFORT_. + + +The months were many and long before there came another break in the +monotony of Esther's life. The little girl was thrown upon her own +ressources, and that is too hard a position for her years, or perhaps +for any years. She had literally no companion but her father, and it is +a stretch of courtesy to give the name to him. Another child would have +fled to the kitchen for society, at least to hear human voices. Esther +did not. The instincts of a natural high breeding restrained her, as +well as the habits in which she had been brought up. Mrs. Barker waited +upon her at night and in the morning, at her dressing and undressing: +sometimes Esther went for a walk, attended by Christopher; the rest of +the time she was either alone, or in the large, orderly room where +Colonel Gainsborough lay upon the sofa, and there Esther was rather +more alone than anywhere else. The colonel was reading; reverence +obliged her to keep quiet; he drew long breaths of weariness or sadness +every now and then, which every time came like a cloud over such +sunshine as she had been able to conjure up; and besides all that, +notwithstanding the sighs and the reading, her father always noticed +and knew what she was doing. Now it is needless to say that Colonel +Gainsborough had forgotten what it was to be a child; he was therefore +an 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 Esther +was hardly old enough to busy herself exclusively with history and +geography; and the little innocent amusements to which she had recourse +stood but a poor chance under his censorship. 'A waste of time, my +daughter,' he would say, when he saw Esther busy perhaps with some +childish fancy work, or reading something from which she promised +herself entertainment, but which the colonel knew promised nothing +more. A word from him was enough. Esther would lay down her work or put +away the book, and then sit in forlorn uncertainty what she should do +to make the long hours drag less heavily. History and geography and +arithmetic she studied, in a sort, with her father; and Colonel +Gainsborough was not a bad teacher, so far as the progress of his +scholar was concerned. So far as her pleasure went, the lessons were +very far behind those she used to have with Pitt. And the recitations +were short. Colonel Gainsborough gave his orders, as if he were on a +campaign, and expected to see them fulfilled. Seeing them fulfilled, he +turned his attention at once to something else. + +Esther longed for her former friend and instructor with a longing which +cannot 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 rather +a deep and aching sense of want. She never forgot him. If Pitt's own +mother thought of him more constantly, she was the only person in the +world of whom that was true. Pitt sometimes wrote to Colonel +Gainsborough, and then Esther treasured up every revelation and detail +of the letter and added them to what she knew already, so as to piece +out as full an image as possible of Pitt's life and doings. But how the +child wanted him, missed him, and wept for him! Though of the latter +not 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 the +colonel's quiet house. Mr. Dallas did come sometimes of an evening and +sat 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 had +begun to be mooted publicly, whether Pitt should go to England to +finish 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 had +set their hearts on Oxford or Cambridge. Colonel Gainsborough heartily +approved. 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 very +burdened 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 in +want 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 to +know how.' + +'Did she?' said the colonel with grave thoughtfulness. But he said no +more. Esther waited. Her father's tone had changed; he seemed to have +gone back into regions of the past, and to have forgotten her. The +minutes ran on, without her daring to remind him that her question was +still unanswered. The colonel at last, with a long sigh, took up his +book 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 was +attending 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 I +could 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 went +to 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 when +missus died.' + +'_She_ said, one could find comfort in the Bible,' Esther went on, with +a tender thrill in the voice that uttered the beloved pronoun. + +'Most likely it's so, Miss Esther. What my mistress said was sure and +certain true; but myself, it is something which I have no knowledge of.' + +'How do you suppose one could find comfort in the Bible, Barker? How +should one look for it?' + +''Deed, Miss Esther, your questions is too hard for me. I'd ask the +colonel, 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 know +where a thing is, Miss Esther, I allays begins at one end and goes +clean through to the other end; and then, if the thing ain't there, why +I knows it, and if it is there, I gets it.' + +'It would take a good while,' said Esther musingly, 'to go through the +whole Bible from one end to the other.' + +'That's which I am thinkin', Miss Esther. I'm thinkin' one might forget +what one started to look for, before one found it. But there! the Bible +ain't just like a store closet, neither, with all the things ticketed +on 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 sich +matters; but I was thinkin' the folks I've seen, as took comfort in +their Bibles, they was allays saints.' + +'Saints! What do you mean by that?' + +'That's what they was,' said Barker decidedly. 'They was saints. I +never was no saint myself, but I've seen 'em. You see, mum, I've allays +had summat else on my mind, and my hands, I may say; and one can't +attend to more'n one thing at once in this world. I've allays had my +bread to get and my mistress to serve; and I've attended to my business +and 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, and +the subject was dropped. Whether Esther pursued the search after +comfort, no one knew; indeed, no one knew she wanted it. The colonel +certainly not; he had taken her question to be merely a speculative +one. 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 right +to;' but it was not her business, and she had spoken truly: her +business 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 her +childish mind. What sort of a character would grow up in this way, in +such a close mental atmosphere and such absence of all training or +guiding influences, was an interesting question, which, however, never +presented itself before Colonel Gainsborough's mind. That his child was +all right, he was sure; indeed how could she go wrong? She was her +mother'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, out +of her family, or I should say the two persons, sometimes speculated +about her; for to them the subject had a disagreeable practical +interest. Mr. Dallas came now and then to sit and have a chat with the +colonel; and more rarely Mrs. Dallas called for a civil visit of +enquiry; 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 everything +that 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? You +started 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 head +to replace father and mother, and be her good genius. I leave you to +judge if that is not a dangerous part for him to play. He writes to me +every now and then about her.' + +Not very often; but Mrs. Dallas wanted to scare her husband. And so +there came to be more and more talk about Pitt's going abroad; and +Esther felt as if the one spot of brightness in her sky were closing up +for ever. If Pitt did go,--what would be left? + +It was a token of the real strength and fine properties of her mental +nature, that the girl did not, in any true sense, _mope_. In want of +comfort she was; in sad want of social diversion and cheer, and of +variety in her course of thought and occupation; she suffered from the +want; but Esther did not sink into idleness and stagnation. She worked +like a beaver; that is, so far as diligence and purpose characterize +those singular animals' working. She studied resolutely and eagerly the +things she had studied with Pitt, and which he had charged her to go on +with. 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 then +he would want to see what she had done. Esther was not quite alone, so +long 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. Now +she studied, at any rate, having that spur; and she studied things also +with which Pitt had had no connection; her Bible, for instance. The +girl busied herself with fancy work too, every kind which Mrs. Barker +could teach her, and her father did not forbid. And in one other +pleasure her father was helpful to her. Esther had been trying to draw +some little things, working eagerly with her pencil and a copy, +absorbed in her endeavours and in the delight of partial success; when +one day her father came and looked over her shoulder. That was enough. +Colonel Gainsborough was a great draughtsman; the old instinct of his +art stirred in him; he took Esther's pencil from her hand and showed +her how she ought to use it, and then went on to make several little +studies for her to work at. From that beginning, the lessons went +forward, to the mutual benefit of father and daughter. Esther developed +a great aptitude for the art, and an enormous zeal. Whatever her father +told her it would be good for her to do, in that connection, Esther did +untiringly--ungrudgingly. It was the one exquisite pleasure which each +day contained for her; and into it she gathered and poured her whole +natural, honest, childlike desire for pleasure. No matter if all the +rest of the day were work, the flower of delight that blossomed on this +one stem was sweet enough to take the place of a whole nosegay, and it +beautified Esther's whole life. It hardly made the child less sober +outwardly, 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 forgotten +his friends. Once in a while he wrote to Colonel Gainsborough, and sent +a message or maybe included a little note for Esther herself. These +messages and notes regarded often her studies; but toward the end of +term there began to be mention made of England also in them; and +Esther's heart sank very low. What would be left when Pitt was gone to +England? + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +_THE BLESSING_. + + +So spring came, and then high summer, and the time when the collegian +was expected home. The roses were blossoming and the pinks were sweet, +in the old-fashioned flower garden in front of the house; and the smell +of the hay came from the fields where mowers were busy, and the trill +of a bob-o'-link sounded in the meadow. It was evening when Pitt made +his way from his father's house over to the colonel's; and he found +Esther sitting in the verandah, with all this sweetness about her. The +house was old and country fashioned; the verandah was raised but a step +above the ground,--low, and with slim little pillars to support its +roof; and those pillars were all there was between Esther and the +flowers. At one side of the house there was a lawn; in front, the space +devoted to the flowers was only a small strip of ground, bordered by +the paling fence and the road. Pitt opened a small gate, and came up to +the house, through an army of balsams, hollyhocks, roses, and +honeysuckles, and balm and southernwood. Esther had risen to her feet, +and with her book in her hand, stood awaiting him. Her appearance +struck him as in some sense new. She looked pale, he thought, and the +mental tension of the moment probably made it true, but it was not +merely that. There was a refined, ethereal gravity and beauty, which it +is very unusual to see in a girl of thirteen; an expression too +spiritual for years which ought to be full of joyous and careless +animal life. Nevertheless it was there, and it struck Pitt not only +with a sense of admiration, but almost with compassion; for what sort +of apart and introverted life could it be which had called forth such a +look upon so young a face? No child living among children could ever be +like that; nor any child living among grown people who took proper care +of her; unless indeed it were an exceptional case of disease, which +sets 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 a +very lovely smile of welcome. 'I have been looking for you ever so +long.' + +I don't know what made Pitt do it, and I do not think he knew; he had +never done it before; but as he took the hand, and met the smile, he +bent down and pressed his lips to those innocent, smiling ones. I +suppose it was a very genuine expression of feeling; the fact that he +might not know _what_ feeling is nothing to the matter. + +Esther coloured high, and looked at him in astonishment. It was a flush +that 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 a +headache. 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 is +never 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 other +people in the world whose business it is to do the thinking. Leave it +to them. You cannot do it, besides.' + +'Who will do my thinking for me?' asked Esther, with a look and a smile +which would have better fitted twice her years; a look of wistful +inquiry, 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. He +allowed her to know of his successes, which Pitt was too genuinely +modest and manly to enlarge upon even to his father and mother; but to +these childish eyes and this implicit trusting, loving, innocent +spirit, he gave the infinite pleasure of knowing what he had secretly +enjoyed alone, in the depths of his own mind. It pleased him to share +it 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 wonderful +stage of life, 'where the brook and river meet,' she had hardly yet +reached; she was really a little girl still, or certainly ought to be. +What was then this delicate, grave, spiritual look in the face, the +thoughtful intelligence, the refinement of perception, so beyond her +years? No doubt it was due to her living alone, with a somewhat gloomy +father, and being prematurely thrown upon a woman's needs and a woman's +resources. Pitt recognised the fact that his own absence might have had +something to do with it. So long as he had been with her, teaching her +and making a daily breeze in her still life, Esther had been in a +measure drawn out of herself, and kept from brooding. And then, beyond +all, the natural organization of this fine creature was of the rarest; +strong and delicate at once, of large capacities and with +correspondingly large requirements; able for great enjoyment, and open +also 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 their +sensitiveness. Pitt looked, and wondered, and admired. This child's +face was taking on already a fascinating power of expression, quite +beyond her years; and that was because the inner life was developing +too soon into thoughtfulness and tenderness, and too early realizing +the meaning of life. Nothing could be more innocent of +self-consciousness than Esther; she did not even know that Pitt was +regarding her with more attention than ordinary, or, if she knew, she +took it as quite natural. He saw that, and so indulged himself. What a +creature this would be, by and by! But in the meantime, what was to +become 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 of +her? 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 to +exhaustion, or lack the right hardening processes, and so be unhealthy. + +The colonel awoke after a while, and welcomed his visitor as truly, if +not as warmly, as Esther had done. He always had liked young Dallas; +and now, after so long living alone, the sight of him was specially +grateful. Pitt must stay and have tea; and the talk between him and the +colonel went on unflaggingly. Esther said nothing now; but Pitt watched +her, and saw how she listened; saw how her eyes accompanied him, and +her lips gave their silent tokens of understanding. Meanwhile she +poured out tea for the gentlemen; did it with quiet grace and neatness, +and was quick to see and attend to any little occasion for hospitable +care. + +The old life began again now in good measure. Esther had no need to beg +Pitt to come often; he came constantly. He took up her lessons, as of +old, and carried them on vigorously; rightly thinking that good sound +mental work was wholesome for the child. He joined her in drawing, and +begged the colonel to give him instruction too; and they studied the +coins in the boxes with fresh zeal. And they had glorious walks, and +most delightful botanizing, in the early summer mornings, or when the +sun had got low in the western sky. Sometimes Pitt came with a little +tax-cart and took Esther a drive. It was all delight; I cannot tell +which thing gave her most pleasure. To study with Pitt, or to play with +Pitt, one was as good as the other; and the summer days of that summer +were not fuller of fruit-ripening sun, than of blessed, warm, healthy, +and happy influences for this little human plant. Her face grew bright +and joyous, though in moments when the talk took a certain sober tone +Pitt could see the light or the shadow, he hardly knew which to call +it, of that too early spiritual insight and activity come over it. + +One day, soon after his arrival, he asked her what she had been +thinking about so much. They were sitting on the verandah again, to be +out of the way of the colonel; they were taking up lessons, and had +just finished an examination in history. Pitt let the book fall. + +'You said the other day, Queen Esther, that you were under the +necessity 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 quite +comfortably without doing any thinking at all.' + +'One might as well be a squash,' said Esther gravely. 'I don't see how +they 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 to +it.' + +'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 little +with the air of one who is rousing herself up to give a confidence. 'I +was 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 the +Bible; but I did not know how to look for it.' + +'Comfort, Queen Esther!' said Pitt, rousing himself now; 'you were not +in 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 other +people.' + +'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 have +known. And he did know; however, he thought it advisable to have things +brought out into the full light and put into form; hoping they might so +be 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 the +times 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 already +learned. 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 did +not 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 asked +Barker.' + +'Was she any wiser?' + +'No. She said her way of finding anything was to begin at one end and +go through to the other; so I tried that. I began at the beginning; and +I read on; but I found nothing until--I'll show you,' she said, +suddenly breaking off and darting away; and in two minutes more she +came 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 the +end of which is the prescribed form for the blessing of the children of +Israel. Pitt read the words to himself. + + +'The Lord bless thee, and keep thee. 'The Lord make His face shine upon +thee, and be gracious unto thee. 'The Lord lift up His countenance upon +thee, 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 thee +peace." What does "lift up his countenance upon thee" mean?' + +What _did_ it mean? Pitt asked himself the question for the first time +in his life. He was quite silent. + +'You see,' said Esther quaintly, after a pause,--'you see, _that_ would +be comfort.' + +Pitt was still silent. + +'Do you understand it, Pitt?' + +'_Understand_ it, Esther!' he said, knitting his brows, 'No. Nobody +could do that, except--the people that had it. But I think I see what +it 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 of +comfort, 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 I +would ask you.' + +'You ought to have a better counsellor. However, perhaps I can tell +what you want to know, in part. Queen Esther, was your mother, or your +father, 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 it +would be, to have either of them refuse to look at you or smile upon +you?--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 what +the "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 to +what 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 to +shine upon thee." They are very fine words.' + +'Then I suppose,' said Esther slowly, 'if anybody had _that_, he +wouldn't want comfort?' + +'He wouldn't be without it, you mean? Well, I should think he would +not. "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 described +here; but of course it would not give peace, unless the person +receiving 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 over +the 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 a +tone 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 looks +which were older than her years; far-reaching, spiritual, with an +intense mixture of pathos and hope in her eyes. + +'I shall go on trying to get it,' she said. 'You know, Pitt, it is +different with you. You go out into the world, and you have everything +you want; but I am here quite alone.' + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +_DISSENT_. + + +The summer months were very rich in pleasure, for all parties; even +Colonel Gainsborough was a little roused by the presence of his young +friend, and came much more than usual out of his reserve. So that the +conversations round the tea-table, when Pitt made one of their number, +were often lively and varied; such as Esther had hardly known in her +life before. The colonel left off his taciturnity; waked up, as it +were; told old campaigning stories, and gave out stores of information +which few people knew he possessed. The talks were delightful, on +subjects natural and scientific, historical and local and picturesque. +Esther luxuriated in the new social life which had blossomed out +suddenly at home, perhaps with even an intensified keen enjoyment from +the fact that it was so transient a blossoming; a fact which the child +knew 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. And +Pitt made the days full. With a mixture of motives, perhaps, which his +own mind did not analyze, he devoted himself very much to the lonely +little girl. She went with him in his walks and in his drives; he sat +on the verandah with her daily and gave her lessons, and almost daily +he went in to tea with her afterwards, and said that Christopher grew +the biggest raspberries in 'town.' Pitt professed himself very fond of +raspberries. And then would come one of those rich talks between him +and the colonel; and when Pitt went home afterwards he would reflect +with satisfaction that he had given Esther another happy day. It was +true; and he never guessed what heart-aches the little girl went +through, night after night, in anticipation of the days that were +coming. She did not shed tears about it, usually; tears might have been +more wholesome. Instead, Esther would stand at her window looking out +into the moonlit garden, or sit on the edge of her bed staring down at +the floor; with a dry ache at her heart, such as we are wont to say a +young thing like her should not know. And indeed only one here and +there has a nature deep and fine-strung enough to be susceptible of it. + +The intensification of this pain was the approaching certainty that +Pitt was going to England. Esther did not talk of it, rarely asked a +question; nevertheless she heard enough now and then to make her sure +what was corning. And, in fact, if anything had been wanting to sharpen +up Mrs. Dallas's conviction that such a step was necessary, it would +have been the experience of this summer. She wrought upon her husband, +till himself began to prick up his ears and open his eyes; and between +them they agreed that Pitt had better go. Some evils are easier nipped +in the bud; and this surely was one, for Pitt was known to be a +persistent 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 Pitt +should make his next term at Oxford. The thought was not for a moment +to be entertained, that all Mr. Dallas's money, and all the pretensions +properly growing out of it, should be wasted on the quite penniless +daughter of a retired army officer. For in this world the singular rule +obtaining 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 was +afternoon of a warm day in August, and Esther had gone with Mrs. Barker +to get blackberries, and was not yet returned. The air came in faintly +through the open windows, a little hindered by the blinds which were +drawn to moderate the light. + +'How do you do, sir, to-day?' the young man asked, coming in with +something of the moral effect of a breeze. 'This isn't the sort of +weather 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 much +the 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 to +you, Pitt.' + +He did not go on at once to say it, and the young man waited +respectfully. The colonel sighed, passed his hand over his brow once or +twice, sighed again. + +'You are going to England, William?' + +'They say so, sir. My father and mother seem to have set their minds on +it.' + +'Quite right, too. There's no place in the world like Oxford or +Cambridge 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 to +get there? Will you go this year?' + +'Oh yes, sir; that seems to be the plan. My father is possessed with +the fear that I may grow to be not enough of an Englishman--or too much +of an American; I don't know which.' + +'I think you will be a true Englishman. Yet, if you live here +permanently, you will have to be the other thing too. A man owes it to +the country of his adoption; and I think your father has no thought of +returning 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 a +ship bound for Lisbon; from there I could make my way somehow to +London.' + +For, it may be mentioned, the time was the time of the last American +struggle with England, early in the century; and the high seas were not +safe and quiet as now. + +The colonel sighed again once or twice, and repeated that gesture with +his hand over his brow. + +'I suppose there is no telling how long you will be gone, if you once +go?' + +'I cannot come home every vacation,' said Pitt lightly. 'But since my +father and mother have made up their minds to that, I must make up +mine.' + +'So you will be gone years,' said the colonel thoughtfully. 'Years. I +shall 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 shall +not 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 well +than 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 come +back 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 trust +in this judgment, even although, as he could not deny, the colonel +might be supposed to know best. He doubted the truth of the +prognostication; yet, on the other hand, he could not be sure that it +was false. What if it were not false? + +'I hope you are mistaken, colonel,' he said again; 'but if you are +right--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 house +and of the cooking, as she does now; but Esther would be entirely +alone, 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 take +care 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 of +Mrs. Dallas's kindness; but I shall leave Esther under the care of +Barker and her brother. Christopher will manage the place, and keep +everything right outside; and Barker will do her part faithfully. +Esther will be safe enough so, for a while. She is a child yet. But +then, 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 had +never been in a less pleasant mood towards his friend. In fact he was +entirely 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 want +you to ask Esther for a sealed package of papers, which I shall leave +with her. Then open the package; and the promise I want from you is +that you will do according to the wishes you will find there expressed.' + +Pitt looked at the colonel in much astonishment. 'May I not know what +those wishes regard, sir?' + +'They will regard all I leave behind me.' + +There was in the tone of the colonel's voice, and the manner of +utterance of his words, something which showed Pitt that further +explanations were not to be had from him. He hesitated, not liking to +bind himself to anything in the dark; but finally he gave the promise +as required. He went home, however, in a doubtful mood as regarded +himself, and a very impatient one as concerned the colonel. What +ridiculous, precise notion was this that had got possession of him? How +little was he able to comprehend the nature or the needs of his little +daughter; and what disagreeable office might he have laid upon Pitt in +that connection? Pitt revolved these things in a fever of impatience +with the colonel, who had demanded such a pledge from him, and with +himself, 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. They +had been watching for his return, though they took care not to tell him +so. + +'How's your friend the colonel to-day?' his father asked, willing to +make 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 to +do--that he _must_ do, I mean--it's my belief he would be a well man +to-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 men +who 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 be +the best judge of his own feelings; and perhaps Colonel Gainsborough is +ill, 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 die +within 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 in +so many words.' + +'Then he might not like to send Esther to them. Property quarrels are +embittering.' + +'Do you know any sort of quarrel that isn't? It is impossible to say +beforehand what Colonel Gainsborough might like to do. He's a fidgety +man. If there's a thing I hate, in the human line, it's a fidget. You +can't reason with 'em.' + +'Then what would become of that child, mother, if her father were +really 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 be +dreadfully 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 is +not a common child; she is one that anybody might like to have in the +house. 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 are +right; but for me there is this serious objection, that she is a +dissenter.' + +'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, and +with that, disgustingly radical. That is what it means to be a +dissenter; always did mean.' + +'Underbred! You cannot find, old country or new country, a better-bred +man than Colonel Gainsborough; and Esther is perfect in her manners.' + +'I haven't tried _her_,' said the other; 'but isn't he pig-headed? And +isn't he radical, think you? They all are; they always were, from the +days of Cromwell and Ireton.' + +'But the child?--Esther knows nothing of politics.' + +'It's in the blood,' said Mr. Dallas stroking unmoveably his long +whiskers. 'It's in the blood. I'll have no dissenters in my house. It +is 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 a +dissenter in my family. I should not know how to get on with her. In +chance social intercourse it does not so much matter--though I feel the +difference even there; but in the family-- It is always best for like +to keep to like.' + +'But these are only differences of form, mother.' + +'Do you think so?' said Mrs. Dallas, drawing up her handsome person. 'I +believe in form, Pitt, for my part; and when you get to England you +will find that it is only the nobodies who dispense with it. But the +Church is more than form, I should think. You'll find the Archbishop of +Canterbury is something besides a form. And is our Liturgy a form?' + +Pitt escaped from the discussion, half angry and half amused, but +seriously concerned about Esther. And meanwhile Esther was having her +own thoughts. She had come home from her blackberrying late, after Pitt +had gone home; and a little further on in the afternoon she had +followed him, to get her daily lesson. As the weather was warm all +windows were standing open; and the talkers within the house, being +somewhat eager and preoccupied in their minds, did not moderate their +voices nor pay any attention to what might be going on outside; and so +it happened that Esther's light step was not heard as it came past the +windows; and it followed very easily that one or two half sentences +came to her ear. She heard her own name, which drew her attention, and +then Mr. Dallas's declaration that he would have no dissenters in his +house. Esther paused, not certainly to listen, but with a sudden check +arising from something in the tone of the words. As she stood still in +doubt whether to go forward or not, a word or two more were spoken and +also heard; and with that Esther turned short about, left all thought +of her lesson, and made her way home; walking rather faster than she +had come. + +She laid off her hat, went into the room where her father was, and sat +down 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 for +awhile. Until after au hour or more the colonel's book went down; and +then 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 who +dissents.' + +'From what, sir?' + +'From something that other people believe in.' + +'But, papa, according to that, then, everybody is a dissenter; and that +is 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. She +only asked, + +'What do we dissent from, papa?' + +'We dissent from the notion that form is more than substance, and the +kernel less valuable than the shell.' + +This told Esther nothing. She was mystified; at the same time, her +respect for her father did not allow her to press further a question he +seemed to avoid. + +'Is Pitt a dissenter, papa?' + +'There is no need you should trouble your head with the question of +dissent, my child. In England there is an Established Church; all who +decline 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, and +persecution; by fines and imprisonments and disqualifications. Some +submitted, but a goodly number dissented, and our family has always +belonged to that honourable number. See you do it no discredit. The +Gainsboroughs were always Independents; we fought with Cromwell, and +suffered under the Stuarts. We have an unbroken record of striving for +the 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 something +where power does not reach.' + +'I should think everybody would _like_ Dissenters, papa?' was Esther's +simple 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 passed +away. Ay, there was no holding them, much as Esther tried to make each +one as long as possible. I think Pitt tried too; for he certainly gave +his little friend and playmate all he could of pleasure, and all he +could of himself. Esther shared everything he did, very nearly, that +was not done within his own home. Nothing could have been more +delightful than those days of August and September, if only the vision +of the end of them had not been so near. That vision did not hinder the +enjoyment; it intensified it; every taste of summer and social delight +was made keen with that spice of coming pain; even towards the very +last, nothing could prevent Esther's enjoyment of every moment she and +Pitt spent together. Only to be together was such pleasure. Every word +he spoke was good in her ears; and to her eyes, every feature of his +appearance, and every movement of his person was comely and admirable. +She gave him, in fact, a kind of grave worship, which perhaps nobody +suspected in its degree, because it was not displayed in the manner of +childish effusiveness. Esther was never effusive; her manner was always +quiet, delicate, and dignified, such as a child's can well be. And so +even Pitt himself did not fully know how his little friend regarded +him, though he had sometimes a queer approach to apprehension. It +struck him now and then, the grave, absorbed look of Esther's beautiful +eyes; occasionally he caught a flash of light in them, such as in +nature only comes from heavily-charged clouds. Always she liked to do +what he liked, and gave quick regard to any expressed wish of his; +always listened to him, and watched his doings, and admired his +successes, with the unconditional devotion of an unquestioning faith. +Pitt was half-aware of all this; yet he was at an age when speculation +is apt to be more busy with matters of the head than of the heart; and +besides, he was tolerably well accustomed to the same sort of thing at +home, and took it probably as very natural and quite in order. And he +knew well, and did not forget, that to the little lonely child his +going away would be, even more than it might be to his mother, the loss +of a great deal of brightness out of her daily life. He did even dread +it a little. And as the time drew near, he saw that his fears were +going to be justified. + +Esther did not lament or complain; she never, indeed, spoke of his +going at all; but what was much more serious, she grew pale. And when +the 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, like +a child, much as with all other men he hated tears; it would have been +better than this preternatural gravity with which the large eyes opened +at him, and the soft mouth refused to give way. She seemed to enter +into everything they were doing with no less interest than usual; she +was not abstracted; rather, Pitt got the impression that she carried +about with her, and brought into everything, the perfect recollection +that he was going away. It began to oppress him. + +'I wish I could feel, mother, that you would look a little after that +motherless 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. Now +that Pitt was going away and safe, she could treat the matter without +excitement. 'What would Colonel Gainsborough like me to do for his +daughter, 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. I +never 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's +assertion. All the months of his last term in college had not been +enough 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 ready +to think, of the first water. Only a child's love; but Pitt had too +fine a nature himself to despise a child's love; and full as his head +was of novelties, hopes and plans and purposes, there was space in his +heart for a very tender concern about Esther beside. + +It came to the last evening, and he was sitting with her on the +verandah. It was rather cool there now; the roses and honeysuckles and +the summer moonshine were gone; the two friends chose to stay there +because they could be alone, and nobody overhear their words. Words for +a little while had ceased to flow. Esther was sitting very still, and +Pitt knew how she was looking; something of the dry despair had come +back to her face which had been in it when he was first moved to busy +himself about her. + +'Esther, I shall come back,' he said suddenly, bending down to look in +her face. + +'When?' she said, half under her breath. It was not a question; it was +an answer. + +'Well, not immediately; but the years pass away fast, don't you know +that?' + +'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 a +great 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 a +little. 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 time +to come. + +'Does he need so much care?' he asked. + +'It isn't real _care_,' said Esther, in the same tone; 'but he likes to +have me about, to do things for him.' + +'Queen Esther, aren't you going to carry on your studies for me, all +the same?' + +'For you!' said she, lifting her heavy eyes to him. It hurt him to see +how heavy they were; weighted with a great load of sorrow, too mighty +for tears. + +'For me, certainly. I expect everything to go on just as if I were here +to look after it. I expect everything to go on so, that when I come +again 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 a +question 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 believe +that is part of London, though really I don't know much about it. I +shall 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 the +colleges in America just as good?' + +'I can tell better after I've seen Oxford. But no, Queen Esther; that +is 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 all +accounts--a noble place. And then, you know, we are English, and my +father and mother wish me to be as English as possible. That is +natural.' + +'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 getting +on?' + +She lifted her eyes to him again, for one of those grave, appealing +looks. 'How could I get it to you?' + +'Your father will have my address. I shall write to him, and I shall +write 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. Pitt +was half-glad that just now there came a call for Esther from the room +behind them. Both went in. The colonel wanted Esther to search in a +repository 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 in +the corner among the papers. It gave him more pain than he had thought +to 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 high +seas.' + +'I shall never leave this place again till I leave all that is +earthly,' 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 her +about it?' + +'I have no objection. She will be very much obliged to you. So you are +going? Heaven be with you, my boy. You have lightened many an hour for +me.' + +He rose up and shook Pitt's hand, with a warm grasp and a dignified +manner of leave-taking. But when Pitt would have taken Esther's hand, +she brushed past him and went out into the hall. Pitt followed, with +another bow to the colonel, and courteously shutting the door behind +him, wishing the work well over. Esther, however, made no fuss, hardly +any demonstration. She stood there in the hall and gave him her hand +silently, I might say coldly, for the hand was very cold, and her face +was white with suppressed feeling. Pitt grasped the hand and looked at +the face; hesitated; then opened his arms and took her into them and +kissed her. Was she not like a little sister? and was it possible to +let this heartache go without alleviation? No doubt if the colonel had +been present he would not have ventured such a breach of forms; but as +it was Pitt defied forms. He clasped the sorrowing little girl in his +arms and kissed her brow and her cheek and her lips. + +'I'm coming back again,' said he. 'See that you have everything all +right for me when I come.' + +Then he let her out of his arms and went off without another word. As +he went home, he was ready to smile and shake himself at the warmth of +demonstration into which he had been betrayed. He was not Esther's +brother, and had no particular right to show himself so affectionate. +The colonel would have been, he doubted, less than pleased, and it +would not have happened in his dignified presence. But Esther was a +child, Pitt said to himself, and a very tender child; and he could not +be 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 to +reproach himself with showing more than he felt, for he had no +occasion. 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 hall +door was like a grim kind of barrier, behind which the light of her +life had disappeared. It remained so stolidly closed! Pitt's hand did +not open it again; the hand was already at a distance, and would maybe +never push that door open any more. He was gone, and the last day of +that summer vacation was over. The feeling absorbed Esther for a few +minutes and made her as still as a stone. It _did_ comfort her that he +had taken such a kindly leave of her, and at the same time it sealed +the sense of her loss. For he was the only one in the world in whose +heart it was to give her good earnest kisses like that; and he was +away, away! Her father's affection for her was undoubted, nevertheless +it was not his wont to give it that sort of expression. Esther was not +comparing, however, nor reflecting; only filled with the sense of her +loss, which for the moment chilled and stiffened her. She heard her +father'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 want +the 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 an +indifferent business. She brought the July paper at last. + +'Papa, do you think he will ever come back?' she asked, trembling with +pain and the effort not to show it. + +'Come back? Who? William Dallas? Why shouldn't he come back? His +parents are here; if he lives, he will return to them, no doubt.' + +Esther sat down and said no more. The earth seemed to her dreadfully +empty. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +_LETTERS_. + + +And so life seemed for many days to the child. She could not shake off +the feeling, nor regain any brightness of spirit. Dull, dull, +everything in earth and heaven seemed to be. The taste and savour had +gone out of all her pleasures and occupations. She could not read, +without the image of Pitt coming between her and the page; she could +not study, without an unendurable sense that he was no longer there nor +going 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 done +or said there together; she shunned the box of coins, and hardly cared +to gather one of the few lingering fall flowers. And the last of them +were soon gone, for the pleasant season was ended. Then came rains and +clouds and winds, and Esther was shut up to the house. + +I can never tell how desolate she was. Truly she was only a girl of +thirteen; she ought not to have been desolate, perhaps, for any no +greater matter. She had her father, and her books, and her youth. Bat +Esther had also a nature delicate and deep far beyond what is common; +and then she was unduly matured by her peculiar life. Intercourse with +light-hearted children like herself had not kept her thoughtless and +careless. At thirteen Esther was looking into life, and finding it +already confused and dark. At thirteen also she was learning and +practising self-command. Her father, not much of an observer unless in +the field of military operations, had no perception that she was +suffering; it never occurred to him that she might be solitary; he +never knew that she needed his tenderest care and society and guidance. +He might have replaced everything to Esther, so that she would have +found 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 most +men. He lived to himself in his own deprivation and sorrow, and never +thought but that Esther would in a few days get over the loss of her +young teacher and companion. He hardly thought about it at all. The +idea of filling Pitt's place, of giving her in his own person what left +her when Pitt went away, did not enter his head. Indeed, he had no +knowledge of what Pitt had done for her. If he had known it, there is +little doubt it would have excited his jealousy. For it is quite in +some people's nature to be jealous of another's having what they do not +want themselves. + +And so Esther suffered in a way and to a degree that was not good for +her. Her old dull spiritless condition was creeping upon her again. She +realized, more than it is the way of thirteen years old to realize, +that something more than an ocean of waters--an ocean of +circumstances--had rolled itself between her and the one friend and +companion she had ever had. Pitt said he would return; but four or five +years, for all present purposes, is a sort of eternity at her age; hope +could not leap over it, and expectation died at the brink. Her want of +comfort 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 a +while the two would come to make an evening call upon her father; and +then Esther used to withdraw as far as possible into a corner of the +room and watch and listen; watch the looks of the pair with a kind of +irritated fascination, and listen to their talk with her heart jumping +and throbbing in pain and anxiety and passionate longing. For they were +Pitt's father and mother, and only the ocean of waters lay between him +and them, which they could cross at any time; he belonged to them, and +could not be separated from them. All which would have drawn Esther +very near to them and made them delightful to her, but that she knew +very well they desired no such approach. Whether it were simply because +she and her father were 'dissenters' Esther could not tell; whatever +the reason, her sensitive nature and discerning vision saw the fact. +They made visits of neighbourly politeness to the one English family +that was within reach; but more than politeness they desired neither to +give nor receive. I suppose it was this perception which made the sight +of the pair so irritating to Esther. _They_ were near Pitt, but they +did not wish that _she_ should be. Esther kept well at a distance. But +with all this they talked of their son perpetually: of his voyage, of +his prospects, of his grand-uncle at Kensington, of his career in +college, or at the University rather, and of his possible permanent +remaining in the old country; at any rate, of his studying there for a +profession. The colonel was only faintly interested, and would take up +his book with a sigh of relief when they were gone; but Esther would +sit in passionate misery, not shedding any tears; only staring with her +big eyes at the lire in a sort of fixed gravity most unfit for her +years. + +The months went heavily. Winters were rather severe and very long at +Seaforth; Esther was much shut up to the house. It made things all the +harder for her. To the colonel it made no difference. He lay upon his +couch, summer or winter, and went on with his half-hearted +reading,--half a heart was all he brought to it; while Esther would +stand at the window, watching the snow drive past, or the beating down +of 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 and +flowers and walks and botanizing had ever been out there, where now the +glint 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 his +departure to a month later than the time intended for it. Therefore +news from him could not be looked for until the new year was on its +way. Towards the end of January, however, as early as could possibly be +hoped, a letter came to Colonel Gainsborough, which he immediately knew +to be in Pitt's hand. + +'No postmark,' he said, surveying it. 'I suppose it came by private +opportunity.' + +'Papa, you look a long while at the outside!' said Esther, who stood by +full of excited impatience which she knew better than to show. + +'The outside has its interest too, my dear,' said her father. 'I was +looking for the Lisbon postmark, but there is none whatever. It must +have 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, she +saw, was deep in the contents of his letter, and would not notice her +going, while if she stayed in the room she knew she would be called +upon to read her own letter or to show it before she was ready. She +wanted 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 dirtiest +of all places I ever was in. I realize now why America is called the +New world; for everything here drives the consciousness upon me that +the world on this side is very old--so old, I should say, that it is +past cleansing. I do suppose it is not fair to compare it with +Seaforth, which is as bright in comparison as if it were an ocean shell +shining with pure lights; but I certainly hope things will mend when I +get to London. + +'But I did not mean to talk to you about Lisbon, which I suppose you +know better than I do. My hope is to give you the pleasure of an early +piece 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 let +my 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 that +great? He has lost a hundred thousand men, and is driven back over the +Rhine. Holland has joined the Allies, and the Prince of Orange; and +Lord Wellington has fought such a battle as history hardly tells of; +seven days' fighting; and the victory ranks with the greatest that ever +were gained. + +'That is all I can tell you now, but it is so good you can afford to +wait for further details. It is now more difficult than ever to get +into France, and I don't know yet how I am going to make my way to +England; it is specially hard for Americans, and I must be reckoned an +American, you know. However, money will overcome all difficulties; +money and persistence. I have written to Esther something about my +voyage, which will, I hope, interest her. I will do myself the pleasure +of 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 a +very different sort of pleasure in hers. There was a fire up-stairs in +her room; she lit a candle, and, in the exquisite sense of having her +enjoyment all to herself, went slowly over the lines; as slowly as she +could. + + +'Lisbon, _Christmas Day_, 1813. 'MY DEAR LITTLE ESTHER,--If you think a +voyage over the sea is in anything like a journey by land, you are +mistaken. The only one thing in which they are alike, is that in both +ways you _get on_. But wheels go smoothly, even over a jolty road; and +waves do nothing but toss you. It was just one succession of rollings +and pitchings from the time we left New Bedford till we got sight of +the coast of Portugal. The wind blew all the time _almost_ a gale, +rising at different points of our passage to the full desert of the +name. One violent storm we had; and all the rest of the voyage we were +pitching about at such a rate that we had to fight for our meals; +tables were broken, and coffee and chocolate poured about with a +reckless disregard of economy. For about halt the way it rained +persistently; so altogether you may suppose, Queen Esther, that my +first experience has not made me in love with the sea. But it wasn't +bad, after all. The wind drove us along, that was one comfort; and it +would have driven us along much faster, if our sails had been good for +anything; but they were a rotten set, a match for the crew, who were a +rascally band of Portuguese. However, we drove along, as I said, seeing +nobody to speak to all the way except ourselves; not a sail in sight +nearer than eight or ten miles off. + +'Well, the 23rd we sighted land, to everybody's great joy, you may +suppose. The wind fell, and that night was one of the most beautiful +and delicious you can imagine. A smooth sea without a ripple, a clear +sky without a cloud, stars shining down quietly, and air as soft as May +at Seaforth. I stood on deck half the night, enjoying, and thinking of +five hundred thousand things one after another. Now that I was almost +setting my foot on a new world, my life, past and future, seemed to +rise 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 question +was, what should William Pitt be between them? The question never +looked so big to me before. Somehow, I believe, the utter perfection of +the night suggested to me the idea of perfection generally; what a +mortal may come to when at his best. Such a view of nature as I was +having puts one out of conceit, I believe, with whatever is out of +order, unseemly, or untrue, or what for any reason misses the end of +its existence. _Then_ rose the question, what is the end of +existence?--but I did not mean to give you my moralizings, Queen +Esther; I have drifted into it. I can tell you, though, that my +moralizing got a sharp emphasis the next day. + +'I turned in at last, leaving the world of air and water a very image +of peace. I slept rather late, I suppose; was awakened by the hoarse +voice of the captain calling all hands on deck, in a manner that showed +me there must be urgent cause. I tumbled up as soon as possible. What +do you think I saw? + +'The morning was as fair as the night had been. The sea was smooth, the +sun shining brilliantly. I suppose the colonel would tell you, that +seas may be _too_ smooth; anyhow I saw the fact now. There had been not +wind enough during the night to make our sails of any use; a current +had caught us, and we had been drifting, drifting, till now it appeared +we were drifting straight on to a line of rocks which we could see at a +little distance; made known both to eye and ear: to the former by a +line of white where the waves broke upon the rocks, and to the latter +by the thundering noise the breakers made. Now you know, where waves +break, a ship would stand very little chance of holding together; but +what were we to do? The only thing possible we did,--let out our +anchors; but the question was, would they hold? They did hold, but none +too soon; for we were left riding only about three times our ship's +length from the threatening danger. You see, we had a drunken crew; no +proper watch was kept; the captain was first roused by the thunder of +the waves dashing upon the rocks; and then nothing was ready or in +order, and before the anchors could be got out we were where I tell +you. 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, to +the rocks. There we sat and looked at the view and situation. We +hoisted a signal and fired guns of distress; but we were in front of a +rocky 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 got +into the yawl and went off to find help. We, left behind, stared at the +breakers. After three more hours had gone, I saw the yawl coming back, +followed by another small boat, and further off by four royal pilot +boats with sails. I saw them with the glass, that is, from my station +in the rigging. When they came up, all the passengers except half a +dozen, of whom I was one, were transferred to the pilot boats. You +should 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 time +a slight breeze had sprung up, and I stayed with some of the others to +help in the endeavour. When the rest of the passengers were safe on +board the pilot boats, we set about our critical undertaking. Sails +were spread, one anchor hoisted, the cable of the other cut, and we +stood holding our breath, to see whether wind or water would prove +strongest. But the sails drew; the brig slowly fell off before the +wind, and we edged away from our perilous position. Then, when we were +fairly off, there rose a roar of shouts that rent the air; for the +boats had all waited, lying a few rods off, to see what would become of +us. Queen Esther, I can tell you, if I had been a woman, I should have +sat down and cried; what _I_ did I won't say. As I looked back to the +scene 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 got +comfortable quarters in an English boarding-house. When I can get to +London, I do not yet know. I am here at a great time, to see history as +it is taking shape in human life and experience; something different +from looking at it as cast into bronze or silver in former ages and +packed up in a box of coins; hey, Queen Esther? But that's good too in +its 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, longer +than she knew; whether it gave her most pain or pleasure she could not +have told. Pleasure came in a great wave at first; and then pricks of +pain began to make themselves felt, as if the pleasure wave had been +full of sharp points. Her cheeks glowed, her eyes sent looks, or rather +one steady look, at the paper, which would certainly have bored it +through or set it on fire if moral qualities had taken to themselves +material 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 world +was from hers! Absolutely, Pitt's letter was nothing to him. + +'Well, my dear,' said he, after a while observing her, 'what does he +say?' + +'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 has +gone 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 the +Rhine. 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 I +could,' 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 days +are 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 it +was so precious to her. However, this question was a command, and she +read the letter aloud to her father. With that the matter was disposed +of, in all but her own mind. For the final result of the letter was to +stir up all the pain the writer's absence had caused, and to add to it +some new elements of aggravation. Esther had not realized, till those +letters came, how entirely the writer of them had gone out of her +world. 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 these +pictures of the other world and of Pitt's life in it came like a +bright, sheer blade severing the connection which had until then +subsisted between her life and his. Yes, he was in another world! and +there was no connection any longer. He had not forgotten her yet, but +he would forget; how should he not? how could he help it? In the rich +sweep of variety and change and eager action which filled his +experience, what thought could he have any more for that quiet figure +on the sofa, or this lonely little child, whose life contained no +interest whatever! or how could his thoughts return at all to this dull +room, where everything remained with no change from morning to night +and from one week to another? Always Colonel Gainsborough there on the +sofa; always that same green cloth covering the table in the middle of +the floor, and the view of the snow-covered garden and road and fields +outside the windows, with those everlasting pollard poplars along the +fence. While Europe was in commotion, and armies rolling their masses +over it, and Napoleon fleeing and Lord Wellington chasing, and every +breath was full of eagerness and hope and triumph and purpose in that +world without. + +Esther fell back into a kind of despair. Pitt was gone from her; now +she realized that fact thoroughly; not only gone in person, but moved +far off in mind. Maybe he might write again, once or twice; very likely +he would, for he was kind; but his life was henceforth separated from +Seaforth and from all the other life that had its home there. The old +cry for comfort began to sound in Esther's heart with a terrible +urgency. Where was it to come from? And as the child had only one +possible outlook for comfort, she began to set her face that way in a +kind of resolute determination. That is, she began to shut herself up +with her Bible and search it as a man who is poor searches for a hid +treasure, or as one who is starving looks for something to eat. Nobody +knew. She shut herself up and carried on her search alone, and troubled +nobody with questions. Nobody ever noticed the air of the child; the +grave, far-away look of her eyes; the pale face; the unnaturally quiet +demeanour. At least nobody noticed it to any purpose. Mrs. Barker did +communicate to Christopher her belief that that child was 'mopin' +herself into ninety years old;' and they were both agreed that she +ought to be sent to school. 'A girl don't grow just like one o' my +cabbages,' 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 her +brother. '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 myself +about 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 but +that he might, if he had ever watched her. But he did not watch. It +never occurred to him but that everything went right with Esther. When +she made him his tea, she was attentive and womanly; when she read +aloud to him, she read intelligently; and in the reciting of the few +lessons she did with her father, there was always no fault to find. How +could the colonel suppose anything was wrong? Life had become a dull, +sad story to him; why should it be different to anybody else? Nay, the +colonel would not have said that in words; it was rather the supine +condition into which he had lapsed, than any conclusion of his +intelligence; but the fact was, he had no realization of the fact that +a child's life ought to be bright and gay. He accepted Esther's sedate +unvarying tone and manner as quite the right thing, and found it suit +him perfectly. Nobody else saw the girl, except at church. The family +had not cultivated the society of their neighbours in the place, and +Esther had no friends among them. + +There was a long succession of months during which things went on after +this fashion. Very weary months to Esther; indeed, months covered by so +thick a gloom that part of the child's life consisted in the struggle +to break it. Letters did not come frequently from Pitt, even to his +father and mother; he wrote that it was difficult to get a vessel to +take American letters at all, and that the chances were ten to one, if +accepted, that they would never get to the hands they were intended +for. American letters or American passengers were sometimes held to +vitiate the neutrality of a vessel; and if chased she would be likely +to throw them, that is, the former, overboard. Pitt was detained still +in Lisbon by the difficulty of getting passports, as late as the middle +of March, but expected then soon to sail for England. His passage was +taken. So Mr. and Mrs. Dallas reported on one of their evening visits. +They talked a great deal of politics at these visits, which sometimes +interested Esther and sometimes bored her excessively; but this last +bit 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 is +there, that is one thing; and he is looking about him; and now he will +have time to feel a little at home in England and make all his +arrangements 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 by +post-chaise to London in a day or two. He reported having just got Lord +Byron'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 the +colonel; 'and give his attention to Sophocles and Euclid. Light poetry +does 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 Romans +wrote, if folks say true,' remarked Mr. Dallas slyly. + +'In the dead languages it won't do a young man so much harm,' said the +colonel. 'I hope William will give himself now to his Greek, since you +have afforded him such opportunity.' + +Mrs. Dallas's air, as she rose to take leave, was inimitably expressive +of proud confidence and rejection of the question. Mr. Dallas laughed +carelessly and said, as he shook the colonel's hand, 'No fear!' + +The next news they had came direct. Another letter from Pitt to the +colonel; and, as before, it enclosed one for Esther. Esther ran away +again to have the first reading and indulge herself in the first +impressions of it alone and free from question or observation. She even +locked her door. This letter was written from London, and dated May +1814. + + +'MY DEAR QUEEN ESTHER,--I wish you were here, for we certainly would +have some famous walks together. Do you know, I am in London? and that +means, in one of the most wonderful places in the world. You can have +no idea what sort of a place it is, and no words I can write will tell +you. I have not got over my own sense of astonishment and admiration +yet; indeed it is growing, not lessening; and every time I go out I +come home more bewildered with what I have seen. Do you ask me why? In +the first place, because it is so big. Next, because of the +unimaginable throng of human beings of every grade and variety. Such a +multitude of human lives crossing each other in an intraceable and +interminable network; intraceable to the human eye, but what a sight it +must be to the eye that sees all! All these people, so many hundreds of +thousands, acting and reacting upon one another's happiness, +prosperity, goodness, and badness. Now at such a place as Seaforth +people are left a good deal to their individuality, and are +comparatively independent of one another; but here I feel what a +pressure and bondage men's lives draw round each other. It makes me +catch my breath. You will not care about this, however, nor be able to +understand me. + +'But another thing you would care for, and delight in; and that is the +historical associations of London. Queen Esther, it is delightful! You +and I have looked at coins and read books together, and looked at +history so; but here I seem to touch it. I have been to-day to Charing +Cross, standing and wandering about, and wondering at the things that +have happened there. Ask your father to tell you about Charing Cross. I +could hardly come away. If you ask me how _I_ know so well what +happened there, I will tell you. I have found an old uncle here. You +knew I had one? He lives just a little out of London, or out of the +thick of London, in a place that is called Kensington; in a queer old +house, which, however, I like very much, and that is filled with +curiosities. It is in a pleasant situation, not far from one of the +public parks,--though it is not called a park, but "Garden,"--and with +one or two palaces and a number of noble mansions about it. My uncle +received me very hospitably, and would have me come and make my home +with 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, a +good deal of a hermit, a little eccentric, but stuffed with local +knowledge, and indeed with knowledge of many sorts. I think he has +taken a fancy to me somehow, Queen Esther; at any rate, he is very +kind. He seems to like to go about with me and show me London, and +explain 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 the +colonel what that is; and really I seemed to see the ages rolling +before me as he talked, and I looked at Northumberland House and at the +brazen 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-rate +sort of a time. But I will try and tell you about it. + +'And talking of history,--Mr. Strahan has some beautiful coins. There +is one of Philip of Macedon, and two of Alexander; think of that, Queen +Esther; and some exquisite gold pieces of Tarentum and Syracuse. How +your eyes would look at them! Well, study up everything, so that when +we meet again we may talk up all the world. I shall be very hard at +work myself soon, as soon as I go to Oxford. In the meantime I am +rather 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, just +because I have so much to say. If I had time I would write it over, but +I 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 in +deep recesses; low ceilings and high ceilings, for different parts of +the house are unlike each other; most beautiful dark oaken +wainscotings, carved deliciously, and grown black with time; and big, +hospitable chimney-pieces, with fires of English soft coal. Some of the +rooms are rather dark, to me who am accustomed to the sun of America +pouring in at a wealth of big windows; but others are to me quite +charming. And this quaint old house is filled with treasures and +curiosities. Mr. Strahan lives in it quite alone with two servants, a +factotum of a housekeeper and another factotum of a man-servant. I must +say I find it intelligible that he should take pleasure in having me +with 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 the +reading of this; her uneasiness not appeased by it at all; then at last +went down to her father, to whom the uneasiness was quite unknown and +unsuspected. + +'I think William writes the longest letters to you,' he remarked. 'What +does 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 to +the House of Commons. + +'I had yesterday,' he wrote, 'a rare pleasure, which you, my dear +colonel, would have appreciated. Mr. Strahan took me to the House of +Commons; and I heard Mr. Canning, Mr. Whitbread, Mr. Wilberforce, Mr. +Ponsonby, and others, on what question, do you think? Nothing less than +the duty which lies upon England just at this moment, to use the +advantage of her influence with her allies in Europe to get them to +join 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 been +standing at Charing Cross, looking at the statue of Charles I., and +wondering at the world. My grand-uncle is a good Tory and held forth +eloquently as we stood there. Don't tell my mother! but privately, my +dear colonel, I seem to discover in myself traces of Whiggism. Whether +it be nature, or your influence, or the air of America, that has caused +it to grow, I know not; but there it is. My mother would be very +seriously disturbed if she suspected the fact. As to my father, I +really never discovered to my satisfaction what his politics are. To +Mr. Strahan I listen reverently. It is not necessary for me to say to +him all that comes into my head. _But_ it came into my head to-day, as +I stood gazing up at the equestrian statue at Charing Cross, that it +would better become the English people to have John Hampden there than +that 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 colonel +said 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 in +the old days when the Stuarts were trying to get all the power of the +government into their own hands and to leave none to the people. Those +who stood by the king, through thick and thin, were called Tories; +those who tried to limit him and guard the people's liberties, were +Whigs.' + +'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, or +Mrs. Dallas a Tory.' + +'There are always the two parties. One, that sticks by the government +and aims to strengthen its hands, right or wrong; and the other, that +looks out for the liberties of the people and watches that they be not +infringed or tampered with.' + +Esther thought a while, but not exclusively over the political +question. It might have occurred to an older person to wonder how +William Pitt had got his name from parents who were both Tories. The +fact was that here, as in many another case, money was the solution of +the difficulty. A rich relation, who was also a radical, had promised a +fine legacy to the boy if he were given the name of the famous Whig +statesman, and Mr. Mrs. and Dallas had swallowed the pill per help of +the sugar. About this Esther knew nothing. + +'Papa,' she said, 'don't you think Pitt will get so fond of England +that 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 which +meant, she could not tell what. + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +_COMFORT_. + + +These letters, on the whole, did not comfort Esther. The momentary +intense pleasure was followed by inevitable dull reaction and contrast; +and before she had well got over the effect of one batch of letters +another came; and she was kept in a perpetual stir and conflict. For +Pitt proved himself a good correspondent, although it was June before +the first letter from his parents reached him. So he reported, writing +on the third of that month; and told that the Allied Sovereigns were +just then leaving Paris for a visit to the British Capital, and all the +London world was on tiptoe. 'Great luck for me to be here just now,' he +wrote; and so everybody at home agreed. Mrs. Dallas grew more stately, +Esther thought, with every visit she made at the colonel's house; and +she and her husband made many. It was a necessity to have some one to +speak to about Pitt and Pitt's letters; and it was urgent likewise that +Mrs. Dallas should know if letters had been received by the same mail +at this other house. She always found out, one way or another; and then +she would ask, 'May I see?' and scan with eager eyes the sheet the +colonel generally granted her. Of the letters to Esther nothing was +said, but Esther lived in fear and trembling that some inadvertent word +might let her know of their existence. + +Another necessity which brought the Dallases often to Colonel +Gainsborough's was the political situation. They could hardly discuss +it with anybody else in Seaforth, and what is the use of a political +situation if you cannot discuss it? All the rest of the families in the +neighbourhood were strong Americans; and even Pitt, in his letters, was +more of an American than anything else. Indeed, so much more, that it +gave his mother sad annoyance. He told of the temper of the English +people at this juncture; of the demands to be made by the English +government before they would hear of peace; of a strong force sent to +Canada, and the general indignant and belligerent tone of feeling and +speech among members of Parliament; but Pitt did not write as if he +sympathized with it. 'He has lived here too long already!' sighed his +mother. + +'Not if he is destined to live here the rest of his life, my dear +madam,' 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 his +profession, 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, made +one thing clear to her, namely, that if it depended on his father and +mother, Pitt's return to his native country would be long delayed or +finally prevented. It did not entirely depend on them, everybody knew +who knew him; nevertheless it seemed to Esther that the fascinations of +the old world must be great, and the feeling of the distance between +her and Pitt grew with every letter. It was not the fault of the +letters or of the writer in any way, nor was it the effect the latter +were intended to produce; but Esther grew more and more despondent +about him. And then, after a few months, the letters became short and +rare. Pitt had gone to Oxford; and, from the time of his entering the +University, plunged head and ears into business, so eagerly that time +and disposition failed for writing home. Letters did come, from time to +time, but there was much less in them; and those for Colonel +Gainsborough were at long intervals. So, when the second winter of +Pitt's absence began to set in, Esther reckoned him, to all intents and +purposes, lost to her life. + +The girl went with increased eagerness and intentness to the one +resource she had--her Bible. The cry for happiness is so natural to the +human heart, that it takes long oppression to stifle it. The cry was +strong in Esther's young nature--strong and imperative; and in all the +world around her she saw no promise of help or supply. The spring at +which she had slaked her thirst was dried up; the desert was as barren +to her eye as it had been to Hagar's; but, unlike Hagar, she sought +with a sort of desperate eagerness in one quarter where she believed +water might be found. When people search in _that_ way, unless they get +discouraged, their search is apt to come to something; unless, indeed, +they are going after a mirage, and it was no mirage that hovered before +Esther,--no vision of anything, indeed; she was searching into the +meaning of a promise. + +And, as I said, nobody knew; nobody helped her; the months of that +winter rolled slowly and gloomily over her. Esther was between fourteen +and fifteen now; her mind just opening to a consciousness of its +powers, and a growing dawn of its possibilities. Life was unfolding, +not its meaning, but something of its extent and richness to her; less +than ever could she content herself to have it a desert. The study went +on all through the winter with no visible change or result. But with +the breaking spring the darkness and ice-bound state of Esther's mind +seemed to break up too. Another look came into the girl's face--a high +quiet calm; a light like the light of the spring itself, so gracious +and tender and sweet. Esther was changed. The duties which she had done +all along with a dull punctuality were done now with a certain blessed +alacrity; her eye got its life of expression again, and a smile more +sweet than any former ones came readily to the lips. I do not think the +colonel noticed all this; or if he noticed at all, he simply thought +Esther was glad of the change of season; the winter, to be sure, had +kept 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 sly +search, 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 returned +with 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, with +that same sly observation of his sister's face. 'She'll be +better-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 very +promisin'. She's just beginnin' to show what she will be.' + +'She's got over her dumps lately uncommon. I judged the dumps was +natural enough, sitiwated as she is; but she's come out of 'em. She's +openin' up like a white camellia; and there ain't anythin' that grows +that has less shadow to it; though maybe it ain't what you'd call a gay +flower,' 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, and +she ain't noways stiff. She has just which I call the manners a young +lady ought to have.' + +'Can't beat a white camellia for manners,' responded Christopher +jocularly. + +So the servants saw what the father did not. I think he hardly knew +even that Esther was growing taller. + +One evening in the spring, Esther was as usual making tea for her +father. As usual also the tea-time was very silent. The colonel +sometimes carried on his reading alongside of his tea-cup; at other +times, perhaps, he pondered what he had been reading. + +'Papa,' said Esther suddenly, 'would it be any harm if I wrote a +letter 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 to +hear.' + +'What is that?' + +'It is just something about myself, papa,' Esther said, a little +hesitatingly. + +'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 closed +and sealed. The colonel took it and turned it over. + +'There's a good deal of it,' he remarked. 'Was it needful to use so +many words?' + +'Papa,' said Esther, hesitating, 'I didn't think about how many words I +was 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 to +be 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 supposed +the matter was disposed of. But when she had kissed him and gone off to +bed, the colonel brought the letter before him again, looked at it, and +finally broke the seal and opened it. There was a good deal of it, as +he had remarked. + + +'Seaforth, _May_ 11, 1815. 'MY DEAR PITT,--Papa has given me leave to +write a letter to you; and I wanted to write, because I have something +to tell you that I think you will be glad to hear. I am afraid I cannot +tell it very well, for I am not much accustomed to writing letters; but +I will do as well as I can. + +'I am afraid it will take me some time to say what I want to say. I +cannot 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 you +remember my asking you once about the meaning of some words in the +Bible, where I was looking for comfort, because mamma said it was the +best place? We were sitting in the verandah, one afternoon. You had +been away, to New Haven, and were home for vacation. + +'Well, I partly forgot about it that summer, I was so happy. You know +what a good time we had with everything, and I forgot about wanting +comfort. But after you went away that autumn to Lisbon and to England, +then the want came back. You were very good about writing, and I +enjoyed your letters very much; and yet, somehow, every one seemed to +make me feel a little worse than I did before. That is, after the first +bit, you know. For an hour, perhaps, while I was reading it, and +reading it the second time, and thinking about it, I was almost +perfectly happy; the letters seemed to bring you near; but when just +that 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 I +did not know where to get it. There was nobody to ask, and no help at +all, if I could not find it in the Bible. All that winter, and all the +summer, last summer that was, and all the first part of this last +winter, I did not know what to do, I wanted comfort so. I thought maybe +you would never come back to Seaforth again; and you know there is +nobody else here, and I was quite alone. I never do see anybody but +papa, except Mr. and Mrs. Dallas, who come here once in a while. So I +went to the Bible. I read, and I thought. + +'Do you remember those words I once asked you about? Perhaps you do +not, so I will write them down here. "The Lord make His face shine upon +thee, and be gracious unto thee. The Lord lift up His countenance upon +thee, and give the peace." Those are the words. + +'Do you remember what you said at that time, about the pleasure of +seeing a face that looks brightly and kindly upon one? only you did not +know how that could be true of God, because we cannot really _see_ His +face? Well, I thought a great deal about that. You see, there are the +words; and so, I thought, the thing must be possible somehow, and there +must be some way in which they can be true, or the Bible would not say +so. 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 we +care about seeing--I mean, that we care about so very much; and it is +only the faces that love us that _can_ "shine" upon us. But I did not +love God, for I did not know Him; and I knew He could not love me, for +He knew me too well. So I began to pray a different prayer. I asked +that God would teach me to love Him, and make me such a person that He +could love me. It was all very dark and confused before my mind; I +think I was like a person groping about and feeling for things he +cannot see. It was very miserable, for I had no comfort at all; and the +days and the nights were all sad and dark, only I kept a little bit of +hope. + +'Then I must tell you another thing. I had been doing nothing but +praying and reading the Bible. But one day I came to these words, which +struck me very much. They are in the fourteenth chapter of John:-- + +'"He that hath my commandments, and keepeth them, he it is that loveth +me; and he that loveth me shall be loved of my Father; and I will love +him, and will manifest myself to him." + +'Do you notice those last words? That is like making the face shine, or +lifting up the countenance upon a person. But then I saw that to get +that, which I wanted. I must _keep His commandments_. I hardly knew +what they were, and I began to read to find out. I had been only +looking for comfort before. And as fast as I found out one of His +commands, I began to do it, as far as I could. Pitt, His commandments +are such beautiful things! + +'And then, I don't know how it came or when it came, exactly, but I +began to _see His face_. And it began to shine upon me. And the +darkness began to go away, And now, Pitt, this is what I wanted to tell +you: I have found comfort. I am not dark, and I don't feel alone any +more. 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; and +everything seems changed. It is _so_ changed, Pitt. I am happy now, and +contented, and things seem beautiful to me again, as they used to do +when you were here, only even more, I think. + +'I thought you would be glad to know it, and so I have written all this +long letter, and my fingers are really tired. + +'Your loving friend, + +'ESTHER GAINSBOROUGH.' + + +The colonel read this somewhat peculiar document with wondering +attention. He got to the end, and began again, with his mind in a good +deal of confusion. A second reading left him more confused than the +first, and he began the third time. What did Esther mean by this want +of comfort? How could she want comfort? And what was this strange thing +that she had found? And how came she to be pouring out her mind in this +fashion to Pitt, to him of all people? The colonel was half touched, +half jealous, half awed. What had his child learned in her strange +solitary Bible study? He had heard of religious ecstasies and religious +enthusiasts; devotees; people set apart by a singular experience; was +his 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; he +did not want her to be extravagant. And this sounded extravagant, even +visionary. How had she got it? What had Pitt Dallas to do with it? Was +it for want of _him_ that Esther had set up such a cry for comfort? The +colonel liked nothing of all the questions that started up in his mind; +and the only satisfactory thing was that in some way Esther seemed to +be feeling happy. But her father did not want her to be given over to a +visionary happiness, which in the end would desert her. He sat up a +long time reading and brooding over the letter. Finally he closed it +and sealed it again, and resolved to let it go off, and to have a talk +with 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 girl +about her meaning of words she had written, would seem a simple matter +enough; but there was something about it that tied the colonel's +tongue. He could not bring himself to broach the subject at breakfast, +with the clear homely daylight streaming upon the breakfast table, and +Esther moving about and attending to her usual morning duties; all he +could do was to watch her furtively. This creature was growing up out +of his knowledge; he looked to see what outward signs of change might +be visible. He saw a fair, slim girl, no longer a little girl +certainly, with a face that still was his child's face, he thought. And +yet, as he looked, he slowly came to the conviction that it was the +face of something more than a child. The old simplicity and the old +purity were there indeed; but now there was a blessed calm upon the +brow, and the calmness had a certain lofty quality; and the sweetness, +which was more than ever, was refined and deep. It was not the +sweetness of hilarious childhood, but something that had a more distant +source than childhood draws from. The colonel ate his breakfast without +knowing what he was eating; however, he could not talk to Esther at +that time. He waited till evening had come round again, and the lamp +was lit, and he was taking his toast and tea, with Esther ministering +to 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 know +you would care to read it. I thought it must be sealed, and I sealed +it.' + +'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 were +happy--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,' the +colonel added, with a sigh of consciousness that there might be a +missing 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 a +little 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 sense +of 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 was +here.' + +'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. Can +you tell me what you mean?' + +As he raised his eyes to her, he saw a look come over her face that he +could as little comprehend as he could comprehend her letter; a look of +surprise at him, mingled with a sudden shine of some inner light. She +was moving about the tea-table; she came round and stood in front of +her father, full in view. + +'Papa, I thought my letter explained it. I mean, that now I have come +to know the Lord Jesus.' + +'_Now?_ My dear, I was under the impression that you had been taught +and 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 think +about 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 that +the colonel did not. He was puzzled, and did not like to show it too +fully. The one face was shining with clearness and gladness; the other +was 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 in +the 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 the +simplest words in one's vocabulary, and is called upon to expound them +by the use of others less simple, the task is somewhat critical. The +colonel watched with a sort of disturbed pleasure the thoughtful, clear +brow, the grave eyes which had become so sweet. The intelligence at +work there, he saw, was no longer that of a child; the sweetness was no +longer the blank of unconscious ignorance, but the wisdom of some +blessed knowledge. What did she know that was hidden from his +experience? + +'Papa, it is very difficult to tell you,' Esther began. 'I used to know +about the things in the Bible, and I had learned whole chapters by +heart; but that was all. I did not know much more than the name of +Christ,--and His history, of course, and His words.' + +'What more could you know?' inquired the colonel, in increasing +astonishment. + +'That's just it, papa; I did not know Himself. You know what you mean +when you say you don't know somebody. I mean just that.' + +'But, Esther, that sounds to me very like--very like--an improper use +of language,' said the colonel, stammering. 'How can you _know Him_, as +you 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, not +literally. But He has somehow showed me how good He is, and how +glorious; and has made me understand how He loves me, and how He is +with me; so that I do not feel alone any more. I don't think I ever +shall feel alone again.' + +Was this extravagance? The colonel pondered. It seemed to him a thing +to be rebuked or repressed; he knew nothing of this kind in his own +religious experience; he feared it was visionary and fanciful. But when +he looked at Esther's face, the words died on his tongue which he would +have spoken. Those happy eyes were so strong in their wistfulness, so +grave in their happiness, that they forbade the charge of folly or +fancifulness; nay, they were looking at something which the colonel +wished he could himself see, if the sight brought such contentment. +They stopped his mouth. He could not say what he thought to say, and +his 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, I +asked Pitt what could be the meaning of a verse in the Bible; that +beautiful verse in Numbers; and he could not tell me, though what he +said gave me a great help. So I knew he would remember, and he would be +glad. And I want him to know Jesus too.' + +The colonel felt a little twinge of jealousy here; but Esther did not +know, he reflected, that her own father was in equal destitution of +that knowledge. Or was it all visionary that she had been saying, and +his view of religion the right one after all? It _must_ be the right +one. Yet his religion had never given his face the expression that +shone 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 He +loves me, and will do everything for me.' + +'How do you know it?' asked the colonel almost harshly. 'That sounds to +me 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 just +believe what He says.' + +Colonel Gainsborough gave up the argument. Before Esther's face of +quiet confidence he felt himself baffled. If she were wrong, he could +not prove her wrong. Uneasy and worsted, he gave up the discussion; but +thought he would not have any more letters go to William Dallas. + +And as the days went on, he watched furtively his daughter. He had not +been mistaken in his observations that evening. A steadfastness of +sweet happiness was about her, beautifying and elevating all she did +and 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, but +of love, and gracious accordingly, as the service of duty can never be. +The colonel watched, and saw something of the difference, without being +able, however, to come at a satisfactory understanding of it. He saw +how, under this influence of love and gladness, his child was becoming +the rarest of servants to him; and more still, how under it she was +developing into a most exquisite personal beauty. He watched her, as if +by watching he might catch something of the secret mental charm by +virtue of which these changes were wrought. But 'the secret of the Lord +is with them that fear Him;' and it cannot be communicated from one to +another. + +As has been mentioned, Pitt's letters after he got to work at Oxford +became much fewer and scantier. It was only at very rare intervals that +one came to Colonel Gainsborough; and Esther made no proposition of +writing to England again. On that subject the colonel ceased to take +any thought. It was otherwise with Pitt's family. + +Mrs. Dallas sat one evening pondering over the last letter received +from her son. It was early autumn; a little fire burning in the +chimney, towards which the master of the house stretched out his legs, +lying very much at his ease in an old-fashioned chaise lounge, and +turning over an English newspaper. His attitude bespoke the comfortable +ease and carelessness of his mind, on which certainly nothing lay +heavy. His wife was in all things a contrast. Her handsome, stately +figure was yielding at the moment to no blandishments of comfort or +luxury; she sat upright, with Pitt's letter in her hand, and on her +brow there was an expression of troubled consideration. + +'Husband,' she said at length, 'do you notice how Pitt speaks of the +colonel and his daughter?' + +'No,' came slowly and indifferently from the lips of Mr. Dallas, as he +turned the pages of his newspaper. + +'Don't you notice how he asks after them in every letter, and wants me +to go and see them?' + +'Natural enough. Pitt is thinking of home, and he thinks of them;--part +of 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; and +distractions enough. But don't you know Pitt? He sticks to a thing even +closer than you do.' + +'If he cares enough about it.' + +'That's what troubles me, Hildebrand. I am afraid he does care. If he +comes home next summer and finds that girl-- Do you know how she is +growing 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 old +enough 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 going +to be handsome enough to take any man's fancy, and hold it too. She is +uncommonly striking. Don't you see it?' + +'Humph! yes, I see it.' + +'Hildebrand, I do not want him to marry the daughter of a dissenting +colonel, 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 means +certain that Mr. Dallas needed its suggestions, he strolled over after +tea to Colonel Gainsborough's. The colonel was in his usual place and +position; Esther sitting at the table with her books. Mr. Dallas eyed +her as she rose to receive him, noticed the gracious, quiet manner, the +fair and noble face, the easy movement and fine bearing; and turned to +her father with a strengthened purpose to do what he had come to do. He +had to wait a while. He told the news of Pitt's last letter; intimated +that 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 Esther +at 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 am +concerned about Esther.' + +'In what way?' + +'Well, don't take it ill of me; but I do not like to see her growing up +so 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 right +to so much. I have watched her growing up. She will be something +uncommon, you know. She ought really to have everything that can help +to make humanity perfect.' + +'What would you have me do?' the colonel asked, half conscious and half +impatient. + +'I would give her all the advantages that a girl of her birth and +breeding would have in the old country.' + +'How is that possible, at Seaforth?' + +'It is not possible at Seaforth. There is nothing here. But elsewhere +it 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 to +live long anywhere; when I die, I will lie by my wife's side, here.' + +'You are not failing in health,' Mr. Dallas persisted. 'You are +improving, 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 myself +no 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 this +speech; his words however were 'smoother than butter.' + +'You need have no fear,' he said. 'Miss Gainsborough, with her birth +and beauty and breeding, will do--what you must wish her to do,--marry +some one well able to take care of her; but--you are not doing her +justice, colonel, in not giving her the education that should go with +her birth and breeding. I speak as a friend; I trust you will not take +it ill of me.' + +'I cannot send her to England.' + +'You do not need. There are excellent institutions of learning in this +country now.' + +'I do not know where.' + +'My wife can tell you. She has some knowledge of such things, through +friends who have daughters at school. She could tell you of several +good 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 have +been officious; and you are giving Esther an education more than equal +to what she could get at school.' + +'I cannot quit Seaforth,' the colonel repeated. 'All that I care for in +the world lies here. When I have done with the world, I wish to lie +here too; and till then I will wait.' + +Mr. Dallas took his leave; and the set of his mouth was grim again as +he walked home. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +_MOVING_. + + +Mr. Dallas's visits became frequent. He talked of a great variety of +things, but never failed to bring the colonel's mind to the subject of +Esther's want of education. Indirectly or directly, somehow, he +presented to the colonel's mind that one idea: that his daughter was +going without the advantages she needed and ought to have. It was true, +and the colonel could not easily dispose of the thought which his +friend so persistently held up before him. Waters wear away stones, as +we know to a proverb; and so it befell in this case, and Mr. Dallas +knew it must. The colonel began to grow uneasy. He often reasserted +that he would never leave Seaforth; he began to think about it, +nevertheless. + +'What should I do with this place?' he asked one evening when the +subject 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 be +somewhere else for my child's sake. In that case, what could I do with +my 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 means +will 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. But +indeed it would come very conveniently for me. I should like to have +it, for my own purposes. I will give you its utmost value.' + +The colonel pondered, not glad, perhaps, to have difficulties cleared +out of his way. Mr. Dallas waited, too keen to press his point unduly. + +'I should have to go and reconnoitre,' the former said presently. 'I +must not give up one home till I have another ready. I never thought to +leave Seaforth. Where do you say this place is that Mrs. Dallas +recommends?' + +'In New York. The school is said to be particularly good and thorough, +and conducted by an English lady; which would be a recommendation to +me, 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. 'Perhaps +Mrs. Dallas will be so good as to give me the address of the school in +question.' + +Mrs. Dallas did more than that. She gave letters to friends, and +addresses of more than one school teacher: and the end was, Colonel +Gainsborough set off on a search. The search was successful. He was +satisfied with the testimonials he received respecting one of the +institutions and respecting its head; he was directed by some of Mr. +Dallas's business friends to various houses that might suit him for a +residence; 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, not +knowing whether to be glad or sorry, to hope or to fear. Seaforth was +the only home she had ever known; she did not like the thought of +leaving it; but she knew by this time as well as Mr. Dallas knew that +she 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 those +times, and so the day of his return could not be notified; but when a +week had passed, Esther began to look for him. It was the first time he +had ever been away from her, and so, of course, it was the first coming +home. Esther felt it deserved some sort of celebration. The stage +arrived towards evening, she knew. + +'I think maybe he will be here to-night, Barker,' she said. 'What is +there we could have for supper that papa likes particularly?' + +'Indeed, Miss Esther, the colonel favours nothing more than another, as +I 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 to +be sure quails had ought to be eaten immediate. I can roast two or +three of 'em, if you're pleased to order it; but the colonel, it's my +opinion he won't care what you have. The gentlemen learns it so in the +army, I'm thinkin'. The colonel never did give himself no care about +what he had for dinner, nor for no other time.' + +Esther knew that; however, she ordered the quails, and watched eagerly +for her father. He came, too, that same evening. But the quails hardly +got their deserts, nor Esther neither, for that matter. The colonel +seemed to be unregardful of the one as much as of the other. He gave +his 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 I +suppose the colonel had had a thin dinner, for he consumed a quail and +a half; yet satisfactory as this was in itself, Esther could not see +that her father knew what he was eating. And after tea he still +neglected his book, and sat brooding, with his head leaning on his +hand. He had not said one word to his daughter concerning the success +or non-success of his mission; and eager as she was, it was not in +accordance with the way she had been brought up that she should +question him. She asked him nothing further than about his own health +and condition, and the length and character of his journey; which +questions were shortly disposed of, and then the colonel sat there with +his head in his hand, doing nothing that he was wont to do. Esther +feared something was troubling him, and could not bear to leave him to +himself. She came near softly, and very softly let her finger-tips +touch her father's brow and temples, and stroke back the hair from +them. She ventured no more. + +Perhaps Colonel Gainsborough could not bear so much. Perhaps he was +reminded of the only other fingers which had had a right since his +boyhood to touch him so. Yet he would not repel the gentle hand, and to +avoid doing that he did another very uncommon thing; he drew Esther +down into his arms and put her on his knee, leaning his head against +her shoulder. It was exceeding pleasant to the girl, as a touch of +sympathy and confidence; however, for that night the confidence went no +further; the colonel said nothing at all. He was in truth overcome with +the sadness of leaving his home and his habits and the place of his +wife's grave. As he re-entered Seaforth and entered his house, this +sadness had come over him; he could not shake it off; indeed, he did +not try; he gave him self up to it, and forgot Esther, or rather forgot +what he owed her. And Esther, who had done what she could, sat still on +her 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 past +Esther'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 had +never been away, only he had his news to tell; and he told it in +orderly business fashion. + +'I have taken a house, Esther,' he said; 'and now I wish to get moved +as 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 the +river; 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 Miss +Fairbairn's school in New York. It is the best there, by all I can +gather.' + +'Thank you, papa. Then it is not near our new house?' + +'No. You will have to drive there and back. I have made arrangements +for that.' + +'Won't that cost a good deal, papa?' + +'Not so much as to live in the city would cost. And we are accustomed +to 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 and +everything, papa?' + +'That must be packed to go. The house I have taken is empty. We shall +want all we have got.' + +Esther's eye went round the room. Everything to be packed! She stood +like 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 be +laid 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 no +particular share. But could it be that he was leaving it all to her +inexperience? 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 with +Barker about it?' + +'Yes, my dear, yes; tell her, and arrange with her. I wish to make the +change 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 was +wont to consider Esther a child still; now it was convenient to suppose +her 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 was +before 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 this +minute. All ain't done when you are moved, Miss Esther; there's the +other house to settle; and it'll take a good bit o' work before we get +so 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; but +that ain't as if we was a dozen. There's every indiwiddle thing to put +up, Miss Esther, from our chairs to our beds; and books, and china, and +all 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 is +somethin' you can't buy in the shops--even if there was any shops here +to speak of. But Christopher and me, we'll manage it, I'll warrant. The +colonel's quite right. This ain't no place for you no longer. We'll see +and get moved as quick as we can, Miss Esther.' + +Without experience, however, it was found that Esther's share of the +next weeks of work was a very important one. She packed up the clothes +and the books; and she did it 'real uncommon,' the housekeeper said; +but that was the least part. She kept her father comfortable, letting +none of the confusion and as little as possible of the dust come into +the room where he was. She stood in the gap when Barker was in the +thick of some job, and herself prepared her father's soup or got his +tea. Thoughtful, quiet, diligent, her head, young as it was, proved +often a very useful help to Barker's experience; and something about +her smooth composure was a stay to the tired nerves of her +subordinates. Though Christopher Bounder really had no nerves, yet he +felt the influence I speak of. + +'Ain't our Miss Esther growed to be a stunner, though!' he remarked +more than once. + +'I'm sure I don't rightly know what you mean, Christopher,' his sister +answered. + +'Well, I tell you she's an uncommon handsome young lady, Sarah. An' she +has 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 his +eyes slyly. 'There ain't no flesh and blood round in these parts like +that;--no mor'n a cabbage ain't like a camellia. An' _that_ don't tell +it. She's that dainty and sweet as a camellia never was--not as ever I +see; and she has that fine, soft way with her, that is like the touch +of a feather, and yet ain't soft neither if you come to go agin it. I +tell you what, Sarah, that shows blood, that does,' concluded +Christopher with a competent air. 'Our young lady, she's the real +thing. You and me, now, we couldn't be like that if we was to die for +it. That's blood, that is.' + +'I don't know,' said the housekeeper. 'She _is_ sweet, uncommon; and +she is gentle enough, and she has a will of her own, too; but I don't +know--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 rough +leaves, before you can see what they're goin' to be.' + +'There warn't never no rough leaves nor rough anything about Miss +Esther. I can't say as I knows what you mean, Christopher.' + +'A woman needn't to know everything,' responded her brother with +superiority; '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 its +inhabitants. 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 must +all go together. + +It was the middle of November when at last the family made their +flitting. They had no dear friends to leave, and nothing particular to +regret, except that one low mound in the churchyard; yet Esther felt +sober as they drove away. The only tangible reason for this on which +her thoughts could fix, was the fact that she was going away from the +place where Pitt Dallas was at home, and to which he would come when he +returned from England. She would then be afar off. Yet there would be +nothing to hinder his coming to see them in their new home; so the +feeling did not seem well justified. Besides that, Esther also had a +somewhat vague sense that she was leaving the domain of childhood and +entering upon the work and sphere of a woman. She was just going to +school! But perhaps the time of confusion she had been passing through +might have revealed to her that she had already a woman's life-work on +her hands. And the confusion was not over, and the work only begun. She +had perhaps a dim sense of this. However, she was young; and the +soberness was certainly mixed with gladness. For was she not going to +school, and so, on the way to do something of the work Pitt was doing, +in mental furnishing and improvement? I think, gladness had the upper +hand. + +It took two days of stage travelling to get them to their destination. +They were days full of interest and novelty for Esther; eager +anticipation and hope; but the end of the second day found her well +tired. Indeed, it was the case with them all. Mrs. Barker had lamented +that 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 for +them; the colonel had said it was impossible: they could not be spared +from Seaforth until the last minute. And now here they were 'all in a +heap,' as Mrs Barker expressed it, 'to be tumbled into the house at +once.' She begged that the colonel would stay the night over in the +city, and give her at least a few hours to prepare for him. The colonel +would not hear of it, however, but at once procured vehicles to take +the whole party and their boxes out to the place that was to be their +new home. It was then already evening; the short November day had +closed in. + +'He's that simple,' Mrs. Barker confided to her brother, 'he expects to +find 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.' and +stan' round,' echoed Christopher. 'I'm afeard they won't be so +obligin'.' + +The drive was somewhat slower in the dark than it would have been +otherwise, and the stars were out and looking down brilliantly upon the +little party as they finally dismounted at their door. The shadow of +the house rising before them, a cool air from the river, the sparkling +stars above, the vague darkness around; Esther never forgot that +home-coming. + +They had stopped at a neighbour's house to get the key; and now, the +front door being unlocked, made their way in, one after another. Esther +was confronted first by a great packing-case in the narrow hall, which +blocked up the way. Going carefully round this, which there was just +room 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't +you open the back door and let in a gleam of light?' + +This was done, and also in due time a lantern was brought upon the +scene. It revealed a state of things almost as hopeless as the world +appeared to Noah's dove the first time she was sent out of the ark. If +there was rest for the soles of their feet, it was all that could be +said. 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 ye +kin du to-night; there's no use o' your tryin'. Jes' come over to my +house 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. Lands +sakes! 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 gradually +drawing nearer and nearer, till with the last words the speaker also +entered the back room, where Esther and her father were standing. They +were standing in the midst of packing-cases, of every size and shape, +between which the shadows lay dark, while the faint lantern light just +served to show the rough edges and angles of the boxes and the hopeless +condition of things generally. It served also now to let the new-comer +be dimly seen. Esther and her father, looking towards the door, +perceived a stout little figure, with her two hands rolled up in her +shawl, head bare, and with hair in neat order, for it glanced in the +lantern shine as only smooth things can. The features of the face were +not discernible. + +'It's the cunnel himself, ain't it?' she said. 'They said he was a tall +man, and I see _this_ is a tall un. Is it the cunnel himself? I +couldn'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. 'Colonel +Gainsborough.' + +The visitor dropped a little dot of a curtsey, which seemed to Esther +inexpressibly funny, and went on. + +'Beg pardon for not knowin'. Wall, cunnel, I'm sure you're tired and +hungry,--you and your darter, is it?--and I've got a hot supper for you +over to my house. I allays think there's nothin' like hevin' things +hot,--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? You +see, you kin't do nothin' here to-night. I don't see how ever you're to +sleep, in this world; there ain't nothin' here but the floor and the +boxes, 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 need +trouble you,' the colonel said, with civil formality. Esther was +amused, but also a little eager that her father should accept the +invitation. What else would become of him? she thought. The prospect +was desolation. Truly they had some cooked provisions; but that was +only cold comfort, as their visitor had said; doubtful if the term +could be applied at all. + +'Now you'd jes' best come right over!' the fluent but kind voice said +persuasively. 'It's all spilin' to be eat. An' what kin you do? There +ain't no fire here to warm you, and it'll take a bit of a while before +you kin get one; an' you're all tired out. Jes' come over and hev a cup +o' hot coffee, and get heartened up a bit, and then you'll know what to +do next. I allays think, one thing at a time.' + +'Papa,' said Esther a little timidly, 'hadn't you better do it? There's +nothing but confusion here; it will be a long time before we can get +you even a cup of tea.' + +'It's all ready,' their visitor went on,--'ready and spilin'; an' I got +it for you o' purpose. Now don't stan' thinkin' about it, but jes' come +right 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 next +house to your'n. Oh, I've lived there a matter o' ten year; and I was +main glad to hear there was somebody comin' in here agin; it's so sort +o' lonesome to see the winders allays shut up; and your light looks +real cheery, if it is only a lantern light. I knowed when you was a +comin', 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; but +I'm sure, if you'll sleep, you're welcome.' + +'If you please, sir,' put in Mrs. Barker, 'it would be the most +advisedest thing you could do; for there ain't no prospect here, and if +you and Miss Esther was away for a bit, mebbe me and Christopher would +come to see daylight after a while; which it is what I don't do at +present.' + +The good woman's voice sounded so thoroughly perturbed, and expressed +such an undoubted earnest desire, that the colonel, contrary to all his +traditions, gave in. He and Esther followed their new friend, ''cross +the field,' as she said, but they hardly knew where, till the light and +warmth of her hospitable house received them. + +How strange it was! The short walk in the starlight; then the homely +hospitable room, with its spread table--the pumpkin pie, and the +sausage, and the pickles, and the cheese, and the cake! The very coarse +tablecloth; the little two-pronged forks, and knives which might have +been cut out of sheet iron, and singular ware which did service for +china. The extreme homeliness of it all would almost have hindered +Esther from eating, though she was very hungry. But there was good +bread and butter; and coffee that was hot, and not bad otherwise, +although assuredly it never saw the land of Arabia; certainly it seemed +very good to Esther that night, even taken from a pewter spoon. And the +tablecloth was clean, and everything upon it. So, with doubtful +hesitation at first, Esther found the supper good, and learned her +first lesson in the broadness of humanity and the wide variety in the +ways of human life. + +Their hostess, seen by the light of her dip candles, was in perfect +harmony with her entertainment. A round little woman, very neat, and +terribly plain, with a full oval face, which had no other +characteristic of beauty; insignificant features, and a pale skin, +covered with freckles. Out of this face, however, looked a pair of +small, shrewd, and kind grey eyes; their owner could be no fool. + +Esther was surprised to see that her father, who was, to be sure, an +old campaigner, made a very fair supper. + +'In the darkness I could hardly see where we went,' he remarked. 'But I +suppose your husband is the owner of the neat gardens I observed +formerly near our house?' + +'Wall, he would be if he was alive,' was the answer, 'but that's what +he hain't ben this five year.' + +'Then, do _you_ manage them?' + +'Wall, cunnel, I manage 'em better'n he did. Mr. Blumenfeld was an easy +kind o' man; easy to live with, tu; but when you hev other folks to see +to, 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; he +knowed his business; but the thing he _didn't_ know was folks. So they +cheated 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 or +two!' + +'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 different +naturs in the world, and I'm different. Folks doos say, his folks is +great for gittin' along; but _he_ warn't; that's all I hev to say. He +learned 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 offers +of 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. It +was 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 stole +down-stairs and roused Mrs. Barker; and while waiting for her to be +ready, went to the back door and opened it. A fresh cool air blew in +her face; clouds were chasing over the sky before a brisk wind, and +below her rolled the broad Hudson, its surface all in commotion; while +the early light lay bright on the pretty Jersey shore. Esther stood in +a 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 growth +and developement, which readily connected itself with this outward +change, and with this outward stir also. The movement of wind and water +met a movement of the animal spirits, which consorted well with it; the +cool air breathed vigour into her resolves; she turned to Mrs. Barker +with 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. It +is delicious!' + +'I can't see it, mum. All I can see is that there ain't an indiwiddle +cheer standin' on its own legs in all the house; and whatever'll the +colonel do when he comes down? and what to begin at first, I'm sure I +don't know.' + +'We'll arrange all that. Where is Christopher? We want him to open the +boxes. We'll get one room in some sort of order first, and then papa +can stay in it. Where is Christopher?' + +They had to wait a few minutes for Christopher, and meanwhile Esther +took a rapid review of the rooms; decided which should be the +dining-room, and which the one where her father should have his sofa +and all his belongings. Then she surveyed the packing-cases, to be +certain which was which, and what ought to be opened first; examining +her ground with the eye of a young general. Then, when the lagging Mr. +Bounder made his appearance, there was a systematic course of action +entered upon, in which packing-cases were knocked apart and cleared +away; chairs, and a table or two, were released from durance and set on +their legs; a rug was found and spread down before the fireplace; the +colonel's sofa was got at, and unboxed, and brought into position; and +finally a fire was made. Esther stood still to take a moment's +complacent review of her morning's work. + +'It looks quite comfortable,' she said, 'now the fire is burning up. We +have done pretty well, Barker, for a beginning?' + +'Never see a better two hours' job,' said Christopher. ''Tain't much +more. That's Miss Esther. Sarah there, she wouldn't ha' knowed which +was her head and which was her heels, and other things according, if +she hadn't another head to help her. What o'clock is it now, Miss +Esther?' + +'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 look +at 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 thing +is, this minute.' + +'I saw the tea-kettle down-stairs.' + +'Yes 'm, but that's the sole solitary article. I don' know where +there's a pan, nor a gridiron; and there's no fire, Miss Esther; and +it'll take patience to get that grate agoin'.' + +The housekeeper, usually so efficient, now looked helpless. It was +true, 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 stands +there; in the hall, I think. Christopher, will you unpack it? But +first, 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 china +are in the other room; if you will unpack them, I think you can find +the 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 can +give papa his tea and toast, and boil some eggs, and that will do very +well; everything else we want is in the basket, and plenty, as we did +not eat it last night.' + +It was all done,--it took time, to be sure, but it was done; and when +Colonel Gainsborough came down, hesitating and somewhat forlorn, he +found a fire burning in the grate, Mrs. Barker watching over a skillet +in one corner, and Esther over a tea-kettle in the other. The room was +filled with the morning light, which certainly showed the bare floor +and the packing-boxes standing around; but also shone upon an unpacked +table, cups, plates, bread and butter. Esther had thought it was very +comfortable. 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 just +the kettle for your tea, and Barker is boiling an egg for you; at least +she 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--it +will take a while to clear it; and I wanted first to get a corner for +you to be comfortable in. We will get things in order as fast as we +can. 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 is +the prettiest, and will be the pleasantest; that will be the +sitting-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 thing +first, and so on. Now I should have said, the _first_ thing here was +the kitchen fire.' + +Esther knew it was not, and that her doings had been with admirable +system; she was a little disappointed that they met with no +recognition. She had counted upon her father's being pleased, and even +a little surprised that so much had been done. Silently she made his +tea, and toasted him with much difficulty a slice of bread. Mrs. Barker +disappeared with her skillet. But the colonel was in the state of mind +that comes over many ease-loving men when their ease is temporarily +disturbed. + +'How long is it going to take two people to get these things unboxed +and in their places?' he inquired, as his eye roved disconsolately over +the room and its packing-cases. 'This is pretty uncomfortable!' + +'_Three_ people, papa. I shall do the very best I can. You would like +the sitting-room put in order first, where your sofa and you can be +quiet?' + +'You are going to school.' + +'Oh, papa! but I must see to the house first. Barker cannot get along +without 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 to +school I shall be so busy with study.' + +'Time you were. That's what we are come here for. The season is late +now.' + +'But your comfort, and the house, papa?' + +'My comfort must take its chance. I wish you to go to Miss Fairbairn on +Monday. Then Barker and Christopher can take the house between them.' + +There was no gainsaying her father when once an order was given, Esther +knew; and she was terribly disappointed. Her heart was quite set on +this business of righting and arranging the new home; nobody could do +it as it should be done, she knew, except by her order; and her own +hand longed to be in the work. A sudden cloud came over the brightness +of her spirit. She had been very bright through all the strain and rush +of 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 that +you may have a corner of comfort?' + +'I do not expect to see comfort, my dear, for many a day--to judge by +what I have around me.' + +Esther swallowed a choking feeling in her throat, commanded back some +tears which had a mind to force their way, and presided over the rest +of the meal with a manner of sweet womanly dignity, which had a lovely +unconscious charm. The colonel did even become a little conscious of it. + +'You are doing the best you know, my dear,' he condescended kindly. 'I +do not grudge any loss of comfort for your sake.' + +'Papa, I think you shall not lose any,' Esther said eagerly; but then +she confined her energies to doing. And with nerves all strung up +again, she went after breakfast at the work of bringing order out of +disorder. + +'The first thing for you to do, Barker,' she said, 'is to get papa's +sleeping-room comfortable. He will have the one looking to the west, I +think; that is the prettiest. The blue carpet, that was on his room at +Seaforth, will just do. Christopher will undo the roll of carpet for +you.' + +'Miss Esther, I can't do nothing till I get the kitchen free. There'll +be the dinner.' + +'Christopher will manage the kitchen.' + +'He can't, mum. He don't know one thing that's to be done, no more'n +one of his spades. It's just not possible, Miss Esther.' + +'I will oversee what he does. Trust me. I will not make any bad +mistakes, Barker. You put papa's room in order. He wishes it.' + +What the colonel desired had to be done, Barker knew; so with a +wondering look at Esther's sweet, determined face, she gave in. And +that day and the next day, and the third, were days very full of +business, and in which a vast deal was accomplished. The house was +really very pretty, as Esther soon saw; and before Saturday night +closed in, those parts of it at least which the colonel had most to do +with were stroked into order, and afforded him all his wonted ease and +luxury. Esther had worked every hour of those days, to the admiration +of her subordinates; the informing spirit and regulating will of every +step that was taken. She never lost her head, or her patience, or her +sweet quiet; though she was herself as busy as a bee and at the same +time constantly directing the activity of the others. Wise, and +quick-witted, and quick to remember, her presence of mind and readiness +of resource seemed unfailing. So, as I said, before Saturday night +came, an immense deal of work was accomplished, and done in a style +that needed not to be done over again. All which, however, was not +finished without some trace of the strain to which the human instrument +had been put. + +The sun had just set, and Esther was standing at the window of her +father's room, looking out to the west. She had been unpacking his +clothes 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; and +your cheeks is pale. You have worked too hard, indeed.' + +'Never mind,' said Esther cheerfully; 'that will pass. How pretty it +is, Barker! Look out at that sky.' + +'Yes 'm, it's just the colour from that sky that keeps your cheeks from +showin' how white they be. Miss Esther, you've just done too much.' + +'Never mind,' said the girl again. 'I wanted to have papa comfortable +before 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 was +a pattern of neatness and of comfort that was both simple and elegant. +But the housekeeper's face was grave with disapproval and puckered with +lines 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 gone +clean 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 little +children,--which is, them that is too young to know what the world is +like. 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 had +sat down by the window, where the glow from the west was upon it, like +a glory round the head of a young saint; and the evening sky was not +more serene, nor reflected more surely a hidden light than did the +beautiful 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 reads +it.' + +'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 man +whose 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 can +make any one clean. But that will. And don't you see, Barker, _that_ is +being happy?' + +There was indeed no dissent in the good woman's eyes, but she said +nothing. Esther presently went on. + +'Now I will tell you another word. Listen. "Blessed is the man whose +strength 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 put +their 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 my +strength is in Him--all my strength. But that makes me strong.' + +She went away with that from the window and the room, leaving the +housekeeper exceedingly confounded; much as if a passing angel's wings +had thrown down a white light upon her brown pathway. And from this +time, it may be said Mrs. Barker regarded her young lady with something +like secret worship. She had always been careful and tender of her +charge; now in spirit she bowed down before her to the ground. For a +while after Esther had left the room she stood very still, like one +upon whom a spell had fallen. She was comparing things; remembering the +look Mrs. Gainsborough had used to wear--sweet, dignified, but +shadowed; then the face that at one time was Esther's face, also sweet +and dignified, but uneasy and troubled and dark; and now--what was her +countenance like? The housekeeper was no poet, nor in any way fanciful; +otherwise she might have likened it to some of the fairest things in +nature; and still the comparison would have fallen short. Sweet as a +white rose; untroubled as the stars; full of hope as the flush of the +morning. Only, in the human creature there was the added element of +_life_, which in all these dead things was wanting. Mrs. Barker +probably 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 open +demonstration of feeling; but Esther's wishes were laws to her, and +Esther's welfare lay nearest her heart of all things in the world. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +_SCHOOL_. + + +After much consideration the colonel had determined that Esther should +be a sort of half boarder at Miss Fairbairn's school; that is, she +should stay there from Monday morning to Saturday night. Esther +combated this determination as far as she dared. + +'Papa, will not that make me a great deal more expense to you than I +need be?' + +'Not much difference, my dear, as to that. If you came back every night +I should have to keep a horse; now that will not be necessary, and +Christopher 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. See +you 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 or +looks. Her face was sensible, with a mixture of the sweet and the +practical which was at least peculiar; and the same mixture was in her +manner. This was calm and gentle in the utmost degree; also cool and +self-possessed equally; and it gave Esther the impression of one who +always knew her own mind and was accustomed to make it the rule for all +around her. A long talk with this lady was the introduction to Esther's +school experience. It was a very varied talk; it roved over a great +many fields and took looks into others; it was not inquisitive or +prying, and yet Esther felt as if her interlocutor were probing her +through and through, and finding out all she knew and all she did not +know. In the latter category, it seemed to Esther, lay almost +everything she ought to have known. Perhaps Miss Fairbairn did not +think so; at any rate her face expressed no disappointment and no +disapproval. + +'In what way have you carried on your study of history, my dear?' she +finally 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, to +her surprise, put with the highest classes in the English branches and +in Latin. + +Her work was immediately delightful. Esther was so buried in it that +she gave little thought or care to anything else, and did not know or +ask what place she took in the esteem of her companions or of her +teachers. As the reader may be more curious, one little occurrence that +happened that week shall serve to illustrate her position; did +illustrate it, in the consciousness of all the school family, only not +of Esther herself. + +It was at dinner one day. There was a long table set, which reached +nearly from the front of the house to the back, through two rooms, +leaving just comfortable space for the servants to move about around +it. Dinner was half through. Miss Fairbairn was speaking of something +in the newspaper of that morning which had interested her, and she +thought would interest the girls. + +'I will read it to you,' she said. 'Miss Gainsborough, may I ask you to +do me a favour? Go and fetch me the paper, my dear; it lies on my table +in 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 Miss +Fairbairn, and glances were exchanged; and perhaps it was as well for +Esther that she did not know how everybody's attention for the moment +was concentrated on her movements. She went and came in happy ignorance. + +Miss Fairbairn received her paper, thanked her, and went on then to +read to the girls an elaborate account of a wonderful wedding which had +lately been celebrated in Washington. The bride's dress was detailed, +her trousseau described, and the subsequent movements of the bridal +party chronicled. All was listened to with eager attention. + +'What do you think of it, Miss Dyckman?' the lady asked after she had +finished 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 the +subject?' + +Esther's mouth opened, and closed. The answer that came first to her +lips was sent back. She had a fine feeling that it was not fit for the +company, a feeling that is expressed in the admonition not to cast +pearls before swine, though that admonition did not occur to her at the +time. She had been about to appeal to the Bible; but her answer as it +was 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 be +read from her face; in other faces Esther read distaste or +disapprobation. + +'Why, Miss Fairbairn, nothing lasts, if you come to that,' cried a +young 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 but +once,' the young lady hazarded. + +That called forth a storm of laughter. Laughter well modulated and kept +within bounds, be it understood; no other was tolerated in Miss +Fairbairn'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 being +married?' + +'Oh, Miss Fairbairn! you know I do not mean that, but all the things +you read to us of: the diamonds, and the beautiful dresses, and the +lace, and the presents; and then the travelling, and doing whatever she +liked.' + +'Very few people do whatever they like,' murmured Miss Fairbairn. + +'I mean all that. And that does not last--only for a while. The +diamonds last, of course'-- + +'But the pleasure of wearing them might not. True. Quite right, Miss +Lawton. But I come back to my question. Is there _no_ happiness on +earth that lasts?' + +There was silence. + +'We are in a bad way, if that is our case. Miss Gainsborough, what do +you say? I come back to you again. Is there any such thing on earth as +happiness, 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 not +certain that her words would find either understanding or sympathy in +all that tableful. Nevertheless, the time had come when they must be +spoken. 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, and +it shall be well with thee."' + +The most profound silence followed this utterance. It had been made in +a steady and clear voice, heard well throughout the rooms, and then +there was silence. Esther fancied she discerned a little sympathetic +moisture in the eyes of Miss Fairbairn, but also that lady at first +said nothing. At last one voice in the distance was understood to +declare that its owner 'did not care about eating the labour of her +hands.' + +'No, my dear, you would surely starve,' replied Miss Fairbairn. 'Is +that 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 to +the righteous that it shall be well with him: for they shall eat the +fruit of their doings." And another word perhaps explains it. "Oh fear +the 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 much +like 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 no +such 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 the +country--very poor; she is an old Christian,--at least so they +say,--and she is _very_ poor. She has lost all her children and +grandchildren; she cannot work any more, and she lives upon charity. +That is, if you call it living. I know she often has very little indeed +to live upon, and that very poor, and she is quite alone; nobody to +take the least care for her, or of her.' + +'So you think she _does_ want some things. Miss Gainsborough, what have +you 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 a +very 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 many +things.' + +'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 convincing +affirmative. 'But the promise is, "No good thing will He withhold from +them that walk uprightly."' + +'There you have it. "No good thing;" and, "from them that walk +uprightly." Miss Disbrow, when you were getting well of that fever, did +your 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 from +you 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 nice +things to eat.' + +'It is quite likely she enjoys her meals more than you do yours. But +granting she does not, are you the physician to know what is good for +her?' + +'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, Miss +Gainsborough, if you wish to go.' + +Esther went, very willingly. Then Miss Fairbairn held one of her little +discourses, with which now and then she endeavoured to edify her pupils. + +'Young ladies, I am going to ask you to take pattern by Miss +Gainsborough. Did you notice her movements when she went to do that +little errand for me?' + +Silence. Then murmurs of assent were heard, not very loud, nor +enthusiastic. Miss Fairbairn did not expect that, nor care. What she +wanted 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 went +round her gracefully, without stopping or stumbling. The servant came +right against her with a tray full; Miss Gainsborough stood still and +waited composedly till the obstacle was removed. You could not hear her +open or shut the door; you could not hear her foot on the stairs, and +yet she went quick. And when she came back, she did not rustle and +bustle with her newspaper, but laid it nicely folded beside me, and +went back to her seat as quietly as she had left it. Young ladies, that +is good breeding in motion.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +_THE COLONEL'S TOAST_. + + +It is just possible that the foregoing experiences did not tend to +increase Esther's popularity among her companions. She got forthwith +the name of _favourite_, the giving of which title is the consolatory +excuse to themselves of those who have done nothing to deserve favour. +However, whether she were popular or not was a matter that did not +concern Esther. She was full of the delight of learning, and bent upon +making the utmost of her new advantages. Study swallowed her up, so to +speak; at least, swallowed up all lesser considerations and attendant +circumstances. Not so far but that Esther got pleasure also from these; +she enjoyed the novelty, she enjoyed the society, even she enjoyed the +sight of so many in the large family; to the solitary girl, who had all +her life lived and worked alone, the stir and breeze and bustle of a +boarding-school were like fresh air to the lungs, or fresh soil to the +plant. Whether her new companions liked her, she did not so much as +question; in the sweetness of her own happy spirit she liked _them_, +which was the more material consideration. She liked every teacher that +had to do with her; after which, it is needless to add, that Miss +Gainsborough had none but favourers and friends in that part of her new +world. And it was so delicious to be learning; and in such a mood one +learns 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 on +Monday morning. + +Christopher came for her with an old horse and a gig, which was a new +subject 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, the +gig 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 the +last century he may have deserved high consideration; at present, he's +got four legs, to be sure, such as they be, and a head. The head's the +most part of him.' + +'Obstinate?' said Esther, laughing. + +'Well, mum, he thinks he knows in all circumstances what is best to be +done. I'm only a human, and naturally I thinks otherwise. That makes +differences of opinion.' + +'He seems to go very well.' + +'No doubt, mum,' said Christopher; 'you let him choose his way, and +he'll go uncommon; that he do.' + +He went so well, in fact, that the drive was exhilarating; the gig was +very easy; and Esther's spirits rose. At her age, the mind is just +opening to appreciate keenly whatever is presented to it; every new bit +of knowledge, every new experience, a new book or a new view, seemed to +be taken up by her senses and her intelligence alike, with a fresh +clearness 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 the +country, and darkening the sky, and carrying with it a penetrating raw +chillness which was anything but agreeable. Yet to Esther it was good +weather. She was entered at school; she had had a busy, happy week, and +was going home; there were things at home that she wanted to put in +order; and her father must be glad to have her ministry again. Then +learning was so delightful, and it was so pleasant to be, at least in +some small measure, keeping step with Pitt. No, probably not _that;_ +certainly not that; Pitt would be far in advance of her. At least, in +some things, he would be far in advance of her; in others, Esther said +to herself, he should not. He might have more advantages at Oxford, no +doubt; 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 measure +of possibilities. Would Pitt come back? Surely he would, Esther +thought. But would he, in such a case, make all the journey to New York +to look up his old teacher and his old playmate and scholar? She +answered this query with as little hesitation as the other. And so, it +will be perceived, Esther's mind was in as brisk motion as her body +during the drive out to Chelsea. + +For at that day a wide stretch of country, more or less cultivated, lay +between 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 of +the river; a drive of a mile and a half or two miles from Miss +Fairbairn's school; and the short November day was closing in already +when she got there. + +Mrs. Barker received her almost silently, but with gladness in every +feature, and with a quantity of careful, tender ministrations, every +one 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 his +feelin's were, but in course he's missed you. The house itself has +missed 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 a +holiday's a holiday; and I've got a nice pheasant for your supper, Miss +Esther, and I hope as you'll enjoy it.' + +'Thank you, Barker. Oh, anything will be good;' and she ran into the +sitting-room to see her father. + +The greetings here were quiet, too; the colonel was never otherwise, in +manner. And then Esther gave a quick look round the room to see if all +were as she wanted it to be. + +'My dear,' said the colonel, gazing at her, 'I had no idea you were so +tall!' + +Esther laughed. I seem to have grown, oh, inches, in feeling, this +week, papa. I don't wonder I look tall.' + +'Never "wonder," my dear, at anything. Are you satisfied with your new +position?' + +'Very much, papa. Have you missed me?--badly, I mean?' + +'There is no way of missing a person pleasantly, that I know,' said her +father; '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's +wonted way was somewhat dry and self-contained. The fact that this was +an unwonted occasion might have made a difference, she thought; and was +a little disappointed that it did not; but then, as the colonel went +back to his book, she put off further discussions till supper-time, and +ran away to see to some of the house arrangements which she had upon +her heart. In these she was soon gaily busy; finding the work +delightful after the long interval of purely mental action. She had +done a good many things, she felt with pleasure, before she was called +to tea. Then it was with new enjoyment that she found herself +ministering to her father again; making his toast just as he liked it, +pouring out his tea, and watching over his wants. The colonel seemed to +take up things simply where she had left them; and was almost as silent +as 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 do +somethings as they ought to be done. Toast is one of the things. They +are 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. They +always think toast is done when it is brown, and the browner the +better, I should say. Also it is beyond their comprehension that +thickness makes a difference. There was an old soldier once I had under +me in India; he was my servant; he was the only man I ever saw who +could 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 very +competent woman.' + +'So I thought. What is the matter with the tea, papa--the tea she +makes?' + +'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 ought +to be.' + +'No good toast and no good tea! Papa, I am afraid you have missed me +very much at meal times?' + +'I have missed you at all times--more than I thought possible. But it +cannot 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. The +matter in hand is, that you should grow up to be a perfect +woman--perfect as your mother was; that would have been her wish, and +it is mine. To that all other things must give way. I wish you to have +every information and every accomplishment that it is possible for you +in 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 cannot +yet be the same advantages here as in an old country, which has been +educating its sons and its daughters in the most perfect way for +hundreds 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 had +certainly got an impression that it was not so very long since +England's educational provisions and practices, for England's daughters +at least, had been open to great criticism, and displayed great lack of +the desirable. 'Hundreds of years!' But she offered no contradiction to +her father's remark. + +'I would like you to be equal to any Englishwoman in your acquirements +and accomplishments,' he repeated musingly. 'So far as in New York that +is possible.' + +'I will try what I can do, papa. And, after all, it depends more on the +girl than on the school, does it not?' + +'Humph! Well, a good deal depends on you, certainly. Did Miss Fairbairn +find 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 week +been pleasant?' + +'Yes, sir. I like it very much, and I think she likes me--if only you +get on well, papa. How have you been all these days?' + +'Not very well. I think, not so well as at Seaforth. The air here does +not agree with me. There is a rawness--I do not know what--a peculiar +quality, which I did not find at Seaforth. It affects my breast +disagreeably.' + +'But, dear papa!' cried Esther in dismay, 'if this place does not agree +with 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 care +to live only so far as I can be of service to you, and while you need +me, my child.' + +'Papa, when should I not need you?' cried Esther, feeling as if her +breath were taken away by this view of things. + +'The children grow up to be independent of the parents,' said the +colonel, somewhat abstractly. 'It is the way of nature. It must be; for +the 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. That +is what we have come here for. We have taken the step, and we cannot go +back.' + +'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 and +drunk up his tea, turned to his book. Esther remained greatly chilled +and cast down. Was her advantage to be bought at the cost of shortening +her father's life? Was her rich enjoyment of study and mental growth to +be balanced by suffering and weariness on his part?--every day of her +new life in school to be paid for by such a day's price at home? Esther +could not bear to think it. She sat pondering, chewing the bitter cud +of these considerations. She longed to discuss them further, and get +rid, if possible, of her father's dismal conclusions; but with him she +could not, and there was no other. When her father had settled and +dismissed a subject, she could rarely re-open a discussion upon it. The +colonel was an old soldier; when he had delivered an opinion, he had in +a sort given his orders; to question was almost to be guilty of +insubordination. He had gone back to his book, and Esther dared not say +another word; all the more her thoughts burnt within her, and for a +long time she sat musing, going over a great many things besides those +they had been talking of. + +'Papa,' she said, once when the colonel stirred and let his book fall +for a minute, 'do you think Pitt Dallas will come home at all?' + +'William Dallas! why should he not come home? His parents will want to +see 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 his +terms.' + +'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 is +as usual judicious. The fact that William will have a great deal of +money does not affect the matter at all. It is my belief that every man +ought 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. I +should 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 us +here?' + +'Come to see us? If anything brings him to New York, I have no doubt he +will look us up.' + +'You do not think he would come all the way on purpose? Papa, he would +be very much changed if he did not.' + +'Impossible to say, my dear. He is very likely to have changed.' And +the colonel went back to his reading. + +'Papa does not care about it,' thought Esther. 'Oh, can Pitt be so much +changed as that?' + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +_A QUESTION_. + + +The identically same doubt busied some minds in another quarter, where +Mr. and Mrs. Dallas sat expecting their son home. They were not so much +concerned with it through the winter; the Gainsboroughs had been +happily got rid of, and were no longer in dangerous proximity; that was +enough for the time. But as the spring came on and the summer drew +nigh, the thought would recur to Pitt's father and mother, whether +after all they were safe. + +'He mentions them in every letter he writes,' Mrs. Dallas said. She and +her husband were sitting as usual in their respective easy chairs on +either side of the fire. Not for that they were infirm, for there was +nothing of that; they were only comfortable. Mrs. Dallas was knitting +some bright wools, just now mechanically, and with a knitted brow; her +husband'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 he +comes 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 be +a 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 mother +thoughtfully. 'Not much.' + +'You will see more of it when he comes. What do you say in answer to +his inquiries?' + +'About the Gainsboroughs? Nothing. I never allude to them.' + +Silence. Mr. Dallas read his paper comfortably. Mrs. Dallas's brow was +still careful. + +'It would be like him as he used to be, if he were to make the journey +to New York to find them. And if we should seem to oppose him, it might +set 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 care +for 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 are +incorrigible dissenters, and I do _not_ want Pitt's wife to be of that +persuasion.' + +'I won't have it, either.' + +'Then we shall do well to think how we can prevent it. If we could have +somebody here to take up his attention at least'-- + +'Preoccupy the ground,' said Mr. Dallas. 'The colonel would say that is +good strategy.' + +'I do not mean strategy,' said Mrs. Dallas. 'I want Pitt to fancy a +woman 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, half +amused, half sharing his wife's anxiety. 'Would she make a comfortable +daughter-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 through +her fingers. Perhaps her husband's tone had implied doubt. + +'If she can catch him,' Mr. Dallas repeated. 'There is no calculating +on these things. Cupid's arrows fly wild--for the most part.' + +'I will ask her to come and spend the summer here,' Mrs. Dallas went +on. 'There is nothing like propinquity.' + +In those days the crossing of the Atlantic was a long business, done +solely by the help or with the hindrance of the winds. And there was no +telegraphing, to give the quick notice of a loved one's arrival as soon +as he touched the shore. So Mr. and Mrs. Dallas had an anxious time of +watching and uncertainty, for they could not tell when Pitt might be +with them. It lasted, this time of anxiety, till Seaforth had been in +its full summer dress for some weeks; and it was near the end of a fair +warm day in July that he at last came. The table was set for tea, and +the master and mistress of the house were seated in their places on +either side the fireplace, where now instead of a fire there was a huge +jar full of hemlock branches. The slant sunbeams were stretching across +the village street, making that peaceful alternation of broad light and +still shadows which is so reposeful to the eye that looks upon it. Then +Mrs. Dallas's eye, which was not equally reposeful, saw a buggy drive +up and stop before the gate, and her worsteds fell from her hands and +her lap as she rose. + +'Husband, he is come' she said, with the quietness of intensity; and +the next moment Pitt was there. + +Yes, he had grown to be a man; he was changed; there was the conscious +gravity of a man in his look and bearing; the cool collectedness that +belongs to maturer years; the traces of thought and the lines of +purpose. It had been all more or less to be seen in her boy before, but +now the mother confessed to herself the growth and increase of every +manly and promising trait in the face and figure she loved. That is, as +soon as the first rush of delight had had its due expression, and the +first broken and scattering words were spoken, and the three sat down +to look at each other. The mother watched the broad brow, which was +whiter than it used to be; the fine shoulders, which were even +straighter and broader than of old; and the father noticed that his son +overtopped him. And Mrs. Dallas's eyes shone with an incipient moisture +which betrayed a soft mood she had to combat with; for she was not a +woman who liked sentimental scenes; while in her husband's grey orbs +there flashed out every now and then a fire of satisfied pride, which +was 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 been +just the right place to send him to. He said little; it was the other +two who did most of the talking. The talking itself for some time was +of that disjointed, insignificant character which is all that can get +out when minds are so full, and enough when hearts are so happy. +Indeed, for all that evening they could not advance much further. Eyes +supplemented tongues sufficiently. It was not till a night's sleep and +the light of a new day had brought them in a manner to themselves that +anything less fragmentary could be entered upon. At breakfast all +parties seemed to have settled down into a sober consciousness of +satisfied desire. Then Mr. Dallas asked his son how he liked Oxford? + +Pitt exhausted himself in giving both the how and the why. Yet no +longer like a boy. + +'Think you'll end by settling in England, eh?' said his father, with +seeming carelessness. + +'I have not thought of it, sir.' + +'What's made old Strahan take such a fancy to you? Seems to be a +regular love affair.' + +'He is a good friend to me,' Pitt answered seriously. 'He has shown it +in 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 I +say is still true, sir. What is the use of Oxford?' + +'Humph!' said his father. 'The use of Oxford is to teach young men of +fortune 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 the +elder man, looking from under lowered eyelids, in a peculiar way he +had, 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 occasionally +where it has got to be the master.' + +'What do you mean by that?' + +'A man unable to be anything and spoiled for doing anything worth +while, because he has so much of it; a man whose property is so large +that 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 other +kind, Pitt. What passes for it is just fancy, and struggling to make +believe. The really independent man is the man who need not ask anybody +else's leave to do anything.' + +Pitt let the question drop, and went on with his breakfast, for which +he 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 so +pleasant as to see Pitt eat his breakfast, and nothing in the world so +important to do as to furnish him with satisfactory material. Yet she +was not a foolish woman, and preserved all the time her somewhat +stately presence and manner; it was in little actions and words now and +then that this care for her son's indulgence and delight in it made +itself manifest. It was manifest enough to the two who sat at breakfast +with her; Mr. Dallas observing it with a secret smile, his son with a +grateful swelling of the heart, which a glance and a word sometimes +conveyed to his mother. Mrs. Dallas's contentment this morning was +absolute and unqualified. There could be no doubt what Betty Frere +would think, she said to herself. Every quality that ought to grace a +young man, she thought she saw embodied before her. The broad brow, and +the straight eyebrow, and the firm lips, expressed what was congenial +to Mrs. Dallas's soul; a mingling of intelligence and will, well +defined, clear and strong; but also sweet. There was thoughtfulness but +no shadow in the fine hazel eyes; no cloud on the brow; and the smile +when it came was frank and affectionate. His manner pleased Mrs. Dallas +infinitely; it had all the finish of the best breeding, and she was +able to recognise this. + +'What are you going to be, Pitt?' his father broke in upon some +laughing 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 know +I intend you to study for a profession. Which profession would you +choose?' + +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,' Pitt +went on in the same manner, which immediately fastened his mother's +attention. + +'Perhaps you will go on and explain yourself,' said his father. 'It is +good 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 his +own thoughts to regard his father's manner. 'At least the conclusion +cannot be secret.' + +'It might do no harm to discuss the subject,' said his father, still +lightly. + +'I cannot see how it would do any good. It is my own affair. And I +thought 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 mother +said 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 have +been 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 was +the 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 two +parties. Before going any farther, I had a mind to determine to which +of them I would belong. How can a navigator lay his course, unless he +knows his goal?' + +'But, my boy,' said his mother, now anxiously and perplexedly, 'what do +you 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 out +of sight; Mrs. Dallas, obeying the same instinctive impulse, kept hers +hidden behind the screen of her coffee-urn, for she would not her son +should see in it the effect of his words. Her answer, however, was +instantaneous: + +'But, my dear, you _are_ a Christian.' + +'Am I? Since when, mother?' + +'Pitt, you were baptized in infancy,--you were baptized by that good +and excellent Bishop Downing, as good a man, and as holy, as ever was +consecrated, here or anywhere. He baptized you before you were two +months 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 an +inheritor 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 what +sense is it true?' + +'My dear!--in every sense. How can you ask? It is part of the +Prayer-Book.' + +'It is not part of my experience. Up to this time, my life and +conscience know nothing about it. Mother, the Bible gives certain marks +of the people whom it calls "disciples" and "Christians." I do not find +them 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 look +with one of intense worry and perplexity. 'What do you mean?' she said +helplessly; 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 explain +yourself.' + +'I owe it to you to answer,' the young man said thoughtfully; 'it is +better, perhaps, you should know where I am, that you may at least be +patient with me if I do not respond quite as you would wish to your +expectations. Mother, I have been studying this matter a great while; +but as to the preliminary question, whether I am already what the Bible +describes Christians to be, I have been under no delusion at all. The +marks are plain enough, and they are not in me.' + +'What marks?' + +'It is a personal matter,' Pitt went on a little unwillingly; 'it must +be fought through somehow in my own mind; but some things are plain +enough. Mother, the servants of Christ "follow" Him; it is the test of +their service; I never did, nor ever thought or cared what the words +meant. The children of God are known by the fact that they love Him and +keep his commandments. So the Bible says. I have not loved Him, and +have not asked about His commandments. I have always sought my own +pleasure. The heirs of the kingdom of heaven have chosen that world +instead of this; and between the two is just the choice I have yet to +make. That is precisely where I am.' + +'But, my dear Pitt,' said Mrs. Dallas, while her husband kept an +ominous silence, 'you have always led a most blameless life. I think +you judge yourself too hardly. You have been a good son, always!' and +her eyes filled, partly with affection and partly with chagrin. To what +was 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 to +nothing. I did not know what I was doing. I did not think of the +meaning the words might bear. It was to me a mere form, done because +you wished it, and because it was said to be proper; the right thing to +do; I attached no weight to it, and lived just the same after as +before. Except that for a few days I went under a little feeling of +constraint, I remember, and also carried my head higher with a sense of +added 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 of +interpretation. For instance'-- + +'Let that be,' said Mr. Dallas; 'and tell us, if you can, what is your +idea 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 not +signify 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 been +found so in practice. I see it to be impracticable.' + +'_I_ do not. Where's the impracticability?' Mr. Dallas had wheeled +round now and was regarding his son attentively, with a face of +superior, cold, rather scornful calm. Mr. Dallas's face was rarely +anything else but calm, whatever might be going on beneath the calm. +Pitt's face was not exactly so quiet; thought was working in it, and +lights and shades sometimes passed over it, which his father carefully +studied. 'Where's the impossibility?' he repeated, as Pitt's answer +tarried. + +'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 be +checked or embarrassed by coming against that barrier to enthusiasm, a +cold, hard intellect. Pitt, however, was quite as devoid of enthusiasm +at the moment as his father, and far more sure of his ground, while his +intellect was full as much astir. His steadiness was not shaken, rather +gained force, as he went on to speak, though he did not now lift his +eyes, but sat looking down at the white damask which covered the +breakfast table, having pushed his plate and cup away from him. + +'Father and mother,' he said, 'I have been looking at two opposite +goals. 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 know +what I have to do. I suppose it is what you want me to do. I should +distinguish myself, if I can; climb the heights of greatness; make +myself a name, and a place, and then live there, as much above the rest +of 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 a +career bounded by this world, and ended when one quits it. You ask why +it 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 do +not live for my own pleasure; I apply all I have, of talents or means +or influence, to doing the will of a Master whose kingdom is not of +this world, and whose ways are not liked by the world. I see very +plainly what His commands are, and they bid one be unlike the world and +separate 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 is +extravagance.' + +Pitt rose, went to the table, where a large family Bible and Book of +Common Prayer lay, and fetched the Bible to the breakfast-table. During +which procedure Mr. Dallas shoved his chair round again, to gain his +former position, and Mrs. Dallas passed her hand over her eyes once or +twice, with her a gesture of extreme disturbance. Pitt brought his +book, opened it on the table before him, and after a little turning of +the leaves stopped and read the following: + +'"If ye were of the world, the world would love his own; but because ye +are not of the world, but I have chosen you out of the world, therefore +the world hateth you."' + +'Yes, _at that time_,' said Mrs. Dallas eagerly,--'at that time. Then +the 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 men +more than the praise of God. They chose this world. But the apostle +James,--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 asked +reprovingly. + +'I should say,' Mr. Dallas remarked with an amused, indifferent +tone,--'I should say that Pitt had been attending a conventicle; only +at Oxford that is hardly possible.' + +The young man made no answer to either speaker; he remained with his +head 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 at +her. 'I thought it right to tell you all this, that you may know just +where I stand. Of course I have thought of the question of a +profession; but this other comes first, and I feel it ought first to be +decided.' + +With which utterance the young man rose, put the big Bible in its +place, 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 not +much in Pitt's way; but, however, it seems his turn has come. There are +worse types of the disorder. I would rather have this Puritan scruple +to deal with than some other things. The religious craze passes off +easier 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 to +anything he once resolved upon.' + +'He is not resolved upon this yet. Distraction is the best thing, not +talk. Where's Betty Frere? I thought she was coming.' + +'She is coming. She will be here in a few days. I cannot imagine what +has set Pitt upon this strange way of thinking. He has got hold of some +Methodist or some other dreadful person; but where? It couldn't be at +Oxford; and I am certain it was never in Uncle Strahan's house; where +could 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 of +many a pleasant hour, and where those aforetime lessons to Esther +Gainsborough had been given. He stood and looked about him. All was +severe order and emptiness, telling that the master had been away; his +treasures were safe packed up, under lock and key, or stowed away upon +cupboard shelves; there was no pleasant litter on tables and floor, +alluring to work or play. Was that old life, of work and play which +mixed and mingled, light-hearted and sweet, gone for ever? Pitt stood +in the middle of the floor looking about him, gathering up many a +broken thread of association; and then, obeying an impulse which had +been 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 summer +sun beating down on the wide space and making every big tree shadow +grateful. Great overarching elms, sometimes an oak or a maple, ranged +along in straight course and near neighbourhood, making the village +look green and bowery, and giving the impression of an easy-going +thrift and habit of pleasant conditions, which perhaps was not untrue +to the character of the people. The capital order in which everything +was kept confirmed the impression. Pitt, however, was not thinking of +this, though he noticed it; the village was familiar to him from his +childhood, and looked just as it had always done, only that the elms +and maples had grown a little more bowery with every year. He walked +along, not thinking of that, nor seeing the roses and syringa blossoms +which gave him a sweet breath out of some of the gardens. He was not in +a hurry. He was going back in mind to that which furnished the real +answer to his mother's wondering query,--whence Pitt could have got his +new ideas? It was nobody at Oxford or in London, neither conventicle +nor discourse; but a girl's letter. He went on and on, thinking of it +and of the writer. What would _she_ say to his disclosures, which his +father and mother could do nothing with? Would she be in condition to +give 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 present +thoughts, and her house the point his footsteps were seeking, slowly +and thoughtfully. + +He was not in a hurry. Indeed, he was too absorbedly busy with his own +cogitations and questions to give full place to the thought of Esther +and the visit he was about to make. Besides, it was not as in the old +time. He had no image before him now of a forlorn, lonely child, +awaiting his coming as the flowers look for the sun. Things were rather +turned about; he thought of Esther as the one in the sunlight, and +himself as in need of illumination. He thought of her as needing no +comfort that he could give; he half hoped to find the way to peace +through her leading. But yes, she would be glad to see him; she would +not have forgotten him nor lost her old affection for her old +playfellow, though the entire cessation of letters from either her or +her father had certainly been inexplicable. Probably it might be +explained by some crankiness of the colonel. Esther would certainly be +glad 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 so +different from what he remembered. Truly it had been always a quiet +house, with never a rush of company or a crowd of voices; but there had +been life; and now?--Pitt stood still at the little gate and looked, +with a sudden blank of disappointment. There could be nobody there. The +house was shut up and dead. Not a window was open; not a door. In the +little front garden the flowers had grown up wild and were struggling +with weeds; the grass of the lawn at the side was rank and unmown; the +honeysuckle vines in places were hanging loose and uncared-for, waving +in the wind in a way that said eloquently, 'Nobody is here.' There was +not much wind that summer day, just enough to move the honeysuckle +sprays. Pitt stood and looked and queried; then yielding to some +unconscious impulse, he went in through the neglected flowers to the +deserted verandah, and spent a quarter of an hour in twining and +securing the loose vines. He was thinking hard all the time. This was +the place where he remembered sitting with Esther that day when she +asked help of him about getting comfort. He remembered it well; he +recalled the girl's subdued manner, and the sorrowful craving in the +large beautiful eyes. _Now_ Esther had found what she sought, and +to-day he was nearly as unable to understand her as he had been to help +her then. He fastened up the honeysuckles, and then he went and sat +down on the step of the verandah and took Esther's letter out of his +breast pocket, and read it over. He had read it many times. He did not +comprehend it; but this he comprehended--that to her at least there was +something in religion more heartfelt than a form, and more satisfying +than a profession. To her it was a reality. The letter had set him +thinking, and he had been thinking ever since. He had come here this +morning, hoping that in talking with her she might perhaps give him +some more light, and now she had disappeared. Strange that his mother +should not have told him! What could be the explanation of this sudden +disappearance? Disaster or death it could not be, for that she +certainly would have told him. + +Sitting there and musing over many things, his own great question ever +and again, he heard a mower whetting his scythe somewhere in the +neighbourhood. Pitt set about searching for the unseen labourer, and +presently saw the man, who was cutting the grass in an adjoining field. +Dismissing thought for action, in two minutes he had sprung over the +fence and was beside the man; but the mower did not intermit the long +sweeps of his scythe, until he heard Pitt's civil 'Good morning.' Then +he stopped, straightened himself up, and looked at his visitor--looked +him 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, I +think the honest worker would have offered his hand; but the white +linen summer suit, the polished boots, the delicate gloves, were too +much of a contrast with his own dusty and rough exterior. It was no +feeling of inferiority, be it well understood, that moved him to this +bit of self-denial; only a self-respecting feeling of fitness. He +himself would not have wanted to touch a dusty hand with those gloves +on 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 the +man, wiping his scythe blade with a wisp of grass; needlessly, for he +had just whetted it; but it gave him an opportunity to look at the +figure beside him. + +'More than I deserve,' said Pitt. 'But I seem not to find some of my +old 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. The +squoire, 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,' said +the 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 nobody +that wants it. The folks in Seaforth all hez their own houses, and +don't want nobody else's. There _is_ folks, they say, as 'd like to +live in two houses to once, _ef_ they could manage it; but I never +heerd 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 never +heerd 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's +different opinions, I suppose, on that p'int. As on every other! Folks +du say, the cunnel warn't never to hum in Seaforth. Anyway, he ain't +now.' + +With which utterance he went to mowing again, and Pitt, after a +courteous 'Good day,' left him. + +Where could they be gone? And why should they have gone? And how was it +that 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 he +would not find? And his father had bought the ground! There was +something here to be inquired into. Meanwhile, for the present, he must +do his thinking without Esther. + +He walked on and on, slowly, under the shade of the great trees, along +the empty, grassy street. He had plucked one or two shoots from the +honeysuckles, long shoots full of sweetness; and as he went on and +thought, 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 and +sweetness and truth. Not _her_ sweetness and truth, but that which she +testified to, and which an inner voice in Pitt's heart kept declaring +to be genuine. That lured him and beckoned him one way; and the other +way sounded voices as if of a thousand sirens. Pleasure, pride, +distinction, dominion, applause, achievement, power, and ease. Various +forms of them, various colours, started up before his mind's eye; +vaguely discerned, as to individual form, but every one of them, like +the picadors in a bull-fight, shaking its little banner of distraction +and allurement. Pitt felt the confusion of them, and at the same time +was more than vaguely conscious on the other side of a certain steady +white light which attracted towards another goal. He walked on in +meditative musing, slowly and carelessly, not knowing where he was +going nor what he passed on the way; till he had walked far. And then +he suddenly stopped, turned, and set out to go back the road he had +come, but now with a quick, measured, steady footfall which gave no +indication of a vacillating mind or a laboured question. + +He went into the breakfast-room when he got home, which was also the +common sitting-room and where he found, as he expected, his mother +alone. 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 he +now went forward to stick them in the huge jar which occupied the +fireplace, and which was full of green branches. Turning when he had +done this, he did not draw up a chair, but threw himself down upon the +rug at his mother's feet, so that he could lay back his head upon her +knees. Presently he put up his two hands behind him and found her +hands, which he gently drew down and laid on each side of his head, +holding them there in caressing fashion. Caresses were never the order +of the day in this family; rarely exchanged even between mother and +son, who yet were devoted faithfully to each other. The action moved +Mrs. 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 thick +brown wavy locks of hair that were such a pride to her. She admired him +unqualifiedly, with that blissful delight in him which a good mother +gives to her son, if his bodily and mental properties will anyway allow +of it. Mrs. Dallas's pride in this son had always been satisfied and +unalloyed; all the more now was the chagrin she felt at the first jar +to this satisfaction. Her face showed both feelings, the pride and the +trouble, but for a time she kept silence. She was burning to discuss +further with him the subject of the morning; devoured with restless +curiosity as to how it could ever have got such a lodgment in Pitt's +mind; at the same time she did not know how to touch it, and was afraid +of touching it wrong. Her husband's counsel, _not to talk_, she did not +indeed forget; but Mrs. Dallas had her own views of things, and did not +always 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 own +thoughts. + +'I have invited somebody to come and make your holiday pass +pleasantly,' Mrs. Dallas said at last, beginning far away from the +burden of her thoughts. + +'Somebody?--whom?' asked Pitt a little eagerly, but without changing +his attitude. + +'Miss Betty Frere.' + +'Who is she, that she should put her hand on my holiday? I do not want +any 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 in +Washington this year. She is a sort of cousin of your father's, too; +distant, but enough to make a connection. You will see for yourself +what 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 time +pass pleasantly for you.' + +'Which means, that I must help you make the time pass pleasantly for +her.' + +'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 have +made 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 a +woman had married me for money, or if I knew I had married _her_ for +money, there would be no peace in my house.' + +Mrs. Dallas laughed a little. 'You will have no need to do the latter +thing,' 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 head +round to look up into her face. 'Go on, mother.' + +'I am sure your father would never object to a girl because she was +poor, 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. I +should 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 danger +yet.' + +'I thought this morning,' said his mother, hesitating,--'I was afraid, +from what you said, that some Methodist, or some other Dissenter, might +have got hold of you.' + +Pitt was silent. The word struck him, and jarred a little. Was his +mother not grazing the truth? And a vague notion rose in his mind, +without actually taking shape, which just now he had not time to attend +to, but which cast a shadow, like a young cloud. He was silent, and his +mother after a little pause went on. + +'Methodists and Dissenters are not much in Mr. Strahan's way, I am +sure; 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 what +they mean, and how you came by them?' + +He did not immediately answer. + +'I have been thinking on this subject a good while,' he said +slowly,--'a good while. You know, Mr. Strahan is a great antiquary, and +very full of knowledge about London. He has taken pleasure in going +about with me, and instructing me, and he is capital company; but at +last I learned enough to go by myself sometimes, without him; and I +used to ramble about through the places where he had taken me, to +review and examine and ponder things at my leisure. I grew very fond of +London. It is like an immense illustrated book of history. + +'One day I was wandering in one of the busy parts of the city, and +turned aside out of the roar and the bustle into a little chapel, lying +close to the roar but separate from it. I had been there before, and +knew there were some fine marbles in the place; one especially, that I +wanted to see again. I was alone that day, and could take my time; and +I went in. It is the tomb of some old dignitary who lived several +centuries ago. I do not know what he was in life; but in death, as this +effigy represents him, it is something beautiful to look upon. I forget +at this minute the name of the sculptor; his work I shall never forget. +It is wonderfully fine. The gravity, and the sweetness, and the +ineffable repose of the figure, are beyond praise. I stood looking, +studying, thinking, I cannot tell for how long--or rather feeling than +thinking, at the moment. When I left the chapel and came out again into +the 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 that +infinite repose I carried with me, and the rush of human life filled +the streets I had just come through behind me, and I looked at the +contrast of things. There, for ages already, that quiet; here, for a +day or two, this driving and struggling. Even suppose it be successful +struggling, 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 held +in 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 this +conversation. She looked down on the figure before her,--Pitt was still +sitting 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 which +indicated also the life and vigour of the spirit moving it. He was the +very man to fight the battle of life with distinguished success--she +had looked forward to his doing it, counted upon it, built her pride +upon it; what did he mean now? Was all that power and energy and +ability to be thrown away? Would he decline to fill the place in the +world which she had hoped to see him fill, and which he could so well +fill? Young people do have foolish fancies, and they pass over; but a +fancy of this sort, just at Pitt's age, might be fatal. She was glad it +was _herself_ and not his father who was his confidant, for Pitt, she +well knew, was one neither to be bullied nor cajoled. But what should +she say to him? + +'My dear, I think it is duty,' she ventured at last. 'Everybody must be +put 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, calm +tones of a person long familiar with the thoughts to which he gave +utterance; indeed, alarmingly suggestive that he had made up his mind +about them. + +'Pitt, why do you not speak to a clergyman? He could set you right +better than I can.' + +'I have, mamma.' + +'To what clergyman?' + +'To Dr. Calcott of Oxford, and to Dr. Plympton, the rector of the +church to which Uncle Strahan goes.' + +'What did they say?' + +'Dr. Calcott said I had been studying too hard, and wanted a little +distraction; he thought I was morbid, and warned me against possible +listening to Methodists. Said I was a good fellow, only it was a +mistake 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 apprehend +both.' + +'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.--whom +did 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 did +not laugh. + +'I quoted some words to him out of the Bible, and he said he did not +know what they meant.' + +'I should think he ought to know.' + +'So I thought. But he said it was for the Church to decide what they +meant.' + +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 to +enable him to look in her face. + +'Mother,' said he, 'what do you think those words mean in one of the +psalms,--"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 the +wording 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 in +the 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 things +which 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. David +was "exceeding glad"--and what made him glad? that I want to know.' + +Pitt's thoughts were busy with the innocent letter he had once +received, in which a young and unlearned girl had given precisely the +same testimony as the inspired royal singer. Precisely the same. And +surely what Esther had found, another could find, and he might find. +But while he was musing, Mrs. Dallas grew more and more uneasy. She +knew better than to try the force of persuasion upon her son. It would +not avail; and Mrs. Dallas was a proud woman, too proud to ask what +would not be granted, or to resist forcefully what she might not resist +successfully. She never withstood her husband's plans, or asked him to +change them, except in cases when she knew her opposition could be made +effective; so it did not at all follow that she was pleased where she +made 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 of +power she was tempted to be a little vexed. + +'My dear,' she said, 'what you say sounds to me very like Methodist +talk! 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 all +the world like them.' + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +_DISAPPOINTMENT_. + + +It was not till the little family were seated at the dinner-table, that +Pitt alluded to the object of his morning ramble. + +'I went to see Colonel Gainsborough this morning,' he began; 'and to my +astonishment 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 sensible +desire.' + +'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 the +matter was of any great interest to you.' + +Mrs. Dallas had said just a word too much. Her last sentence set Pitt +to 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 whereabouts +they are would be rather a help, you see.' + +'You have not got to look them up!' said his father gruffly. 'What +business is it of yours? If they were here, it would be all very well +for you to pay your respects to the colonel; it would be due; but as it +is, 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 friendship +like that of a man's father and mother. Do you know what a piece of +time it would take for you to go to New York to look up a man who lives +you do not know where?--what a piece of your vacation?' + +'More than I like to think of,' said Pitt; 'but it will have to be +done.' + +'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 was +angry and hurt, as near tears as she often came; but Mrs. Dallas was +not 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 father +inquired, 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, you +say.' + +'I should have heard, if anything had happened to him.' + +'That is not certain, either,' said Pitt, thinking that Esther's +applying to his father and mother in case of distress was more than +doubtful. + +'How can you look after the daughter in the event of her father's +death? _You_ are not the person to do it,' said his mother. + +'I am the person who have promised to do it,' said Pitt quietly. 'Never +mind, mother; you see I must go, and the sooner the better. I will take +the stage to-morrow morning.' + +'You might wait and try first what a letter might do,' suggested his +father. + +'Yes, sir; but you remember Colonel Gainsborough had very little to do +with the post office. He never received letters, and he had ceased +taking the London _Times_. My letter might lie weeks unclaimed. I must +go myself.' + +And he went, and stayed a week away. It was a busy week; at least the +days in the city were busily filled. Pitt inquired at the post office; +but, as he more than half expected, nobody knew anything of Colonel +Gainsborough's address. One official had an impression he had heard the +name; that was all. Pitt beleaguered the post office, that is, he sat +down before it, figuratively, for really he sat down in it, and let +nobody go out or come in without his knowledge. It availed nothing. +Either Christopher did not at all make his appearance at the post +office during those days, or he came at some moment when Pitt was gone +to 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 saw +and heard nothing which led to the object of his quest. He made +inquiries elsewhere, wherever he could think it might be useful; but +the end was, he heard nothing. He stayed three days; he could stay no +longer, for his holiday was very exactly and narrowly measured out, and +he 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 Frere +was hindered by some domestic event from keeping her promise to Mrs. +Dallas. She did not come. Pitt was glad of it; and, seeing they were +now free from the danger of Esther, his father and mother were glad of +it too. The days were untroubled by either fear or anxiety, while their +son made the sunshine of the house for them; and when he went away he +left 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 the +Hudson was somewhat different. Esther had her vacation too, which gave +her opportunity to finish everything in the arrangements at home for +which time had hitherto been lacking. The girl went softly round the +house, putting a touch of grace and prettiness upon every room. It +excited Mrs. Barker's honest admiration. Here it was a curtain; there +it was a set of toilet furniture; in another place a fresh chintz +cover; in a fourth, a rug that matched the carpet and hid an ugly darn +in 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 even +ask for Mrs. Barker's time, and they were little things, but the effect +of them was not so. They gave the house that finished, comfortable, +home-like air, which nothing does give but the graceful touch of a +woman's fingers. Mrs. Barker admired; the colonel did not see what was +done; but Esther did not work for admiration. She was satisfying the +demand of her own nature, which in all things she had to do with called +for finish, fitness, and grace; her fingers were charmed fingers, +because the soul that governed them had itself such a charm, and worked +by its own standard, as a honey bee makes her cell. Indeed, the simile +of the honey bee would fit in more points than one; for the cell of the +little winged worker is not fuller of sweetness than the girl made all +her own particular domicile. If the whole truth must be told, however, +there was another thought stirring in her, as she hung her curtains and +laid her rugs; a half recognised thought, which gave a zest to every +additional touch of comfort or prettiness which she bestowed on the +house. She thought Pitt would be there, and she wanted the impression +made upon him to be the pleasantest possible. He would surely be there; +he was coming home; he would never let the vacation go by without +trying to find his old friends. It was a constant spring of pleasure to +Esther, that secret hope. She said nothing about it; her father, she +knew, did not care so much for Pitt Dallas as she did; but privately +she counted the days and measured the time, and went into countless +calculations for which she possessed no sufficient data. She knew that, +yet she could not help calculating. The whole summer was sweetened and +enlivened by these calculations, although indeed they were a little +like some of those sweets which bite the tongue. + +But the summer went by, as we know, and nothing was seen of the +expected visitor. September came, and Esther almost counted the hours, +waking up in the morning with a beat of the heart, thinking, to-day he +may come! and lying down at night with a despairing sense that the time +was slipping away, and her only consolation that there was some yet +left. She said nothing about it; she watched the days of the vacation +all out, and went to school again towards the end of the month with a +heart very disappointed, and troubled besides by that feeling of +unknown and therefore unreachable hindrances, which is so tormenting. +Something the matter, and you do not know what and therefore you cannot +act to mend matters. Esther was sadly disappointed. Three years now, +and she had grown and he had changed,--must have changed,--and if the +old friendship were at all to be preserved, the friends ought to see +each other before the gap grew too wide, and before too many things +rushed in to fill it which might work separation and not union. +Esther's feelings were of the most innocent and childlike, but very +warm. Pitt had been very good to her; he had been like an elder +brother, and in that light she remembered him and wished for him. The +fact that she was a child no longer did not change all this. Esther had +lived alone with her father, and kept her simplicity. + +Going to school might have damaged the simplicity, but somehow it did +not. Several reasons prevented. For one thing, she made no intimate +friends. She was kind to everybody, nobody was taken into her +confidence. Her nature was apart from theirs; one of those rare and few +whose fate it is for the most part to stand alone in the world; too +fine for the coarseness, too delicate for the rudeness, too noble for +the pettiness of those around them, even though they be not more coarse +or rude or small-minded than the generality of mankind. Sympathy is +broken, and full communion impossible. It is the penalty of eminence to +put its possessor apart. I have seen a lily stand so in a bed of other +flowers; a perfect specimen; in form and colouring and grace of +carriage distinguished by a faultless beauty; carrying its elegant head +a little bent, modest, but yet lofty above all the rest of the flower +bed. Not with the loftiness of inches, however, for it was of lower +stature than many around it; the elevation of which I speak was moral +and spiritual. And so it was alone. The rest of the flowers were more +or less fellows; this one in its apart elegance owned no social +communion with them. Esther was a little like that among her school +friends; and though invariably gracious and pleasant in her manners, +she was instinctively felt to be different from the rest. Only Esther +was a white lily; the one I tried to describe, or did not try to +describe, was a red one. + +Besides this element of separateness, Esther was very much absorbed in +her work. Not seeking, like most of the others, to pass a good +examination, but studying in the love of learning, and with a far-off +ideal of attainment in her mind with which she hoped one day to meet +Pitt, and satisfy if not equal him. I think she hardly knew this motive +at work; however, it _was_ at work, and a powerful motive too. + +And lastly, Esther was a 'favourite.' No help for it; she was certainly +a favourite, the girls pronounced, and some of them had the candour to +add that they did not see how she could help it, or how Miss Fairbairn +could 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 Fairbairn +herself.' + +'Ah! There you've got it. That's just it. She is one of Miss +Fairbairn's kind. But everybody can't be like that!' cried the +objector. 'I, for instance. I don't care so much for the Bible, you +see; 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! and +I don't think it's fair. It isn't what _I_ came here for, I know. My +father didn't think he was sending me to a Sunday school.' + +'Miss Fairbairn takes care you should learn something else besides +Bible, Belle Linders, to do her justice.' + +'Well, she's like all the rest, she has favourites, and Esther +Gainsborough is one of 'em, and there ought to be no favourites. I tell +you, she puts me out, that's what she does. If I am sent out of the +room on an errand, I am sure to hit my foot against something, just +because _she_ never stumbles; and the door falls out of my hand and +makes a noise, just because I am thinking how it behaves for her. She +just 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. There +ought to be no such thing as favourites!' + +There was some laughter at this harangue, but no contradiction of its +statements. Perhaps Esther was more highly gifted than any of her +fellows; beyond question she worked harder. She had motives that +wrought upon none of them; the idea of equalling or at least of +satisfying Pitt, and the feeling that her father was sacrificing a +great deal for her sake, and that she must do her very utmost by way of +honouring and rewarding his kindness. Besides still another and loftier +feeling, that she was the Lord's servant, and that less than the very +best she could do was not service good enough for him. + +'Papa,' she said one evening in October, 'don't you think Pitt must +have 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 should +come to see us.' + +'Oh, papa!' cried Esther, dismayed. + +'My dear, you have put too much water in my tea; I wish you would think +what you are about.' + +Now Esther _had_ thought what she was about, and the tea was as nearly +as possible just as usual. + +'Shall I mend it, papa?' + +'You cannot mend it. Tea must be made right at first, if it is ever to +be 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 cared +nothing about the matter, whether he came or no. He did not think of +it. And Esther had been thinking of it every day for months, and many +times a day. She was hurt, and it made her feel alone. Esther had that +feeling rather often, for a girl of her age and sound health in every +respect, bodily and mental. The feeling was quite in accordance with +the facts of the case; only many girls at seventeen would not have +found it out. She was in school and in the midst of numbers for five +and a half days in the week; yet even there, as has been explained, she +was in a degree solitary; and both in school and at home Esther knew +the fact. At home the loneliness was intensified. Colonel Gainsborough +was always busy with his books; even at meal times he hardly came out +of them; and never, either at Seaforth or here, had he made himself the +companion of his daughter. He desired to know how she stood in her +school, and kept himself informed of what she was doing; what she might +be _feeling_ he never inquired. It was all right, he thought; +everything was going right, except that he was such an invalid and so +left to himself. If asked by _whom_ he was left to himself, he would +have said, by his family and his country and the world generally. His +family and his country might probably have charged that the neglect was +mutual, and the world at large could hardly be blamed for not taking up +the old soldier whom it did not know, and making much of him. The care +which was failing from all three he got from his daughter in full +measure, but she got little from him. It was not strange that her +thoughts went fondly to Pitt, who _had_ taken care of her and helped +her and been good to her. Was it all over? and no more such kindly +ministry and delightful sympathy to be ever hoped for any more? Had +Pitt forgotten her? It gave Esther pain, that nobody guessed, to be +obliged to moot this question; and it busied her a good deal. Sometimes +her thoughts went longingly back beyond Pitt Dallas to another face +that had always been loving to her; soft eyes and a tender hand that +were ever sure to bring sympathy and help. She could not much bear to +think 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 to +her! and such a delightful teacher and helper and confidant. She +thought it strange that her father did not miss him; but after the one +great 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 home +from school was laid hold of by Mrs. Barker with a face of grave +calculation. + +'Miss Esther, will ye approve that I send Christopher over to that +market 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', of +course, the morrow's dinner. I thought he might fancy a salad.' + +'Tongue?' said Esther. 'Haven't you a quail, or a sweetbread, or +something 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't +forget.' + +'What's the matter, then? some carelessness of Christopher's. Yes, have +a salad; that will do very well.' + +'Then, mum,' said Barker still more constrainedly, 'could you perhaps +let me have a sixpence? I don't like to send and ask a stranger like +that to wait for what's no more'n twopence at home.' + +'Wait?' repeated Esther. 'Didn't papa give you money for the +housekeeping 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 as +he uses to give me nowadays; but that ain't the old sum, and it ain't +possible to do the same things wi' it.' And Mrs. Barker looked +anxiously and doubtfully at her young mistress. 'I wouldn't like to +tell 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 to +the garden myself and get a head of lettuce,--now, before I take my +things off. I would like to go.' + +Seeing that she spoke truth, Mrs. Barker's scruples gave way. She +furnished the basket, and Esther set forth. There was but a field or +two to cross, intervening between her own ground and the slopes where +the 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 not +rightly get through the haze. It was one of the delicious times of +October weather, which the unlearned are wont to call Indian summer, +but which is not that, and differs from it essentially. The glory of +the Indian summer is wholly ethereal; it belongs to the light and the +air; and is a striking image and eloquent testimony of how far spirit +can overmaster matter. The earth is brown, the trees are bare; the +drapery and the colours of summer are all gone; and then comes the +Indian summer, and makes one forget that the foregoing summer had its +glories at all, so much greater is the glory now. There is no sense of +bareness any longer, and no missing of gay tints, nor of the song of +birds, nor of anything else in which June revelled and August showed +its rich maturity; only the light and the air, filling the world with +such unearthly loveliness that the looker-on holds his breath, and the +splendour of June is forgotten. This October day was not after such a +fashion; it was steeped in colour. Trees near at hand showed yellow and +purple and red; the distant Jersey shore was a strip of warm, sunburnt +tints, merged into one; over the river lay a sunny haze that was, as it +were, threaded with gold; as if the sun had gone to sleep there and was +in a dream; and mosses, and bushes, and lingering asters and +golden-rod, on rocks or at the edges of the fields near at hand, gave +the 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 steps +were few, however, and her pleasure was mingled with an odd questioning +in her mind, what all this about money could mean? A little footpath +worn in the grass led her over the intervening fields to Mrs. +Blumenfeld's garden. Christopher must have worn that path, going and +coming; for the family had been supplied through the summer with milk +from the dairy of the gardener's wife. Mrs. Blumenfeld was out among +her beds of vegetables, Esther saw as she drew near; she climbed over +the fence, and in a few minutes was beside her. + +'Wall, ef you ain't what I call a stranger!' said the woman +good-humouredly. 'I don't see you no more'n the angels, for all you're +so near!' + +'I am going to school, Mrs. Blumenfeld; and that keeps me away from +home 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. Jest +look at them rospberry canes! and I set a man only yesterday to tie 'em +up. 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 does +now.' + +'Wall, you see,' said Mrs. Blumenfeld, 'a garden ain't nothin' ef it +ain't in order. I do despise shiftless ways! Now jes' see them +rospberry 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 I +know, 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 into +Esther'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 fair +face. 'Mebbe. There is folks that don't show what they goes through. I +guess I'm one o' that sort myself.' + +'Are you?' said Esther, smiling. 'Certainly, to look at you, I never +should think your life had been very crooked or very rough. You always +seem bright and peaceful.' + +It was true. Mrs. Blumenfeld had a quiet steady way with her, and both +face and voice partook of the same calm; though energy and activity +were 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 and +there to remove a weed or pull off a decayed leaf, talking and using +her eyes at the same time. Her yellow hair was combed smooth and flat +at both sides of her head and knotted up firmly in a tight little +business knot behind. She wore a faded print dress and a shawl, also +faded, wrapped round her, and tied by the ends at the back; but both +shawl and gown were clean and whole, and gave her a thoroughly +respectable appearance. At Esther's last remark she raised herself up +and 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 of +it, for I've nobody to talk to; but, as I said, human natur' 'd like +to, ef it had a chance. I hain't a soul in the world to speak to; and +sometimes 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 you +they has to fly, those times!--But I believe folks was made to hev +company.' + +'Have you no children?' + +'Five of 'em, over there,' the woman said, pointing away, Esther could +only guess where, as it was not to the house. She was sorry she had +asked, and stood silent. + +'Five of 'em,' Mrs. Blumenfeld repeated slowly. 'I had 'em,--and I +haven't 'em. And now, there is times when the world seems to me that +solitary 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 other +went on more lightly, turning from her own troubles, as it were. + +'No,' said Esther gently; 'not at all. I am very much alone, and always +have been.' + +'Mebbe you like it?' + +'No, I do not like it. I sometimes wish very much for one or two +friends who are not here.' + +There came a sigh from the bosom of the other woman, unwonted, and +tale-telling, and heavy. + +'My marriage warn't happy,' she said, lower than her usual tone. 'I kin +manage the garden alone; and I'd jes' as lieve. Two minds about a thing +makes 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 to +speak, and yet doubtful just what to say. She fell back upon what +perhaps is the safest of all, her own experience. 'Life _used_ to be +like that to me--at one time,' she went on after a little pause. 'I was +very 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 would +be at, yet fascinated by the sympathy--which she read plainly +enough--and held by the beauty. By something besides beauty, too, which +she saw without being able to fathom it. For in Esther's eyes there was +the intense look of love and the fire of joy, and on her lips the +loveliest lines of tenderness were trembling. Mrs. Blumenfeld gazed at +her, but would almost as soon have addressed an angel, if one had stood +beside her with wings that proclaimed his heavenly descent. + +'I'll tell you how I got comfort,' Esther went on, keeping carefully +away from anything that might seem like preaching. 'I was, as I tell +you, dark and miserable and hopeless. Then I came to know the Lord +Jesus; and it was just as if the sun had risen and filled all my life +with 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 no +one afore that hed the knowledge of 'em, like you seem to hev. I've +heerd parson talk.' + +'This is not parson talk.' + +'I see 'tain't. But what is it then? You see, I'm as stupid as a bumble +bee; I don't understand nothin' without it's druv into me--unless it's +my 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 prayed +and 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 you +know, the Bible calls Him the Sun of righteousness! You only want to +see Him.' + +'See Him!' echoed the woman. 'There's only one sun I kin see; and +that's the one that rises over in the east there and sets where he is +goin' 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 know +Him.' + +'Know Him?' Mrs. Blumenfeld again repeated Esther's words. 'Why, you're +speaking 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 and +make 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; and +you will just grow happier and happier from day to day. And then comes +heaven.' + +Mrs. Blumenfeld still gazed at her. + +'I never heerd no sich talk in all my life!' she said. 'An' that's the +way 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 says +of Himself, and to find out what He tells me to do and to be. For of +course I must do His will, if I want Him to hear my prayers. You see +that.' + +'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 please +anybody that we love.' + +The gardener's wife had become very thoughtful. She went along her +garden bed, stooping here to strip a decayed leaf from a cabbage, and +there to pick up a dry bean that had fallen out of its pod, or to pull +out 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 why +shouldn't we be happy if we can?' + +'But there's those commandments! that's what skeers me. You see, I'm a +kind 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, and +again looking Esther in the face. There was an odd mixture in the +expression of her own, half serious, half keenly comic. + +'It is not the Lord's way,' said Esther gravely. 'Seek Him and obey +Him, and you shall know. But if you cannot trust the Lord's word for so +much, there is no doing anything. Without faith it is impossible to +please 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's +to go in that basket?' + +'I brought it to see if you could let us have a head of lettuce. I see +you have some.' + +'Yes; and crisp, and cool, and nice they be--just right. Wall, I guess +we 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 head +of lettuce, skillfully detached it from the soil, and insinuated it +into 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 send +over--or come! that's better--whenever you'd like a leaf o' salad, or +anythin' 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'm +honest. Wall, good-bye. An' come agin!' she cried after Esther. 'It's +more 'n likely I'll want some more talkin' to.' + +Esther went home slowly and musing. The beauty around her, which she +had but half noticed at first coming out, now filled her with a great +delight. Or, rather, her heart was so full of gladness that it flowed +over upon all surrounding things. Sunny haze, and sweet smells of dry +leaves and moss, and a mass of all rich neutral tints in browns and +purples, just touched here and there for a painter's eye with a spot of +clear colour, a bit of gold, or a flare of flame--it all seemed to work +its way into Esther's heart and make it swell with pleasure. She stood +still to look across the river, which lay smooth like a misty mirror, +and gave only a rich, soft, indeterminate reflection of the other +shore. But the thoughts in Esther's mind were clear and distinct. +Lonely? Had she ever been lonely? What folly! How could any one be +lonely who had the knowledge of Christ and His presence? What +sufficient delight it was to know Him, and to love Him, and to be +always with Him, and always doing His will! If poor Mrs. Blumenfeld +only knew! + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +_WAYS AND MEANS_. + + +Esther walked slowly home, delivered her basket to Barker, and went to +her father. After the usual kiss and inquiry about how the week had +been, he relapsed into his book; and she had to wait for a time to talk +of anything else. Esther sat down with a piece of fancy work, and held +her tongue till tea-time. The house was as still as if nobody lived in +it. The colonel occasionally turned a leaf; now and then a puff of gas +or a sudden jet of flame in the Liverpool coal fire gave a sort of +silent sound, rebuking the humanity that lived there. No noise was +heard from below stairs; the middle-aged and well-trained servants did +their work with the regularity and almost with the smoothness of +machines. It occurred to Esther anew that her life was excessively +quiet; and a thought of Pitt, and how good it would have been to see +him, arose again, as it had risen so many times. And then came the +thoughts of the afternoon. With Christ,--was not that enough? Doing His +will and having it--could she want anything more? Esther smiled to +herself. She wanted nothing more. + +Barker came in with the tea-kettle, and the cold tongue and the salad +made the supper-table look very comfortable. She made the tea, and the +colonel 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 the +salad. + +'Is it good, papa?' Esther asked, in despair at the silence. + +'Yes, my dear, it is good. Vegetable salads are a little cold at this +time of year.' + +'Papa, we were driven to it. Barker had not money enough this week to +get you a partridge. And she says it has happened several times lately +that you have forgotten to give her the usual amount for the week's +housekeeping.' + +'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 the +time?' + +'I knew it at the time.' + +There was another interval, of greater length. Esther felt a little +chill creeping over her. Yet she must come to an understanding with her +father; 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 living +just 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 prices +from 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 that +does not cover the greater outlay here.' + +This was very dismayful, all the more because Colonel Gainsborough did +not come out frankly with the whole truth. Esther was left to guess +it,--to fear it,--to fancy it more than it was, perhaps. She felt that +she could not have things left in this in indeterminate way. + +'Papa, I think it would be good that I should know just what the +difference is; so that I might know how to bring in our expenses within +the necessary limits.' + +'I have not cyphered it out in figures. I cannot tell you precisely how +much my income is smaller than it used to be.' + +'Can you tell me how much we ought to spend in a week, papa?--and then +we will spend no more.' + +'Barker will know when I give it to her.' + +The colonel had finished his tea and toast, which this evening he +certainly 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 reclining +position, and Esther moved the table away from him. She was bewildered. +She forgot to ring for Barker; she sat thinking how to bring the +expenses of the family within narrower limits. Possible things +alternated with impossible in her mind. She mused a good while. + +'Papa,' she said, breaking the silence at last, 'do you think the air +suits 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 suppose +there is too much sea air.' + +'Was not the sea quite as near them at Seaforth, and salt air quite as +much at hand?' Esther thought. However, as she did not put entire faith +in the truth of her father's conclusions, it was no use to question his +premises. + +'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's +schooling--that will be invaluable to me; now with books I can go on by +myself. I can, indeed, papa, and will. You shall not need to be ashamed +of me.' + +'You are talking foolishly, Esther.' + +'I do not mean it foolishly, papa. If we have not the means to live +here, and if the Seaforth air is so much better for you, then there is +nothing to keep us here but my schooling; and that, as I tell you, I +can manage without. And I can manage right well, papa; I have got so +far that I can go on alone now. I am seventeen; I am not a child any +longer.' + +There was a few minutes' silence, but probably that fact, that Esther +was a child no longer, impelled the colonel to show her a little more +consideration. + +'Where would you go?' he asked, a trifle drily. + +'Surely we could find a place, papa. Couldn't you, perhaps, buy back +the old house--the dear old house!--as Mr. Dallas took it to +accommodate you? I guess he would give it up again.' + +'My dear, do not say "guess" in that very provincial fashion! I shall +not ask Mr. Dallas to play at buying and selling in such a way. It +would be trifling with him. I should be ashamed to do it. Besides, I +have no intention of going back to Sea forth till your education is +ended; and by that time--if I live to see that time--I shall have so +little 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 some +other way?' + +'How?' + +Esther pondered. 'Could I not arrange to go in Mrs. Blumenfeld's +waggon, when it goes in Monday morning?' + +'Who is Mrs. Blumenfeld?' + +'Why, papa, she is the woman that has the market garden over here. You +know.' + +'Do I understand you aright?' said the colonel, laying his book down +for the moment and looking over at his daughter. 'Are you proposing to +go into town with the cabbages?' + +'Papa, I do not mind. I would not mind at all, if it would be a relief +to 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, after +all, 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, taking +up his book again. + +'One moment, papa! one word more. Papa, I am so afraid of doing +something I ought not. Can you not give me a hint, what sort of +proportion 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 my +income. You know now as much as I can tell you.' + +The discussion was ended, and left Esther chilled and depressed. The +fact itself could be borne, she thought, if it were looked square in +the face, and met in the right spirit. As it was, she felt involved in +a mesh of uncertainty. The rent,--she knew how much that was,--no such +great 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, Esther +did not see. Better, she thought, make some great change, cut off some +larger 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 kind +of petty and vexing care which revolted her. Far better dispense with +Buonaparte at once, and go into town with the cabbages. It will be seen +that Esther as yet was not possessed of that which we call knowledge of +the world. It did not occur to her that the neighbourhood of the +cabbages would hurt her, though it might hurt her fastidious taste. It +would not hurt _her_, Esther thought; and what did the rest matter? +Anything but this pinching and sparing penny by penny. But if she drove +into town with the cabbages, that would only dispose of Buonaparte; the +other item--the rent--would remain unaccounted for. How should that be +made up? + +Esther pondered, brooded, tired herself with thinking. She could not +talk to Barker about it, and there was no one else. Once more she felt +a little lonely and a good deal helpless, though energies were strong +within her to act, if she had known how to act. She mounted the stairs +to her room with an unusual slow step, and shut her door, but she had +brought 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 the +house to hold. There is a vague counsel-taking with nature, to which +one is impelled at such times; or is it sympathy-seeking? The sweet +October afternoon had passed into as sweet an evening, the hazy +stillness was unchanged, and through the haze the silver rays of a half +moon high in the heavens came with the tenderest touch and the most +gracious softness upon all earthly things. There was a vapourous +glitter on the water of the broad river, a dewy or hazy veil on the +land; the scene could not be imagined more witching fair or more +removed from any sort of discordance. Esther stood looking, and her +heart calmed down. She had been feeling distressed under the question +of ways and means; now it occurred to her, 'Take no thought for the +morrow, what ye shall eat or what ye shall drink; your Father knoweth +that ye have need of all these things.' And as the words came, Esther +shook off the trouble they condemn; shook it off her shoulders, as it +were, and left it lying. Still she felt alone, she wished for Pitt +Dallas, or for _somebody;_ she had no one but her father in all the +world, nor the hope of any one. And happy as she really was, yet the +human instinct would stir in Esther--the instinct that longs for +intercourse, sympathy, affection; somebody to talk to, to counsel with, +to share in her joys and sorrows and experiences generally. It is a +perfectly natural and justifiable desire; stronger, perhaps, in the +young than in the old, for the old know better how much and how little +society amounts to, and are not apt to have such violent longings in +general for anything. But also to the old, loving companionship is +inexpressibly precious; the best thing by far that this world contains +or this life knows. And Esther longed for it now, even till tears rose +and dimmed her sight, and made all the moonshiny landscape swim and +melt and be lost in the watery veil. But then, as the veil cleared and +the moonlight came into view again, came also other words into Esther's +mind,--'Be content with such things as ye have; for He hath said, I +will never leave thee nor forsake thee.' + +She cleared away her tears and smiled to herself, in happy assurance +and wonder that she should have forgotten. And with that, other words +still came to her; words that had never seemed so exceeding sweet +before. + +'None of them that trust in Him shall be desolate.'--That is a sure +promise. 'Fear not, Abraham; _I_ am thy shield, and thine exceeding +great reward.'--Probably, when this word was given, the father of the +faithful was labouring under the very same temptation, to think himself +alone and lonely. And the answer to his fears must be sufficient, or He +who 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 a +rest and comfort of heart indescribable; and finally laid herself down +to 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 a +fixed principle in Esther's mind, resting as well on honour as honesty. +Evidently, when the latter do not cover the former, one of two things +must be done; expenses must be lessened, or income increased. How to +manage the first, Esther had failed to find; and she hated the idea, +besides, of a penny-ha'penny economy. Could their incomings be added +to? By teaching! It flashed into Esther's mind with a disagreeable +illumination. Yes, that she could do, that she must do, if her father +would not go back to Seaforth. There was no other way. He could not +earn money; she must. If they continued to live in or near New York, it +must be on her part as a teacher in a school. The first thought of it +was not pleasant. Esther was tempted to wish they had never left +Seaforth, if the end of it was to be this. But after the first start of +revulsion she gathered herself together. It would put an end to all +their difficulties. It would be honourable work, and good work; and, +after all, _work_ in some sort is what everybody should have; nobody is +put here to be idle. Perhaps this pressure of circumstances was on +purpose to push her into the way that was meant for her; the way in +which 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 for +the first, the thing was, to go as far in her learning as her father +desired her to go. She must finish her own schooling. And if Esther had +studied hard before, she studied harder now; applied herself with all +the power of her will to do her utmost in every line. It was not a +vague thought of satisfying Pitt Dallas that moved her now; but a very +definite purpose to take care of her father, and a ready joy to do the +will of Him whom Esther loved even better than her father. + +The thought of Pitt Dallas, indeed, went into abeyance. Esther had +something 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 the +plan 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 up +an old book and carelessly opened it. Its leaves fell apart at a place +where there lay a dry flower. It was the sprig of red Cheiranthus; not +faded; still with its velvety petals rich tinted, and still giving +forth the faint sweet fragrance which belongs to the flower. It gave +Esther a thrill. It was the remaining fragment of Pitt's Christmas +bouquet, which she had loved and cherished to the last leaf as long as +she could. She remembered all about it. Her father had made her burn +all the rest; this blossom only had escaped, without her knowledge at +the time. The sight of it went to her heart. She stood still by her +chest of drawers with the open book in her hand, gazing at the +wallflower 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 dry +flower struck her heart. Why had her father wanted her to burn the +others? 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 and +sweet, loses altogether its beauty and its savour, what is the good of +still keeping it to look at? Truly the flower had not lost either +beauty or savour; but the memory that belonged to it? what had become +of that? Pitt let himself no more be heard from; why should this little +place-keeper be allowed to remain any longer? Would it not be wiser to +give 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 an +explanation; perhaps Pitt would come next time, when another two years +had rolled away, and tell them all about it. At any rate, she would +wait. + +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 New +York. Mr. Dallas, the elder, had written once or twice, mostly on +business, and said nothing about his son. That was all. Mrs. Dallas +never wrote. Esther would have been yet more bewildered if she had +known that the lady had been in New York two or three times, and not +merely passing through, but staying to do shopping. Happily she had no +suspicion 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; all +the work done, up to the very day. Christopher bestowed an approving +glance around him as he went among the beds; it was all right and +ship-shape. Nobody was visible at the moment; and he passed on round +the house to the rear, from whence he heard a great racket made by the +voices of poultry. And there they were; as soon as he turned the corner +he saw them: a large flock of hens and chickens, geese, ducks and +turkeys, all wobbling and squabbling. In the midst of them stood the +gardener's widow, with her hands in the pockets of a great canvas +apron; or rather, with her hands in and out, for from the pockets, +which were something enormous, she was fetching and distributing +handfulls of oats and corn to her feathered beneficiaries. Christopher +drew near, as near as he could, for the turkeys, and Mrs. Blumenfeld +gave him a nod. + +'Good morning, mum!' + +'Good day to ye.' + +'Them's a fine lot o' turkeys!' Christopher really had a good deal of +education, and even knew some Latin; nevertheless, in common life, the +instincts of his early habits prevailed, and he said 'Them' by +preference. + +'Ain't they!' rejoined Mrs. Blumenfeld. 'They had ought to be, for +they've given me plague enough. Every spring I think it's the last +turkeys I'll raise; and every winter, jes' as regular, I think it 'ud +be well to set more turkey eggs next year than I did this'n. You see, a +good 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 a +while for myself, but la, how long do ye think it takes me to eat up a +turkey? 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 her +grain, and then turned to her visitor, ready for business. Christopher +could not but look at her with great approbation. She was dressed much +as Esther had seen her a few weeks before: a warm shawl wrapped and +tied around the upper part of her person, bareheaded, hair in neat and +tight 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 in +savin' yourself all the trouble you kin, provided you don't lose no +time by it. There is folks, you know, that air soft-headed enough to +think they kin git rid o' trouble by losin' their time. I ain't o' that +sort.' + +'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 contrive +to lose 'em agin. But what was you wantin'?' + +'I came to see if you could let us have our winter's onions? White +onions, 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, I +want to know? You've got a garden.' + +'That is true, mum,' said Christopher; 'but all the onions as was in it +is gone.' + +'Then you didn't plant enough.' + +'And that's true too,' said Christopher; 'but I can't say as I takes +any 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 seeds +accordin' 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 you +hadn't enough?' + +'As I said, mum, I am much obleeged for your good opinion, which I hope +I 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's +understanding appeared to improve. She looked first inquisitive, and +then intelligent. + +'That comes kind o' hard upon me, at the end,' she said with a somewhat +humorous 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. Look +here; 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's +what I want to know.' + +'Do you mean Miss Esther?' + +'Ah! that's it. I never heerd of a Saint Esther. There was an Esther in +the Bible--I'll tell you! she was a Queen Esther; and that fits. Ain't +she 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'd +give 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 to +live up to their privileges; an' you've got a pattern there right afore +your eyes. I hev no opinion of you, ef you ain't all better'n common +folks. 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 got +as good right to be saints as she has, or anybody. I tell you I've made +a 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 Yankee +turns. Like the ships his countrymen build, he could not come about so +quick. It is curious how the qualities of people's minds get into their +shipbuilding and other handicraft. It was not till Mrs. Blumenfeld had +repeated her question that he was able to answer it. + +'I suppose, mum, a half a bushel wouldn't be no more'n enough to go +through 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 send +you 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't +deny--but in that case I am afraid Miss Esther would prefer that I +should get the onions somewheres else.' + +'Jes' you hold your tongue about it, an' I'll send up the sass; and ef +your Queen Esther says anything, you tell her it's all paid for. What +else do you want that's my way?' + +While she spoke, Mrs. Blumenfeld was carefully detaching a root of +celery from the rich loose soil which enveloped it, and shaking the +white stalks free from their encumbrance, Mr. Bounder the while looking +on approvingly, both at the celery, which was beautifully long and +white and delicate, and at the condition of things generally on the +ground, all of which his eye took in; although he was too much of a +magnate in his own line to express the approval he felt. + +'There!' said Mrs. Blumenfeld, eyeing her celery stalks; 'kin you beat +that where you come from?' + +'It's very fair,' said Christopher--'very fair. But England can beat +the world, mum, in gardening and that. I suppose you can't expect it of +a new country like this.' + +'Can't expect what? to beat the world? You jes' wait a bit, till you +see. 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 things +u-nited?' + +'I find myself a match for most things, as it is,' returned the lady +promptly. + +'But you must want help sometimes?' said Christopher, with a sharp and +somewhat 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 a +pretty 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 he +should be allowed to speak for himself. Now if I say that accordin' to +the best o' my knowledge and belief, what I offer you _is_ the right +kind o' help, you won't think it's brag or bluster, I hope?' + +'Why shouldn't I?' said the little woman. But Christopher thought the +tone of the words was not discouraging. 'They does allays practise +fence,' 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't +to say no more.' + +'Wall,' said Mrs. Blumenfeld, by way of conceding so much, 'I'll allow +Colonel Gainsborough has a pretty fair gardener, ef he _hes_ some +furrin notions.' + +'I'll bring them furrin notions to your help, mum,' said Mr. Bounder +eagerly. 'I know my business as well as any man on this side or that +side either. It's no boastin' to say that.' + +'Sounds somethin' like it. But what'll the colonel do without you, or +the colonel's garden? that's what I can't make out. Hev you and he hed +a falling out?' And the speaker raised herself up straight and looked +full at her visitor. + +'There's nothin' like that possible!' said Mr. Bounder solemnly. 'The +colonel ain't agoin' to do without me, my woman. No more can't I do +with out the colonel, I may say. I've lived in the family now this +twenty year; and as long as I can grow spinach they ain't agoin' to eat +no other--without it's yours, mum,' Christopher added, with a change of +tone; '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't +really 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's +eyes; a little sly audacity in those of Christopher, while a smile +played about his lips that was both knowing and conciliating. Mrs. +Blumenfeld eyed him gravely, with the calm air of one who was quite his +match. 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 was +nothin' 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 'em +for 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 of +study; so absorbing that she only now and then and by minutes gave her +attention to anything else. Or perhaps I should say, her thoughts; for +certainly the colonel never lacked his ordinary care, which she gave +him morning and evening, and indeed all day, when she was at home, with +a tender punctuality which proved the utmost attention. But even while +ministering to him, Esther's head was apt to be running on problems of +geometry and ages of history and constructions of language. She was so +utterly engrossed with her work that she gave little heed to anything +else. She did notice that Pitt Dallas still sent them no reminders of +his existence; it sometimes occurred to her that the housekeeping in +the hands of Mrs. Barker was becoming more and more careful; but the +only way she saw to remedy that was the way she was pursuing; and she +went only the harder at her constructions and translations and +demonstrations. The colonel lived _his_ life without any apparent +change. + +And so went weeks and months: winter passed and spring carne; spring +ran its course, and the school year at last was at an end. Esther came +home for the long vacation. And then one day, Mrs. Barker confided to +her reluctantly that the difficulties of her position were increasing. + +'You ask me, why don't I get more strawberries, Miss Esther. My dear, I +can'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.' The +housekeeper 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 make +it 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 sure +you can't do nothin' to help it; but it's just growin' slimmer and +slimmer.' + +'Never mind; I think I know how to mend matters by and by; if we can +only get along for a little further. We must have some things, and my +father likes fruit, you can get strawberries from Mrs. Blumenfeld down +here, can you not?' + +'No, mum,' said the housekeeper, looking embarrassed. 'She won't sell +us nothin', that woman won't.' + +'Will not sell us anything? I thought she was so kind. What is the +matter? Is there not a good understanding between her and us?' + +'There's too good an understanding, mum, and that's the truth. We don't +want 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 the +housekeeper, colouring with displeasure. + +'Why? How? What has he done?' + +'He hain't done nothin' yet, mum, but he's bound he will, do the +foolishest thing a man o' his years can do. An' he wants me to stan' by +and see him! I do lose my patience whiles where I can't find it. As if +Christopher hadn't enough to think of without that! Men is all just +creatures without the power o' thought and foresight.' + +'Thought?--why, that is precisely what is supposed to be their +distinguishing 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 much +bewildered, and most incoherent visions flew past her brain. She waited +dumbly for more. + +'She has, mum,' the housekeeper repeated; 'and Christopher ain't a +babby no more, but he's took--that's what he is. I wish, Miss +Esther--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 man +from bein' wuss'n a fool.' + +'Do you mean'-- + +'Yes 'm, that's what he has done; just that; and I might as well talk +to my spoons. I've knowed it a while, but I was purely ashamed to tell +you about it. I allays gave Christopher the respect belongin' to a man +o' 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 holt +of 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 what +she'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 many +her, 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't +do. I tell him, a man can't walk two ways to once; nor he can't serve +two masters, even if one of 'em is himself, which that yellow-haired +woman won't let come about. No, mum, he's certain sure he'll never +leave the colonel, mum; that ain't his meaning.' + +Esther went silently away, thinking many things. She was more amused +than anything else, with the lightheartedness of youth; yet she +recognised the fact that this change might introduce other changes. At +any rate, it furnished an occasion for discussing several things with +her father. As usual, when she wanted a serious talk with the colonel, +she waited till the time when his attention would be turned from his +book to his cup of tea. + +'Papa,' she began, after the second cup was on its way, 'have you heard +anything lately of Christopher's plans?' + +'Christopher's plans? I did not know he had any plans,' said the +colonel drily. + +'He has, papa,' said Esther, divided between a desire to laugh and a +feeling 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 going +to be married.' + +'He has not asked my consent.' + +'No, sir, but you know--Christopher is of age,' said Esther, unable to +maintain a gravity in any way corresponding to that on her father's +face. + +'Don't talk folly! What do you mean?' + +'He has arranged to marry Mrs. Blumenfeld, the woman who keeps the +market garden over here. He does not mean to leave us, papa; the places +are 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 one +question.' + +'What question, papa? + +'We have done with Christopher. I want no half service. I suppose he +thinks he will make more money; and I am quite willing he should try.' + +Esther could see that her father was much more seriously annoyed than +he chose to show; his tone indicated a very unusual amount of +disturbance. 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 garden +ground 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 to +speak about; was not this a good occasion? But she hesitated long how +to be gin. The colonel was not very deep in his book, she could see; he +was too much annoyed. + +'Papa,' she said slowly after a while, 'are our circumstances any +better than they were?' + +'Circumstances? what do you mean?' + +'Money, papa; have we any more money than we had when we talked about +it last fall?' + +'Where is it to come from?' said the colonel in the same short, dry +fashion. It was the fashion in which he was wont to treat unwelcome +subjects, and always drove Esther away from a theme, unless it were too +pressing to be avoided. + +'Papa, you know I do not know where any of our money comes from, except +the 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 stop +here?' + +'No.' + +'Papa, I want to make a very serious proposition to you. Do not laugh +at me' (the colonel looked like anything but laughing), 'but listen to +me patiently. You know we _cannot_ go on permanently as we have done +this 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 is +my 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 Miss +Fairbairn, but I am almost sure she would be glad of me; one of her +teachers is going away. I could give lessons in Latin and French and +English and drawing, and still have time to study; and I think it would +make up perhaps all the deficiency in our income.' + +The colonel looked at her. 'You have not spoken of this scheme to +anybody 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 a +governess.' + +'But, papa, it would not hurt me to be a governess for a while; it +would do me no sort of hurt; and it would help our finances. There is +another thing I could teach--mathematics.' + +'I have settled that question,' said the colonel, going back to his +book. + +'Papa,' said the girl after a pause, 'may I give lessons enough to pay +for the lessons that are given me?' + +'No.' + +'But, papa, it troubles me very much, the thought that we are living +beyond 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 a +strong impression that matters of this sort, so left, would not meet +very thorough attention. There was an interval here of some length, +during which she was pondering and trying to get up her courage to go +on. + +'Papa,'--she broke the silence doubtfully,--'I do not want to disturb +you, but I must speak a little more. Perhaps you can explain; I want to +understand things better. Papa, do you know Barker has still less money +now to do the marketing with than she had last year?' + +'Well, what do you want explained?' The tone was dry and not +encouraging. + +'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; you +are stinted in strawberries, and she has not money to buy raspberries.' + +'Call Barker.' + +The call was not necessary, for the housekeeper at this moment appeared +to take away the tea-things. + +'Mrs. Barker,' said the colonel, 'you will understand that I do not +wish 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 discussion +of it is apt to recur. Esther kept silence for some time, possessing +herself in patience as well as she could. Nothing more was said about +Christopher 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 in +the _menu_ was mentioned to her,--'I thought maybe the colonel wouldn't +mind 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 much +water, 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 just +rightly know how to procure it. It must be done, however.' + +The housekeeper's face looked doubtful, notwithstanding her words of +assurance, and a vague fear seized her young mistress. + +'Do not get anything you have not money to pay for, at any rate!' she +said impressively. + +'Well, mum, and there it is!' cried the housekeeper. 'There is things +as cannot be dispensed with, in no gentleman's house. I thought maybe +fish needn't be counted among them things, but now it seems it must. I +may as well confess, Miss Esther; that last barrel o' flour ain't been +paid 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 to +that. You might have got a lesser quantity.' + +'No, mum,' replied the housekeeper; 'you have to have the whole barrel +in the end; and if you get it by bits you pay every time for the +privilege. No, mum, that ain't no economy. It's one o' the things which +kills poor people; they has to pay for havin' every quart of onions +measured out to 'em. I'm afeard Christopher hain't had no money for his +hay and his oats that he's got latterly.' + +'Hay and oats!' cried Esther. 'Would he get them without orders and +means?' + +'I s'pose he thinks he has his orders from natur'. The horse can't be +let 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 more +profoundly moved and dismayed. + +'An' what's harder on _my_ stomach than all the rest,' the housekeeper +went 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, and +don't live nowheres, as I tells him. And the milk comes plentiful, and +to be sure the colonel likes his glass of a mornin'; and curds, and +blancmange, and the like, I see he's no objection to; but thinks I to +myself, 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's +beyond 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. Set +her up! to give us milk, and onions, and celery; and she would send +apples, only I dursn't put 'em on the table, being forbidden, and so I +tells Christopher.' + +Esther was penetrated through and through with several feelings while +the housekeeper spoke; touched with the kindness manifested, but +terribly humbled that it should be needed, and that it should be +accepted. This must not go on; but, in the meantime, there was another +thing 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 her +man, and I wish her joy.' + +'I am sure you may,' said Esther, half laughing. 'Christopher will +certainly 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 earth +that 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 expect +o' 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 at +any rate, and to be very good to her; and you know, Barker, you always +like to do what is right.' + +There was a sweet persuasiveness in the tone of the last words, which +at least silenced Mrs. Barker; and Esther went away to think what she +should say to her father. The time had come to speak in earnest, and +she must not let herself be silenced. Getting into debt on one hand, +and receiving charity on the other! Esther's pulses made a bound +whenever she thought of it. She must not put it _so_ to Colonel +Gainsborough. How should she put it? She knelt down and prayed for +wisdom, and then she went to the parlour. It was one Saturday afternoon +in the winter; school business in full course, and Esther's head and +hands very much taken up with her studies. The question of ways and +means had been crowded out of her very memory for weeks past; it came +with so much the sharper incisiveness now. She went in where her father +was reading, poked the fire, brushed up the hearth, finally faced the +business in hand. + +'Papa, are you particularly busy? Might I interrupt you?' + +'You _have_ interrupted me,' said the colonel, letting his hand with +the 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 what +was coming. His fair, graceful, dignified daughter was a constant +source of pride and satisfaction to him, though he gave little account +of 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 that +refined grace of carriage and manner which he valued as belonging to +the highest breeding. There was never anything careless about Esther's +appearance, or hasty about her movements, or anything that was not +sweet as balm in her words and looks. As she stood there now before +him, serious and purposeful, her head, which was set well back on her +shoulders, carried so daintily, and the beautiful eyes intent with +grave meaning amid their softness, Colonel Gainsborough's heart swelled +in his bosom, for the delight he had in her. + +'What is it?' he asked. 'What do you want to say to me? All goes well +at school?' + +'Oh yes, papa, as well as possible. It isn't that. But I am in a great +puzzle about things at home.' + +'Ah! What things?' + +'Papa, we want more money, or we need to make less expenditure. I must +consult 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. I +am very sorry, but I must. I am sure the time has come for us to take +some 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 be +your 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 your +expenses be regulated by your means. In other words, do not get +anything 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 the +subject 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 things +that 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 it +is very greatly more expensive so.' + +The colonel was well enough acquainted with details of the commissary +department to know it also. He was for a moment silenced. + +'And, papa, Buonaparte, too, must eat; and his oats and hay are not +paid for.' It went sharp to Esther's heart to say the words, for she +knew how keenly they would go to her father's heart; but she was +standing in the breach, and must fight her fight. The colonel flew out +in hot displeasure; sometimes, as we all know, the readiest disguise of +pain. + +'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 Christopher +about his own business. He should have come to me.' + +There was a little pause here. The whole discussion was exceedingly +painful to Esther; yet it must be gone through, and it must be brought +to some practical conclusion. While she hesitated, the colonel began +again. + +'Did you not tell me that the fellow had some ridiculous foolery with +the market woman over here?' + +'I did not put it just so, papa, I think,' said Esther, smiling in +spite of her pain. 'Yes, he is married to her.' + +'Married!' cried the colonel. '_Married_, do you say? Has he had the +impudence 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 married +while he was in my service. He did not _ask_ permission.' + +'I suppose he dared not, papa. You know you are rather terrible when +you are displeased. But I think it is a good thing for us that he is +married. Mrs. Blumenfeld is a good woman, and Christopher is disposed +of, whatever we do.' + +'Disposed of!' said the colonel. 'Yes! I have done with him. I want no +more 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 this +makes 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 and +expenses into harmony. Your going without fruit and fish will not do +it, papa; and I do not like that way of saving, besides. I had rather +make one large change--cut off one or two large things--than a +multitude of small ones. It is easier, and pleasanter. Now, so long as +we live in this house we are obliged to keep a horse; and so long as we +have a horse we must have Christopher, or some other man; and so long +as we keep a horse and a man we _must_ make this large outlay, that we +cannot 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 could +walk 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 driving +would not do you any harm.' + +'I have no idea where to begin,' said the colonel, rubbing his head in +uneasy perplexity. + +'I will find out that, papa. I will speak to Miss Fairbairn; she is a +great woman of business. She will tell me.' + +The colonel still rubbed his head thoughtfully. Esther kept her +position, in readiness for some new objection. The next words, however, +surprised her. + +'I have sometimes thought,'--the colonel's fingers were all the while +going through and through his hair; the action indicating, as such +actions do, the mental movement and condition, 'I have sometimes +thought lately that perhaps I was doing you a wrong in keeping you +here.' + +'_Here_, papa?--in New York?' + +'No. In America.' + +'In America! Why, sir?' + +'Your family, my family, are all on the other side. You would have +friends if you were there,--you would have opportunities,--you would +not 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 did +we 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 of +religion.' + +'How, sir?' + +'Our family have been Independents from all time. But my father married +a second wife, belonging to the Church of England. She won him over to +her way of thinking. I was the only child of the first marriage; and +when I came home from India I found a houseful of younger brothers and +sisters, all belonging, of course, to the Establishment, and my father +with them. I was a kind of outlaw. The advancement of the family was +thought to depend very much on the stand I would take, as after my +father's death I would be the head of the family. At least my +stepmother made that a handle for her schemes; and she drove them so +successfully that at last my father declared he would disinherit me if +I 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 any +possible 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 my +stepmother was right. You little know the social disabilities under +which 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 old +associations; and for a moment her thoughts wandered back to them. + +'Yes,' the colonel went on; 'my father bade me follow him; but with +more than equal right I called on him to follow a long line of +ancestors. 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 either +Independent or Church of England, just because his fathers have set him +the example?' + +'You do not think example and inheritance are anything?' said the +colonel. + +'I think they are everything, for the right;--most precious!--but they +cannot decide the right. _That_ a man must do for himself, must he not?' + +'Republican doctrine!' said the colonel bitterly. 'I suppose, after I +am gone, you will become a Church of England woman, just to prove to +yourself and others that you are not influenced by me!' + +'Papa,' said Esther, half laughing, 'I do not think that is at all +likely; and I am sure you do not. And so that was the reason you came +away?' + +'I could not stay there,' said the colonel, 'and see my young brother +in my place, and his mother ruling where your mother should by right +have ruled. They did not love me either,--why should they?--and I felt +more a stranger there than anywhere else. So I took the little property +that came to me from my mother, to which my father in his will had made +a 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 between +our 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 seventeen +years now; isn't it?' + +'Something like so much.' + +'Oh, papa, do write to them! do write to them, and make it up. Do not +let the quarrel last any longer.' + +'Write to them and make it up?' said the colonel, rubbing his head +again. 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 out +of 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, who +could 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 to +make it up.' + +The colonel sat silent, rubbing the hair of his head in every possible +direction, while Esther's fancy for a while busied itself with images +of an unknown crowd of relations that seemed to flit before her. How +strange it would be to have aunts and cousins; young and old family +friends, such as other girls had; instead of being so entirely set +apart by herself, as it were. It was fascinating, the mere idea. Not +that Esther felt her loneliness now; she was busy and healthy and +happy; 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, of +one'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 house +in the city, and giving up Buonaparte and his oats? Don't you think it +would be comfortable?' + +The colonel considered the subject now in a quieter mood, discussed it +a little further, and finally agreed to drive into town and see what he +could find in the way of a house. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +_A HOUSE_. + + +Yet the colonel did not go. Days passed, and he did not go. Esther +ventured some gentle reminders, which had no effect. And the winter was +gone and the spring was come, before he made the first expedition to +the city in search of a house. Once started on his quest, it is true +the 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 much +higher than rents in the country as fully to neutralize the advantage +hoped for in a smaller household and the dismissal of the horse. Not a +dwelling could be found where this would not be true. The search was +finally given up; and things in the little family went on as they had +been going for some time past. + +Esther at last, under stress of necessity, made fresh representations +to her father, and besought leave to give lessons. They were running +into debt, with no means of paying. It went sorely against the grain +with the colonel to give his consent; pride and tenderness both +rebelled; 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 of +it!' + +'Don't take it so, papa,' cried Esther. 'I like to do it. It is not a +hardship.' + +'_It_ is a hardship,' he retorted; 'and you will find it so. I find it +so now.' + +'Even so, papa,' said the girl, with infinite sweetness; 'suppose it be +a hardship, the Lord has given it to me; and so long as I am sure it is +something 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 are +the words. Listen: "The Lord God is a sun and shield; the Lord will +give grace and glory; _no good thing will he withhold from them that +walk uprightly_."' + +'Do you mean to tell me,' said the colonel angrily, 'that--well, that +all the things that you have not just now, and ought to have, are not +good 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 colonel +found nothing to answer but a groan, which was made up of pain and +pride and pleasure in inscrutable proportions. + +The next step was to speak to Miss Fairbairn. That wise woman showed no +surprise, and did not distress Esther with any sympathy; she took it as +the most natural thing in the world that her favourite pupil should +wish to become a teacher; and promised her utmost help. In her own +school there was now no longer any opening; that chance was gone; but +she gave Esther a recommendation in person to the principal of another +establishment, where in consequence Miss Gainsborough found ready +acceptance. + +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 not +been entirely wrong in his estimate of a teacher's position and +experiences. 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 the +genuine love of teaching them, do not avail to make it so. Woe to the +teacher who has not those two alleviations and helps to fall back upon! +Esther soon found both; and yet she gave her father credit for having +known more about the matter than she did. She was truly alone now; the +children loved her, but scattered away from her as soon as their tasks +were done; her fellow-teachers she scarcely saw--they were busy and +jaded; and with the world outside of school she had nothing to do. She +had never had much to do with it; yet at Miss Fairbairn's she had +sometimes a little taste of society that was of high order, and all in +the house had been at least well known to her and she to them, even if +no particular congeniality had drawn them together. She had lost all +that now. And it sometimes came over Esther in those days the thought +of her English aunts and cousins, as a vision of strange pleasantness. +To have plenty of friends and relations, of one's own blood, and +therefore inalienable; well-bred and refined and cultivated (whereby I +am afraid Esther's fancy made them a multiplication of Pitt +Dallas),--it looked very alluring! She went bravely about her work, and +did it beautifully, and was very contented in it, and relieved to be +earning money; yet these visions now and again would come over her +mind, bringing a kind of distant sunshiny glow with them, different +from the light that fell on that particular bit of life's pathway she +was treading just then. They came and went; what came and did not go +was Esther's consciousness that she was earning only a little money, +and that with that little she could not clear off all the debts that +had accrued and were constantly accruing. When she had paid the +butcher, the grocer's bill presented itself, and when she had after +some delay got rid of that, then came the need for a fresh supply of +coal. Esther spent nothing on her own dress that she could help, but +her father's was another matter, and tailors' charges she found were +heavy. She went bravely on; she was young and full of spirit, and she +was a Christian and full of confidence; nevertheless she did begin to +feel the worry of these petty, gnawing, money cares, which have broken +the heart of so many a woman before her. Moreover, another thing +demanded consideration. It was necessary, now that she had no longer a +home with Miss Fairbairn, that she should go into town and come back +every day, and, furthermore, as she was giving lessons in a school, no +circumstance of weather or anything else must hinder her being +absolutely punctual. Yet Esther foresaw that as the winter came on +again it would be very difficult sometimes to maintain this +punctuality; and it became clear to her that it would be almost +indispensable for them to move into town. If only a house could be +found! + +Meantime Christopher went and came about the house, cultivated the +garden and took care of the horse and drove Esther to school, all just +as usual; his whilome master never having as yet said one word to him +on the subject of his marriage and consequent departure. Whether his +wages were paid him, Esther was anxiously doubtful; but she dared not +ask. I say 'whilome' master, for there is no doubt that Mr. Bounder in +these days felt that nobody was his master but himself. He did all his +duties faithfully, but then he took leave to cross the little field +which lay between his old home and his new, and to disappear for whole +spaces of time from the view of the colonel's family. + +It was one evening in November. Mrs. Barker was just sitting down to +her tea, and Christopher was preparing himself to leave her. I should +remark that Mrs. Barker had called on the former Mrs. Blumenfeld, and +established 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 days +when I could?' the housekeeper added, with a sigh. + +'Well, she ain't just up to some o' your arts,' said Christopher, with +a 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't +beat, 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 you +can give some to Miss Esther if you like. Good-night!' + +He made few steps of it through the dark cold evening to the house that +had become his home. The room that received him might have pleased a +more difficult man. It was as clean as hands could make it; bright with +cleanliness, lighted and warmed with a glowing fire, and hopeful with a +most savoury scent of supper. The mistress of the house was busy about +her hearth, looking neat and comfortable enough to match her room. As +Christopher came in she lit a candle that stood on the supper-table. +Christopher hugged himself at this instance of his wife's thrift, and +sat down. + +'You've got something that smells uncommon good there!' said he +approvingly. + +'I allays du think a hot supper's comfortable at the end o' a cold +day,' returned the new Mrs. Bounder. 'I don't care what I du as long's +I'm busy with all the world all the day long; I kin take a piece and a +bite and go on, but when it comes night, and I hev time to think I'm +tired, then I like a good hot something or other.' + +'What have you got there?' said Christopher, peering over at the dish +on the hearth which Mrs. Bounder was filling from a pot before the +fire. 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 no +one more'n a few shillin's, neither. 'Tain't difficult, ef you know +how. 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 ask +you 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 whenever +you'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's +proper. 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 bids +you du?--that's jes' what I'm comin' to.' + +A surly man would not perhaps have answered at all, resenting this +catechizing; but Christopher was not surly, and not at all offended. He +was 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 face +that 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 the +first 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 believe +Him you pray to likes it no better.' + +Christopher was utterly unprepared to go on with this subject; and +finally gave up trying, and attended to his supper. After a little +while 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 to +stop. + +'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. The +colonel he lies on his sofy, and Miss Esther she goes and comes. They +want to get a house in town, now she's goin' so regular, only they +can'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't +know 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' on +uncommon bad. Don't seem as if they could any way pay up all their +bills at once. They pay this man, and then run up a new score with some +other man. Miss Esther, she tries all she knows; but there ain't no one +to 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's +teachin' in a school, that's what she is,' said Christopher, letting +his voice drop as if he were speaking of some desecration. 'That's what +she is; and so she has to be there regular, rain or shine makes no +difference. An' if they was in town, you see, they wouldn't want the +horse, 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. Bounder +quietly. '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, who +seemed to be going on with her supper in orderly fashion. Mr. Bounder +was not misled by this, and watched curiously. He had acquired in a few +months a large respect for his wife. Her very unadorned attire, and her +peculiar way of knotting up her hair, did not hinder that he had a +great and growing value for her. Christopher would have liked her +certainly to dress better and to put on a cap; nevertheless, and odd as +it 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 he +waited for what was to come next. + +'I guess I was a fool,' began Mrs. Bounder at last. 'But it came into +my head, ef they're in such a fix as you say, whether maybe they +wouldn't take up with my house. I guess, hardly likely.' + +'_Your_ house?' inquired Christopher, in astonishment. But his wife +calmly nodded. + +'_Your_ house!' repeated Christopher. 'Which one?' + +'Wall, not this one, I guess,' said his wife quietly. 'But I've got one +in 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. But +the last folks went out; and I hadn't found no one that suited me to +let 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 the +rent 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 Christopher +admiringly. + +'Wall, I guess it's my imagination. For, come to think of it, it ain't +jes' sich a house as your folks are accustomed to.' + +'The thing is,' said Christopher gravely, 'they can't have just what +they're accustomed to. Leastways I'm afeard they can't. I'll just speak +to Miss Esther about it.' + +'Wall, you kin du that. 'Twon't du no harm. I allays think, when +anybody'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 the +opportunity of speaking to Esther the very next time he was driving her +in from school. Esther immediately pricked up her ears, and demanded to +know where the house was situated. Christopher told her. It was a +street 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 afraid +my little woman has made a mistake.' + +'What is the rent?' + +Christopher named the rent. It was less than what they were paying for +the house they at present occupied; and Esther at once ordered +Christopher to turn about and drive her to the spot. + +It was certainly not a fashionable quarter, not even near Broadway or +State Street; nevertheless it was respectable, inhabited by decent +people. The house itself was a small wooden one. Now it is true that at +that day New York was a very different place from what it is at +present; and a wooden house, and even a small wooden house, did not +mean then what it means now; an abode of Irish washerwomen, or of +something still less distinguished. Yet Esther startled a little at the +thought of bringing her father and herself to inhabit it. Christopher +had the key; and he fastened Buonaparte, and let Esther in, and went +all over the house with her. It was in order, truly, as its owner had +said; even clean; and nothing was off the hinges or wanting paint or +needing plaster. 'Right and tight' it was, and susceptible of being +made an abode of comfort; yet it was a very humble dwelling, +comparatively, and in an insignificant neighbourhood; and Esther +hesitated. Was it pride? she asked herself. Why did she hesitate? Yet +she lingered over the place, doubting and questioning and almost +deciding it would not do. Then Christopher, I cannot tell whether +consciously or otherwise, threw in a makeweight that fell in the scale +that was threatening to rise. + +'If you please, Miss Esther, would you speak to the master about the +blacksmith's bill? I don't hardly never see the colonel, these days.' + +Esther faced round upon him. The word 'bill' always came to her now +like a sort of stab. She repeated his words. 'The blacksmith's bill?' + +'Yes, mum; that is, Creasy, the blacksmith; just on the edge o' the +town. It's been runnin' along, 'cause I never could get sight o' the +colonel 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 any +horse 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--and +it'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 might +not see her face, and began to look at the house as if a sudden new +light had fallen upon it. Small and mean, and unfit for Colonel +Gainsborough and his daughter,--that had been her judgment concerning +it five minutes before; but now it suddenly presented itself as a +refuge from distress. If they took it, the relief to their finances +would be immediate and effectual. There was a little bit of struggle in +Esther's mind; to give up their present home for this would involve a +loss of all the prettiness in which she had found such refreshment; +there would be here no river and no opposite shore, and no pleasant +country around with grass and trees and a flower garden. There would be +no 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 for +daily 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 her +necessities, should she refuse to accept it and to be thankful for it? + +'It is getting late,' was Esther's conclusion as she turned away. 'We +had better get home, Christopher; but I think we will take the house. I +must 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. He +did 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 submitted +himself to what seemed the inevitable. But his daughter knew that her +task would have been harder if the colonel's imagination had had the +assistance 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 her +father comfortable. To combat his objections beforehand might have been +a more difficult matter. Esther found Mrs. Barker's dismay quite enough +to deal with. Indeed, the good woman was at first overwhelmed; and sat +down, 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 soon +put this in nice order, with Christopher's help; and then, when we have +got it fitted up, we shall be as comfortable as ever; you will see.' + +'Oh dear Miss Esther!' the housekeeper ejaculated; 'that ever I should +see this day! The like of you and my master!' + +'What then?' said Esther, smiling. 'Barker, shall we not take what the +Lord gives us, and be thankful? I am.' + +'There ain't no use for Christopher here, as I see,' Mrs. Barker went +on. + +'No, and he will not be here. Do you see now how happy it is that he +has got a home of his own?--which you were disposed to think so +unfortunate.' + +'I haven't changed my mind, mum,' said the housekeeper. 'How's your +horse 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 you +not think our dear Lord knows what is good for us? and do you not think +what He chooses is the best? I do.' + +Esther's face was very unshadowed, but the housekeeper's, on the +contrary, seemed to darken more and more. She stood in the middle of +the 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're +young, and you don't know how queer the world is. There's many folks +that won't believe you are what you be, if they see you are livin' in a +place like this.' + +Did not Esther know that? and was it not one of the whispers in her +mind which she found it hardest to combat? She had begun already to +touch 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 the +narrow track of her school routine; yet even there once or twice a +chance encounter had obliged her to recognise the fact that in taking +the post of a teacher she had stepped off the level of her former +associates. It had hurt her a little and disappointed her. Nobody, +indeed, had tried to be patronizing; that was nearly impossible towards +anybody whose head was set on her shoulders in the manner of Miss +Gainsborough's; but she felt the slighting regard in which low-bred +people held her on account of her work and position. And so large a +portion of the world is deficient in breeding, that to a young person +at least the desire of self-assertion comes as a very natural and +tolerably strong temptation. Esther had felt it, and trodden it under +foot, and yet Mrs. Barker's words made her wince. How could anybody +reasonably suppose that a gentleman would choose such a house and such +a street to live in? + +'Never mind, Barker,' she said cheerfully, after a pause. 'What we have +to 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 him +that he will feel comfortable.' + +The work of moving and getting settled began without delay. Mrs. Barker +spent all the afternoons at the new house; and thither came Esther also +every day as soon as school was out at three o'clock. The girl worked +very hard in these times; for after her long morning in school she gave +the rest of the daylight hours to arranging and establishing furniture, +hanging draperies, putting up hooks, and the like; and after that she +went home to make her father's tea, and give him as much cheery talk as +she could command. In the business of moving, however, she found +unexpected assistance. + +When Christopher told his wife of the decision about the house, the +answering remark, made approvingly, was, 'That's a spunky little girl!' + +'What do you mean?' said Christopher, not approving such an irreverent +expression. + +'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 smile +at him. 'She ain't scared by no nonsense from duin' what she's got to +du. Don't you be scared neither; houses don't make the folks that live +in 'em. But what I'm thinkin' of is, they'll want lots o' help to git +along with their movin'. Christopher, do you know there's a big box +waggin in the barn?' + +'I know it.' + +'Wall, that'll carry their things fust-rate, ef you kin tackle up your +fine-steppin' French emperor there with our Dolly. Will he draw in +double harness?' + +'Will he! Well, I'll try to persuade him.' + +'An' you needn't to let on anything about it. They ain't obleeged to +know where the waggin comes from.' + +'You're as clever a woman as any I know!' said Mr. Bounder, with a +smile of complacency. 'Sally up there can't beat you; and _she's_ a +smart woman, too.' + +A few minutes were given to the business of the supper table, and then +Mrs. Bounder asked,-- + +'What are they goin' to du with the French emperor?' + +'Buonaparte?' (Christopher called it 'Buonaparty.') 'Well, they'll have +to 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 sly +twinkle 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, for +they'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 high +figure; however, he knew, and she knew, that a common draught horse for +their garden work could be had for something less. Mrs. Bounder +meditated a little, and finally concluded,-- + +'It won't break us.' + +'Save me lots o' trouble,' said Christopher; 'if you don't mind paying +so 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 Miss +Esther 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! There +ain't much cash come into her hands for a good bit. And I see sometimes +she's been real worrited.' + +So Esther's path was smoothed in more ways than one, and even in more +ways than I have indicated. For Mrs. Bounder went over and insinuated +herself (with some difficulty) so far into Mrs. Barker's good graces +that she was allowed to give her help in the multifarious business and +cares of the moving. She was capital help. Mrs. Barker soon found that +any packing intrusted to her was sure to be safely done; and the little +woman's wits were of the first order, always at hand, cool, keen, and +comprehensive. She followed, or rather went with the waggon to the +house in Major Street; helped unpack, helped put down carpets, helped +clear away litter and arrange things in order; and further still, she +constantly brought something with her for the bodily refreshment and +comfort 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 a +great assistance and pleasure also to Esther. Esther tried to tell her +something 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. 'I +was readin' in the Bible the other day--you set me readin' the Bible, +Miss Esther--where it says somethin' about a good woman "ministerin' to +the saints." I ain't no saint myself, and I guess it'll never be said +of 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 to +know our Christopher has got such a good wife.' + +Mrs. Bounder laughed a little slyly, as she retorted, 'Ain't there +nothin' to be glad of on my side tu?' + +'Indeed, yes!' answered Esther. 'Christopher is as true and faithful as +it is possible to be; and as to business-- But you do not need that I +should tell you what Christopher is,' she broke off, laughing. + +There was a pleasant look in the little woman's eyes as she stood up +for 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 in +order. With two such helpers as she had, the work went on bravely, and +Christopher got in coal and chopped wood enough to last all winter. The +ready money from the sale of Buonaparte had given her the means for +that and for some other things. She was intent upon making the new home +look so homelike that her father should be in some measure consoled for +the shock which she knew its exterior would give him. The colonel liked +no fire so well as one of his native 'sea-coal.' The house had open +fireplaces only. So Esther had some neat grates put in the two lower +rooms 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, and +this will be for papa's study. But it has a bare look yet. I must make +some 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 some +chintz that is dark and bright at once. I have money. Oh, we are going +to be rich now, Barker; and you shall not be stinted in your marketing +any more. And this is going to be very nice, _inside_.' + +To the outside Esther could not get accustomed. It gave her a kind of +prick of dismay every time she saw it anew. What would her father say +when _he_ saw it? Yet she had done right and wisely; of that she had no +doubt at all; it was very unreasonable that, her judgment being +satisfied, her feeling should rebel. Yet it did rebel. When did ever +one of her family live in such a place before? They had come down +surely very far, to make it possible. Only in the matter of money, to +be sure; but then, money has to do largely with the outward appearance +one makes, and upon the appearance depends much of the effect upon +one'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 of +such a house? And what then? she answered the whisper. If the Lord has +given us this place to dwell in, that and all other effects and +consequences of it are part of His will in the matter. What if we are +to be overlooked and looked down upon? what have I to do with it? what +matters it? Let pride be quiet, and faith be very thankful. Here are +all my difficulties set aside, and no danger of not paying our debts +any more. + +She reasoned so, and fought against pride, if pride it were, which took +the other side. She _would_ be thankful; and she was. Nevertheless, a +comparison would arise now and then with the former times, and with +their state at Seaforth; and further back still, with the beauties and +glories of the old manor house in England. Sometimes Esther felt a +strange wave of regret come over her at the thought of the gay circle +of relations she did not know, who were warm in the shelter of +prosperity and the cheer of numbers. She knew herself in a better +shelter, yes, and in a better cheer; and yet sometimes, as I said, an +odd feeling of loss and descent would come over her as she entered +Major Street Esther was working hard these days, which no doubt had +something to do with this. She rushed from her morning duties to the +school; 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 little +tired. The thought was very far from her usually. In her healthy and +happy youth, busy life, and mental and spiritual growth and thrift, +Esther's wants seemed to be all satisfied; and so long as things ran +their ordinary course, she felt no deficiency. But there are conditions +in which one is warm so long as one does not move, while the first stir +of change brings a chill over one. And so sometimes now, as Esther +entered Major Street or set her face towards it, she would think of her +far-off circle of Gainsborough cousins, with a half wish that her +father could have borne with them a little more patiently; and once or +twice the thought came too, that the Dallases never let themselves be +heard from any more. Not even Pitt. She would not have thought it of +him, but he was away in a foreign country, and it must be that he had +forgotten them. His father and mother were near, and could not forget; +was not the old house there before them always to remind them? But they +were rich and prosperous and abounding in everything; they had no need +of the lonely two who had gone out of their sight and who did need +them. It was the way of the world; so the world said. Esther wondered +if that were really true, and also wondered now and then if Major +Street were to be henceforth not only the sphere but the limit of her +existence. She never gave such thoughts harbour; they came and they +went; and she remained the cheerful, brave, busy girl she had long been. + +The small house at last looked homelike. On the front room Esther had +put a warm, dark-looking carpet; the chintz curtains were up and in +harmony with the carpet; and the colonel's lounge was new covered with +the same stuff. The old furniture had been arranged so as to give that +pleasant cosy air to the room which is such a welcome to the person +entering it, making the impression of comfort and good taste and of the +habit of good living; not good living in matters of the table, but in +those other matters which concern the mind's nourishment and social +well-being. Everything was right and in order, and Esther surveyed her +work 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'm +thinkin', Miss Esther, I can't stop thinkin', whatever'll the colonel +say when he sees the outside.' + +'He shall see the inside first. I have arranged that. And, Barker, we +must have a capital supper ready for him. We can afford it now. Have a +pheasant, Barker; there is nothing he likes better; and some of that +beautiful honey Mrs. Bounder has brought us; I never saw such rich +honey, I think. And I have good hope papa will be pleased, and put up +with things, as I do.' + +'Your papa remembers Gainsborough Manor, mum, and that's what you +don't.' + +'What then! Mrs. Barker, do you really think the Lord does _not_ know +what is good for us? That is sheer unbelief. Take what He gives, and be +thankful. Barker, why do you suppose the angels came to the sepulchre +so, as they did the morning of the resurrection?' + +'Mum!' said Mrs. Barker, quite taken aback by this sudden change of +subject. But Esther went on in a pleasant, pleased tone of interest. + +'I was reading the last chapter of Matthew this morning, and it set me +to thinking. You know a number of them, the angels, came, and were seen +about the sepulchre; and I suppose there was just a crowd of them +coming and going that morning. What for, do you suppose?' + +'Miss Esther!' said the housekeeper open-mouthed, 'I'm sure I can't +say.' + +'Why, they came _to see the place_, Barker; just for that. They knew +what had been done, and they just came in crowds, as soon as Jesus had +left the sepulchre--perhaps before--to look at the spot where that +wonder of all wonders had been. But it never occurred to me before how +like it was to the way we human creatures feel and do. _That_ was what +they came for; and don't you remember what one of them, with his +lightning face and his robes of whiteness, sitting on the stone, said +to the women? He told them to do what he had been doing. "_Come see the +place_." It brought the angels nearer to me than ever they had seemed +to be before.' + +Mrs. Barker stood there spellbound, silenced. To be sure, if Miss +Esther's head was so busy with the angels, she was in a sort lifted up +above the small matters or accidents of common earthly life. And as +much as the words the girl's face awed her too, its expression was so +consonant with them. + +'Now, Barker, Christopher may bring up some coal and make a fire before +he drives back for papa. In both rooms, Barker. And-- Hark! what is +that?' + +A long-drawn, musical cry was sounding a little distance off, slowly +coming 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 a +sonorous, 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 home +should not be disturbed until the very day when he himself should make +the transfer from the one house to the other. So until that morning +even the colonel's sofa had not been moved. Now it was brought over and +placed in position between the fireplace and the window, where the +occupant would have plenty of light and warmth. The new chintz cover +had been put on it; the table was placed properly, and the books which +the colonel liked to have at hand lay in their usual position. In the +back room the table was set for supper. The rooms communicated, though +indeed not by folding doors; still the eye could go through and catch +the glow of the fire, and see the neat green drugget on the floor and +the 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, Esther +heard the aforementioned mental reservation. If her father liked it! +Yes, that could not be known till he came; and she drew a breath of +patient anxiety. It was too dark for him to take the effect of anything +outside; she had arranged that. One thing at a time, she thought. The +house 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 small +apartment so carefully made ready for him. It offered as much tasteful +comfort as it was possible for a room of its inches to do. Esther +waited anxiously for the effect. The colonel warmed his hands at the +blaze, 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 draws +beautifully, and the coal is excellent. It is really a very nice little +house, papa. I think it will be comfortable.' + +'Not very large,' said the colonel, taking with his eye the measure of +the room. + +'No, papa; and none the worse for that. Room enough for you, and room +enough for me; and quite room enough for Barker, who has to take care +of 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 pay +our way and be at ease. Papa, I would not like the finest house in the +world, 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 were +going.' + +'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 to +be decent people.' + +'Decent? What do you mean by decent?' + +'Papa, I mean not disorderly people; not disreputable. And is not that +enough for us, papa? Oh, papa, does it matter what the people are, so +long as our house is nice and pretty and warm, and the low rent just +relieves us from all our difficulties? Papa, do be pleased with it! I +think 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 difficulty +till I heard of this house. And I am so relieved now--you cannot think +with what a relief;--if only _you_ are pleased, dear papa.' + +He must know so much of the truth, Esther said to herself with rapid +calculation. The colonel did not look pleased, it must be confessed. +All the prettiness and pleasantness on which Esther had counted to +produce a favourable impression seemed to fail of its effect; indeed, +seemed not to be seen. The colonel leaned his head on his hand and +uttered something very like a groan. + +'So this is what we have come to!' he said. 'You do not know what you +have done, Esther.' + +Esther said nothing to that. Her throat seemed to be choked. She looked +at her beautiful little fire, and had some trouble to keep tears from +starting. + +'My dear, you did it for the best, I do not doubt,' her father added +presently. 'I only regret that I was not consulted before an +irrevocable step was taken.' + +Esther could find nothing to answer. + +'It is quite true that a man remains himself, whatever he does that is +not morally wrong; it is true that our real dignity is not changed; +nevertheless, people pass in the world not for what they are, but for +what 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 no +better than a cobbler; and if you choose your abode among washerwomen, +you will be credited with tastes and associations that fit you for your +surroundings. Have we _that_ sort of a neighbourhood?' he asked +suddenly. + +'I do not know, papa,' Esther said meekly. The colonel fairly groaned +again. It was getting to be more than she could stand. + +'Papa,' she said gently, 'we have done the best we knew,--at least I +have; and the necessity is not one of our own making. Let us take what +the Lord gives. I think He has given us a great deal. And I would +rather, for my part, that people thought anything of us, rather than +that we should miss our own good opinion. I do not know just what the +inhabitants are, round about here; but the street is at least clean and +decent, and within our own walls we need not think about it. Inside it +is _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 calmness +and 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 as +ever, 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 for +the change.' + +'It saves the mess of crumbs on the floor in this room. And then it +saves Barker a good deal of trouble to have the table there.' + +'Why should Barker be saved trouble here more than where we have come +from? I do not understand.' + +'We had Christopher there, papa. Here Barker has no one to help +her--except what I can do.' + +'It must be the same thing, to have tea in one room or in another, I +should think.' + +Esther could have represented that the other room was just at the head +of the kitchen stairs, while to serve the tea on the colonel's table +would cost a good many more steps. But she had no heart for any further +representations. With her own hands, and with her own feet, which were +by this time wearily tired, she patiently went back and forth between +the two rooms, bringing plates and cups and knives and forks, and +tea-tray, and bread and butter and honey and partridge, and salt and +pepper, from the one table to the other, which, by the way, had first +to be cleared of its own load of books and writing materials. Esther +deposited these on the floor and on chairs, and arranged the table for +tea, 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 other +room; and now made journeys uncounted between that room and this, to +take and fetch the tea-pot. Talk languished meanwhile, for the spirit +of talk was gone from Esther, and the colonel, in spite of his +discomfiture, 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 and +arranging 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 sat +down on a cushion at the corner of the fireplace, in one of those moods +belonging to tired mind and body, in which one does not seem at the +moment to care any longer about anything. The lively, blazing coal fire +shone on a warm, cosy little room, and on two somewhat despondent +figures. For his supper had not brightened the colonel up a bit. He sat +brooding. Perhaps his thoughts took the road that Esther's had often +followed lately, for he suddenly came out with a name now rarely spoken +between 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; why +should they remember us?' + +'They used to be good neighbours, in Seaforth.' + +'Pitt. Papa, I do not think his father and mother were ever specially +fond 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 he +has plenty of other things to think of. Oh, I have given up Pitt long +ago.' + +The colonel brooded over his thoughts a while, then raised his head and +looked again over the small room. + +'My dear, it would have been better to stay where we were,' he said +regretfully. + +Esther could not bear to pain him by again reminding him that their +means would not allow it; and as her father lay back upon the sofa and +closed his eyes, she went away into the other room and sat down at the +corner 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 a +few tears that she could not help came hot to her eyes. She had worked +so hard to get everything in nice order for her father; she had so +hoped to see him pleased and contented; and now he was so illogically +discontented! Truly he could tell her nothing she did not already know +about the disadvantages of their new position; and they all rushed upon +Esther's mind at this minute with renewed force. The pleasant country +and the shining river were gone; she would no longer see the lights on +the Jersey shore when she got up in the morning; the air would not come +sweet and fresh to her windows; there would be no singing of birds or +fragrance of flowers around her, even in summer; she would have only +the streets and the street cries and noises, and dust, and unsweet +breath. The house would do inside; but outside, what a change! And +though Esther was not very old in the world, nor very worldly-wise for +her years, she knew--if not as well as her father, yet she knew--that +in Major Street she was pretty nearly cut off from all social +intercourse with her kind. Her school experience and observation had +taught her so much. She knew that her occupation as a teacher in a +school 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 best +of times; she was of too uncommon a beauty, perhaps; perhaps she was +too different from them in other respects. Pleasant as she always was, +she was nevertheless separate from her fellows by a great separation of +nature; and that is a thing not only felt on both sides, but never +forgiven by the inferiors. Miss Gainsborough, daughter of a rich and +influential retired officer, would, however, have been sought eagerly +and welcomed universally; Miss Gainsborough, the school teacher, +daughter of an unknown somebody who lived in Major Street, was another +matter; hardly a desirable acquaintance. For what should she be desired? + +Esther had not been without a certain dim perception of all this; and +it came to her with special disagreeableness just then, when every +thought came that could make her dissatisfied with herself and with her +lot. Why had her father ever come away from England, where friends and +relations could not have failed? Why had he left Seaforth, where at +least they were living like themselves, and where they would not have +dropped out of the knowledge of Pitt Dallas? The feeling of loneliness +crept again over Esther, and a feeling of having to fight her way as it +were single-handed. Was this little house, and Major Street, henceforth +to be the scene and sphere of her life and labours? How could she ever +work up out of it into anything better? + +Esther was tired, and felt blue, which was the reason why all these +thoughts and others chased through her mind; and more than one tear +rolled down and dropped on her stuff gown. Then she gathered herself +up. How had she come to Major Street and to school teaching? Not by her +own will or fault. Therefore it was part of the training assigned for +her by a wisdom that is perfect, and a love that never forgets. And +Esther 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 of +His 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 be +clear of the world; yes, and live pleasantly too? And as for being +alone-- Esther rose with a smile. 'Can I not trust the Lord for that +too?' she thought. 'If it is His will I should be alone, then that is +the very best thing for me; and perhaps He will come nearer than if I +had other distractions to take my eyes in another direction.' + +Barker came in to remove the tea-things, and Esther met her with a +smile, 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. And +I 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 the +sunshine poured in its full power. The place lay silent under the heat +of mid-day; not a breath stirred the leaves of the big elms, and no +passing wheels stirred the dust of the roadway, which was ready to rise +at any provocation. It was very dry, and very hot. Yet at Seaforth +those two facts, though proclaimed from everybody's mouth, must be +understood with a qualification. The heat and the dryness were not as +elsewhere. So near the sea as the town was, a continual freshness came +from thence in vapours and cool airs, and mitigated what in other +places was found oppressive. However, the Seaforth people said it was +oppressive too; and things are so relative in the affairs of life that +I do not know if they were more contented than their neighbours. But +everybody said the heat was fine for the hay; and as most of the +inhabitants had more or less of that crop to get in, they criticised +the weather only at times when they were thinking of it in some other +connection. + +At Mrs. Dallas's there was no criticism of anything. In the large +comfortable rooms, where windows were all open, and blinds tempering +the too ardent light, and cool mats on the floors, and chintz furniture +looked light and summery, there was an atmosphere of pure enjoyment and +expectation, for Pitt was coming home again, and his mother was looking +for him with every day. She was sitting now awaiting him; no one could +tell at what hour he might arrive; and his mother's face was beautiful +with hope. She was her old self; not changed at all by the four or five +years of Pitt's absence; as handsome and as young and as stately as +ever. She made no demonstration now; did not worry either herself or +others with questions and speculations and hopes and fears respecting +her son's coming; yet you could see on her fine face, if you were +clever at reading faces, the lines of pride and joy, and now and then a +quiver 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 by +comparison, but absolutely. A very attractive person too. She had an +exceedingly good figure, which the trying dress of those times showed +in its full beauty. Woe to the lady then whose shoulders were not +straight, or the lines of her figure not flowing, or the proportions of +it not satisfactory. Every ungracefulness must have shown its full +deformity, with no possibility of disguise; every angle must have been +aggravated, and every untoward movement made doubly fatal. But the +dress only set off and developed the beauty that could bear it. And the +lady sitting with Mrs. Dallas neither feared nor had need to fear +criticism. Something of that fact appeared in her graceful posture and +in the brow of habitual superiority, and in the look of the eyes that +were now and then lifted from her work to her companion. The eyes were +beautiful, and they were also queenly; at least their calm fearlessness +was not due to absence of self-consciousness. She was a pretty picture +to see. The low-cut dress and fearfully short waist revealed a white +skin and a finely-moulded bust and shoulders. The very scant and +clinging robe was of fine white muslin, with a narrow dainty border of +embroidery at the bottom; and a scarf of the same was thrown round her +shoulders. The round white arms were bare, the little tufty white +sleeves making a pretty break between them and the soft shoulders; and +the little hands were busy with a strip of embroidery, which looked as +if it might be destined for the ornamentation of another similar dress. +The lady's face was delicate, intelligent, and attractive, rather than +beautiful; her eyes, however, as I said, were fine; and over her head +and upon her neck curled ringlets of black, lustrous hair. + +'You think he will be here to-day?' she said, breaking the familiar +silence 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 before +his letter.' + +'You are very fond of him, I can see. What made you send him away from +you? England is so far off!' + +Mrs. Dallas hesitated; put up the end of her knitting-needle under her +cap, 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 discontented +with 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 a +glance at Pitt's mother. 'Dear Mrs. Dallas, how am I to understand +that?' + +'Pitt does not change,' repeated the other. + +'But one _ought_ to change. That is a dreadful sort of people, that go +on straight over the heads of circumstances, just because they laid out +the 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 thought +she said it with a certain satisfied confidence. And perhaps it was +true; but the moment after Mrs. Dallas remembered that if the +proposition were universal it might be inconvenient. + +'At least he is hard to change,' she went on; 'therefore his father and +I wished him to be educated in the old country, and to form his notions +according to the standard of things there. I think a republic is very +demoralizing.' + +'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 wanted +Pitt 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 associations +I was afraid of. With my son's peculiar character, I thought there +might be danger. I rely on you, Betty,' said Mrs. Dallas, smiling, 'to +remove the last vestige.' + +The young lady gave a glance of quick, keen curiosity and +understanding, 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 you +can know what you would like to do with him.' + +'Do I understand, then? He is supposed to be in some danger of lapsing +from the true faith'-- + +'Oh, no, my dear! I did not say that. I meant only, if he had stayed in +America. 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 a +particular influence, that you feared?' + +'Well--both,' said Mrs. Dallas, again applying her knitting-needle +under 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 thoughtful +look. 'For, as I told you, Pitt is a very fast friend, and persistent +in all his likings and dislikings. Here he had none but the company of +dissenters; and I did not want him to get _in_ with people of that +persuasion.' + +'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 been +quite 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 are +very 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 of +quiet working on the young lady's part, and of rather listless knitting +on the part of the mother, whose eyes went wistfully to the window +without seeing anything. And this lasted till a step was heard at the +front door. Mrs. Dallas let fall her needles and her yarn and rose +hurriedly, 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 a +significant silence; which lasted long enough to let the watcher left +behind in the drawing-room conclude on the very deep relations +subsisting between mother and son. Steps were heard moving at length, +but they moved and stopped; there was lingering, and slow progress; and +words were spoken, broken questions from Mrs. Dallas and brief +responses in a stronger voice that was low-pitched and pleasant. The +figures appeared in the doorway at last, but even there lingered still. +The mother and son were looking into one another's faces and speaking +those absorbed little utterances of first meeting which are +insignificant enough, if they were not weighted with such a burden of +feeling. Miss Betty, sitting at her embroidery, cast successive rapid +glances of curiosity and interest at the new-comer. His voice had +already made her pulses quicken a little, for the tone of it touched +her fancy. The first glance showed him tall and straight; the second +caught a smile which was both merry and sweet; a third saw that the +level brows expressed character; and then the two people turned their +faces towards her and came into the room, and Mrs. Dallas presented her +son. + +The young lady rose and made a reverence, according to the more stately +and more elegant fashion of the day. The gentleman's obeisance was +profound in its demonstration of respect. Immediately after, however, +he turned to his mother again; a look of affectionate joy shining upon +her 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 years +have made you older.' + +'So they should.' + +'Somehow I had not expected it,' said the mother, passing her hand +across 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 of +him here that there ever was. The difference is, that now there is +something more.' + +'What?' she asked. + +'A little more experience--a little more knowledge--let us hope, a +little 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 hand +across 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 his +mother accompanied him, Miss Betty noticed how his arm was thrown round +her and he was bending to her and talking to her as they went. Miss +Betty stitched away busily, thoughts keeping time with her needle, for +some time thereafter. Yet she did not quite know what she was thinking +of. There was a little stir in her mind, which was so unaccustomed that +it was delightful; it was also vague, and its provoking elements were +not clearly discernible. The young lady was conscious of a certain +pleasant thrill in the view of the task to which she had been invited. +It promised her possible difficulty, for even in the few short minutes +just passed she had gained an inkling that Mrs. Dallas's words might be +true, and Pitt not precisely a man that you could turn over your +finger. It threatened her possible danger, which she did not admit; +nevertheless the stinging sense of it made itself felt and pricked the +pleasure into livelier existence. This was something out of the +ordinary. This was a man not just cut after the common work-a-day +pattern. Miss Betty recalled involuntarily one trait after another that +had fastened on her memory. Eyes of bright intelligence and hidden +power, a very frank smile, and especially with all that, the great +tenderness which had been shown in every word and look to his mother. +The good breeding and ease of manner Miss Betty had seen before; this +other trait was something new; and perhaps she was conscious of a +little pull it gave at her heartstrings. This was not the manner she +had seen at home, where her father had treated her mother as a sort of +queen-consort certainly,--co-regent of the house; but where they had +lived upon terms of mutual diplomatic respect; and her brothers, if +they cared much for anybody but Number One, gave small proof of the +fact. What a brother this man would be! what a--something else! Miss +Betty sheered off a little from just this idea; not that she was averse +to it, or that she had not often entertained it; indeed, she had +entertained it not two hours ago about Pitt himself; but the presence +of the man and the recognition of what was in him had stirred in her a +kindred delicacy which was innate, as in every true woman, although her +way of life and some of her associates had not fostered it. Betty Frere +was a true woman, originally; alas, she was also now a woman of the +world; also, she was poor, and to make a good marriage she had known +for some years was very desirable for her. What a very good marriage +this would be! Poor girl, she could not help the thought now, and she +must not be judged hardly for it. It was in the air she breathed, and +that all her associates breathed. Betty had not been in a hurry to get +married, having small doubt of her power to do it in any case that +pleased her; now, somehow, she was suddenly confronted by a doubt of +her power. + +I am pulling out the threads of what was to Betty only a web of very +confused pattern; _she_ did not try to unravel it. Her consciousness of +just two things was clear: the pleasant stimulus of the task set before +her, and a little sharp premonition of its danger. She dismissed that. +She could perform the task and detach Pitt from any imaginary ties that +his mother was afraid of, without herself thereby becoming entangled. +It would be a game of uncommon interest and entertainment, and a piece +of benevolence too. But Betty's pulses, as I said, were quickened a +little. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +_HOLIDAYS_. + + +She did not see her new acquaintance again till they met at the +supper-table. She behaved herself then in an extremely well-bred way; +was dignified and reserved and quiet; hardly said anything, as with a +nice recognition that her words were not wanted; scarce ever seemed to +look at the new arrival, of whom, nevertheless, not a word nor a look +escaped her; and was simply an elegant quiet figure at the table, so +lovely to look at that words from her seemed to be superfluous. Whether +the stranger saw it, or whether he missed anything, there was no sign. +He seemed to be provokingly and exclusively occupied with his father +and mother; hardly, she thought, giving to herself all the attention +which is due from a gentleman to a lady. Yet he fulfilled his duties in +that regard, albeit only as one does it to whom they are a matter of +course. Betty listened attentively to everything that was said, while +she was to all appearance indifferently busied with her supper. + +But the conversation ran, as it is wont to run at such times, when +hearts long absent have found each other again, and fling trifles +about, knowing that their stores of treasure must wait for a quieter +time to be unpacked. They talked of weather and crops and Pitt's +voyage, and the neighbours, and the changes in the village, and the +improvements about the place; not as if any of these things were much +cared for; they were bubbles floating on their cups of joy. Questions +asked and questions answered, as if in the pleasure of speaking to one +another again the subject of their words did not matter; or as if the +supreme content of the moment could spare a little benevolence even for +these outside things. At last a question was asked which made Betty +prick up her ears; this must have been due to something indefinable in +the 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 see +how you have let them drop out of knowledge so. They were not exactly +people to lose sight of.' + +'Why not, when they went out of sight?' + +'You do not even know, sir, whether Colonel Gainsborough is still +living?' + +'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 other +men. 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 of +uneasiness 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 you +were here, and failed.' + +'I shall not fail this time.' + +'If it depended on your will,' remarked his father coolly. 'But I think +the probability is that they have gone back to England, and are +consequently no longer in New York.' + +'What are the grounds of that probability?' + +'When last I heard from the colonel, he was proposing the question of +reconciliation with his family. And as I have heard no more from him +since then, I think the likeliest thing is that he has made up his +quarrel and gone home.' + +'I can easily determine that question by looking over the shipping +lists.' + +'Perhaps not,' said Mr. Dallas, rubbing his chin. 'If he has gone, I +think it will have been under another name. The one he bore here was, I +suspect, assumed.' + +'What for?' demanded Pitt somewhat sharply. + +'Reasons of family pride, no doubt. That is enough to make men do +foolisher things.' + +'It would be difficult to find a foolisher thing to do,' replied his +son. But then the conversation turned. It had given Miss Betty +something to think of. She drew her own conclusions without asking +anybody. And in some indefinite, inscrutable way it stimulated and +confirmed her desire for the game Mrs. Dallas had begged her to play. +Human hearts are certainly strange things. What were the Gainsboroughs +to Miss Betty Frere? Nothing in the world, half an hour before; now? +Now there was a vague suspicion of an enemy somewhere; a scent of +rivalry in the air; an immediate rising of partisanship. Were these the +people of whom Mrs. Dallas was afraid? against whom she craved help? +She should have help. Was it not even a meritorious thing, to withdraw +a young man from untoward influences, and keep him in the path marked +out 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 failed +not to observe and regard every movement; she knew, without being seen +to look, just what his play of feature and various expressions were; +all the while she was calmly embroidering, or idly gazing out of the +window, or skilfully playing chess with Mr. Dallas, whom she inevitably +beat. + +Pitt, the while, his mother thought (and so thought the young lady +herself), was provokingly careless of her attractions. He was going +hither and thither; over the farm with his father; about the village, +to see the changes and look up his old acquaintances; often, too, busy +in his room where he had been wont to spend so many hours in the old +time. He was graver than he used to be; with the manner of a man, and a +thoughtful one; he showed not the least inclination to amuse himself +with his mother's elegant visitor. Mrs. Dallas became as nearly fidgety +as it was in her nature to be. + +'What do you think of my young friend?' she asked Pitt when he had been +a 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 anything +about 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! You +never used to be at a loss, as I remember, in old times, when you went +driving about with that little protegee of yours.' + +It was very imprudent of Mrs. Dallas, and she knew it immediately, and +was beyond measure vexed with herself. But the subject was started. + +'Poor Esther!' said Pitt thoughtfully. 'Mamma, I can't understand how +you 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 for +people whose address I did not know.' + +'I cannot understand why you did not know it. They were not the sort of +people to be left to themselves. A hypochondriack father, who thought +he was dying, and a young girl just growing up to need a kind mother's +care, which she had not. I would give more than I can tell you to find +her again!' + +'What could you possibly do for her, Pitt? You, reading law and living +in chambers in the Temple,--in London,--and she a grown young woman by +this time, and living in New York. No doubt her father is quite equal +to taking care of her.' + +Pitt made no reply. His mother repeated her question. 'What could you +do for her?' + +She was looking at him keenly, and did not at all like a faint smile +which 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 be +lost 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 a +promise once to Colonel Gainsborough to look after his daughter.' + +'A very extraordinary promise for him to ask or for you to give, seeing +you were but a boy at the time.' + +'Somewhat extraordinary, perhaps. However, that is nothing to the +matter.' + +There was a little vexed pause, and then Mrs. Dallas said: + +'In the meanwhile, instead of busying yourself with far-away claims +which are no claims, what do you think of paying a little attention to +a 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, which +looked out over the garden. It was an orderly wilderness of cherry +trees and apple trees and plum trees, raspberry vines and gooseberry +bushes; with marigolds and four o'clocks and love-in-a-puzzle and +hollyhocks and daisies and larkspur, and a great many more sweet and +homely growths that nobody makes any account of nowadays. Sunlight just +now lay glowing upon it, and made the shade of the verandah doubly +pleasant, the verandah being further shaded by honeysuckle and trumpet +creeper which wreathed round the pillars and stretched up to the eaves, +and the scent of the honeysuckle was mingled with the smell of roses +which came up from the garden. In this sweet and bowery place Miss +Frere was sitting when she declared it was too hot to drive. She was in +an India garden chair, and had her embroidery as usual in her hand. She +always had something in her hand. Pitt lingered, languidly +contemplating the picture she made. + +'It _is_ hot,' he assented. + +'When it is hot I keep myself quiet,' she went on. 'You seem to be of +another 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 to +allow me to take notice, I have noticed that you were busy about +something. 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 too +always have some work in hand whenever I have seen you.' + +'My work amounts to nothing,' said the young lady. 'At least you would +say so, I presume.' + +'What is it?' + +Miss Betty displayed her roll of muslin, on the free portion of which +an elegant line of embroidery was slowly growing, multiplying and +reproducing its white buds and leaves and twining shoots. Pitt regarded +it 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 her +little foot calling his attention to the edge of her skirt, where a +somewhat similar line of embroidery was visible. 'I am making a border +for 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 the +household virtues? Not having the money to buy trimming, I am +manufacturing 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 and +then 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 of +a philosopher!' + +'Are you a philosopher, Mr. Dallas!' + +'In so far as a philosopher means a lover of knowledge. A philosopher +who 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 her +eyes which expressed a little disdain and a little impatience. But she +saw Pitt's face with a thoughtful earnestness upon it; he was not +watching her eyes, as he ought to have been. Her somewhat petulant +words he answered simply. + +'What question of more moment can there be? I am here, a human creature +with 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 how +can you do that?' + +'You cannot do it, that ever I heard. It is not in the nature of +things.' + +'Then what is the good of pleasure when it is over, and you have given +your 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 tone +of one who had gone over the ground. + +'Any sort will do, I suppose,' said Miss Frere, with half a laugh. 'The +thing is, I believe, to be great, no matter how. I never had that +ambition 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 make +and the things they undergo for it.' + +'Yes,' said Pitt thoughtfully; 'they pay a great price, and they have +their reward. And, I say, what is it worth?' + +'Why, Mr. Dallas,' said the young lady, throwing up her head, 'it is +worth a great deal--all it costs. To be noble, to be distinguished, to +be great and remembered in the world,--what is a worthy ambition, if +that 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 got +it out of the dirt of low passions and cold-hearted selfishness. His +name will be remembered, but as a splendid example of wickedness. Name +some other.' + +'Name one yourself,' said Betty. 'I have succeeded so ill.' + +'Name them all,' said Pitt. 'Take all the conquerors, from Rameses the +Great 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 and +inventors, from the man who first made musical instruments, in the +lifetime of Adam our forefather, to Watt and the steam engine. Take any +or all of them; _we_ are very glad they lived and worked, _we_ are the +better for remembering them; but I ask you, what are they the better +for it?' + +This appeal, which was evidently meant in deep earnest, moved the mind +of the young lady with so great astonishment that she looked at Pitt as +at a _lusus naturae_. But he was quite serious and simply matter of +fact in his way of putting things. He looked at her, waiting for an +answer, but got none. + +'We speak of Alexander, and praise him to the skies, him of Macedon, I +mean. What is that, do you think, to Alexander now?' + +'If it is nothing to him, then what is the use of being great?' said +Miss Frere in her bewilderment. + +'You are coming back to my question.' + +There ensued a pause, during which the stitches of embroidery were +taken slowly. + +'What do you intend to do with _your_ life, Mr. Dallas, since pleasure +and 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 whose +happiness rested on a lasting foundation?' + +The young lady looked at her companion anew as if he were to her a very +odd character. + +'What do you mean?' she said. + +'I mean, a person who was thoroughly happy, not because of +circumstances, but in spite of them?' + +'To begin with, I never saw anybody that was "thoroughly happy." I do +not believe in the experience.' + +'I am obliged to believe in it. I have known a person who seemed to be +clean 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. I +have 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 for +suffering, and she had begun to find it out early; and it was from the +depths of unhappiness that she came out into clear and peaceful +sunshine; with nothing to help her either in her external surroundings.' + +'Couldn't you follow her steps and attain her experience?' asked Miss +Frere mockingly. + +Pitt rose up from the mat where he had been lying, laughed, and shook +himself. + +'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 go +to drive?' she said to Betty. + +'It is so hot, dear Mrs. Dallas! I had what was much better than a +drive--a good long talk.' + +'What do you think of my boy?' asked the mother, with an accent of +happy 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 of +tone. 'That shows he must like you very much, Betty; my son is not +given to letting himself out on those subjects. Even to me he very +seldom speaks of them.' + +'What subjects do you mean, dear Mrs. Dallas?' inquired the young lady +softly. + +'I mean,' said Mrs. Dallas uneasily and hesitating, 'some sort of +religious questions. I told you he had had to do at one time with +dissenting people, and I think their influence has been bad for him. I +hoped 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 would +be 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, all +the rather that it promised some difficulty. All the rather, too, that +she was stimulated by the idea of counter influence. She recalled more +than once what Pitt had said of that 'young girl,' and tried to make +out what had been in his tone at the time. No passion certainly; he had +spoken easily and frankly; too easily to favour the supposition of any +very deep feeling; and yet, not without a certain cadence of +tenderness, and undoubtedly with the confidence of intimate knowledge. +Undoubtedly, also, the influence of that young person, whatever its +nature, had not died out. Miss Betty had little question in her own +mind that she must have been one of the persons referred to and dreaded +by Mrs. Dallas as dissenters; and the young lady determined to do what +she could in the case. She had a definite point of resistance now, and +felt stronger for the fray. + +The fray, however, could not be immediately entered upon. Pitt departed +to New York, avowedly to look up the Gainsboroughs. And there, as two +years before, he spent unwearied pains in pursuit of his object; also, +as then, in vain. He returned after more than a week of absence, a +baffled man. His arrival was just in time to allow him to sit down to +dinner 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 have +spent hours and hours at the shipping offices, looking over the lists +of passengers; and of one thing I am certain, they have not sailed from +that port this year.' + +'Not under the name by which you know them.' + +'And not under any other. Colonel Gainsborough was not a man to hide +his head under an alias. But they know nothing of any Colonel +Gainsborough at the post office.' + +'That is strange.' + +'They never had many letters, you know, sir; and the colonel had given +up his English paper. I think I know all the people that take the +London _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 of +all this. Pitt was becoming a problem to her. All this eagerness and +painstaking would seem to look towards some very close relations +between the young man and these missing people; yet Pitt showed no +annoyance nor signs of trouble at missing them. Was it that he did not +really care? was it that he had not accepted failure, and did not mean +to fail? In either case, he must be a peculiar character, and in either +case there was brought to light an uncommon strength of determination. +There is hardly anything which women like better in the other sex than +force of character. Not because it is a quality in which their own sex +is apt to be lacking; on the contrary; but because it gives a woman +what she wants in a man--something to lean upon, and somebody to look +up to. Miss Betty found herself getting more and more interested in +Pitt and in her charge concerning him; how it was to be executed she +did not yet see; she must leave that to chance. Nothing could be forced +here. Where liking begins to grow, there also begins fear. + +She retreated to the verandah after dinner, with her embroidery. By and +by Mrs. Dallas came there too. It was a pleasant place in the +afternoon, for the sun was on the other side of the house, and the sea +breeze swept this way, giving its saltness to the odours of rose and +honeysuckle and mignonette. Mrs. Dallas sat down and took her knitting; +then, before a word could be exchanged, they were joined by Pitt. That +is, he came on the verandah; but for some time there was no talking. +The ladies would not begin, and Pitt did not. His attention, wherever +it might be, was not given to his companions; he sat thoughtful, and +determinately silent. Mrs. Dallas's knitting needles clicked, Miss +Betty's embroidering thread went noiselessly in and out. Bees hummed +and flitted about the honeysuckle vines; there was a soft, sweet, +luxurious atmosphere to the senses and to the mind. This went on for a +while. + +'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 asked +how he could be of service. + +'Your mother,' began Miss Betty, stitching away, 'has given me a +commission 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 no +chance to drive it away.' + +Pitt laughed a little. 'I was never attacked by _ennui_ in my life,' he +said. + +'So you do not want my services!' + +'Not to fight an enemy that is nowhere in sight. Perhaps he is your +enemy, and I might be helpful in another way.' + +It occurred to him that _he_ had been charged to make Miss Frere's +sojourn in Seaforth pleasant; and some vague sense of what this mutual +charge 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. If +you would propose it again, perhaps I would go. We cannot help its +being hot?' + +So they went for a drive. The roads were capital, the evening was +lovely, the horses went well, and the phaeton was comfortable; if that +were 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 bit +of 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 should +entertain 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 their +heads--what they know--and don't know; what they can talk about, in +short.' + +'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 hale +life 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 am +there, Miss Frere, I am with an old uncle, who is an antiquary and an +enthusiast on the subject of his native city. From the first it has +been his pleasure to go with me all over London, and tell me the +secrets of its old streets, and show me what was worth looking at. +London was my picture-book, my theatre, where I saw tragedy and comedy +together; my museum of antiquities. I never tire of it, and my Uncle +Strahan 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, strikingly +illustrated.' + +'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, having +found 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 very +patiently, and told Mrs. Dallas on reaching home that the drive had +been delightful. + +Next day Pitt was as good as his word. He brought his map of London +into the cool matted room where the ladies were sitting, rolled up a +table, and spread the map out before Miss Frere. The young lady dropped +her 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 London +that delight you are over here?' indicating the West End. + +'No,' returned Pitt, 'by no means. The City and the Strand are +infinitely 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 a +certain portion of the map, 'is crowded with the witnesses of human +life and history; full of remains that tell of the men of the past, and +their doings, and their sufferings.' + +Miss Frere's fine eyes were lifted to him in inquiry; meeting them, he +smiled, and went on. + +'I must explain. Where shall I begin? Suppose, for instance, we take +our stand here at Whitehall. We are looking at the Banqueting House of +the Palace, built by Inigo Jones for James I. The other buildings of +the palace, wide and splendid as they were, have mostly perished. This +stands yet. I need not tell you the thoughts that come up as we look at +it.' + +'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 you +speak of, there was Cardinal Wolsey'-- + +'Oh, Wolsey! I remember.' + +'His outrageous luxury and pomp of living, and his disgrace. Then comes +Henry VIII., and Anne Boleyn, and their marriage; Henry's splendours, +and his death. All that was here. In those days the buildings of +Whitehall were very extensive, and they were further enlarged +afterwards. Here Elizabeth held her court, and here she lay in state +after death. James I comes next; he built the Banqueting House. And in +his son's time, the royal magnificence displayed at Whitehall was +incomparable. All the gaieties and splendours and luxury of living that +then were possible, were known here. And here was the scaffold where he +died. 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 think +you would not want to look long. But I shall not try. We will go on to +Charing Cross. The old palace extended once nearly so far. Here is the +place.' 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 there +without in thought going back to Edward I. and his queen. In its place +is a brazen statue of Charles I. And in fact, when I stand there the +winds seem to sweep down upon me from many a mountain peak of history. +Edward and his rugged greatness, and Charles and his weak folly; and +the Protectorate, and the Restoration. For here, where the statue +stands, stood once the gallows where Harrison and his companions were +executed, when "the king had his own again." Sometimes I can hardly see +the 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, all +go together. That was the Puritans!' + +'Pretty strong!' said Pitt. 'And not quite fair either, is it? How much +feeling for what is noble and refined was there in the court of the +second 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, you +would not be here to-day in a land of freedom.' + +'Too much freedom,' said Mrs. Dallas. 'I believe it is good to have a +king over a country.' + +'Well, go on from Charing Cross, won't you,' said Miss Frere. 'I am +interested. I never studied a map of London before. I am not sure I +ever saw one.' + +'I do not know which way to go,' said Pitt. 'Every step brings us to +new associations; every street opens up a chapter of history. Here is +Northumberland House; a grand old building, full of its records. +Howards and Percys and Seymours have owned it and built it; and there +General Monk planned the bringing back of the Stuarts. Going along the +Strand, every step is full of interest. Just _here_ used to be the +palace of Sir Nicholas Baron and his son; then James the First's +favourite, the Duke of Buckingham, lived in it; and the beautiful +water-gate is yet standing which Inigo Jones built for him. All the +Strand was full of palaces which have passed away, leaving behind the +names of their owners in the streets which remain or have been built +since. Here Sir Walter Raleigh lived; _here_ the Dudleys had their +abode, and Lady Jane Grey was married; here was the house of Lord +Burleigh. But let us go on to the church of St. Mary-le-Strand. Here +once 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 under +Charles II. it was set up again. And here, once, four thousand children +were gathered and sang a hymn, on some public occasion of triumph in +Queen Anne's reign.' + +'It is not there now?' + +'Oh, no! It was given to Sir Isaac Newton, and made to subserve the +uses of a telescope.' + +'How do you know all these things, Mr. Pitt.' + +'Every London antiquary knows them, I suppose. And I told you, I have +an 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. 'A +little further on is the church of St. Clement Danes, where Dr. Johnson +used 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 the +bound 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 of +this limit is Westminster.' + +'There are ugly associations with Temple Bar, I know,' said Miss Frere. + +'There are ugly associations with everything. Down here stood Essex +House, where Essex defended himself, and from which he was carried off +to the Tower. _There_, in Lincoln's Inn fields, Thomas Babington and +his party died for high treason, and there Russell died. And just up +here 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,' said +Mrs. Dallas. 'In old times people were rough, of course, but they were +rough everywhere.' + +'I was thinking'-- said Miss Frere. 'Mr. Dallas gives a somewhat +singular justification of his liking for London.' + +'Is it?' said Pitt. 'It would be singular if the violence were there +now; but to read the record and look on the scene is interesting, and +for me fascinating. The record is of other things too. See,--in this +place Milton lived and wrote; here Franklin abode; here Charles Lamb; +from an inn in this street Bishop Hooper went away to die. And so I +might go on and on. At every step there is the memorial of some great +man's life, or some noted man's death. And with all that, there are +also the most exquisite bits of material antiquity. Old picturesque +houses; old crypts of former churches, over which stands now a modern +representative of the name; old monuments many; old doorways, and +courts, and corners, and gateways. Come over to London, and I will take +you down into the crypt of St. Paul's, and show you how history is +presented 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 things +you have been talking about should have so much charm for you. I should +think the newer and handsomer parts of the city, the parks and the +gardens, 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 Hyde +Park?' + +'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 an +accent of satisfaction. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +_INTERPRETATIONS_. + + +Miss Betty hereupon begged to be told more distinctly what was in the +British Museum, that anybody should go there 'hundreds of times.' Pitt +presently got warm in his subject, and talked long and well; as many +people will do when they are full of their theme, even when they can +talk upon nothing else. Pitt was not one of those people; he could talk +well upon anything, and now he made himself certainly very +entertaining. His mother thought so, who cared nothing for the British +Museum except in so far that it was a great institution of an old +country, which a young country could not rival. She listened to Pitt. +Miss Betty gave him even more profound interest and unflagging +attention; whether she too were not studying the speaker full as much +as the things spoken, I will not say. They had a very pleasant morning +of it; conversation diverging sometimes to Assyria and Egypt, and +ancient civilizations and arts, and civilization in general. Mrs. +Dallas gradually drew back from mingling in the talk, and watched, well +pleased, to see how eager the two other speakers became, and how they +were lost in their subject and in each other. + +In the afternoon there was another drive, to which Pitt did not need to +be stimulated; and all the evening the two young people were busy with +something which engaged them both. Mrs. Dallas breathed freer. + +'I _think_ he is smitten,' she said privately to her husband. 'How +could 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 of +Pitt's disengagedness made him more ensnaring to her. There was nobody +else in the village to divert his attention, and the two young people +were thrown very much together. They went driving, they rode, and they +talked, continually. The map of London was often out, and Mrs. Dallas +saw the two heads bent over it, and interested faces looking into each +other; and she thought things were going on very fairly. If only the +vacation were not so short! For only a little time more, and Pitt must +be back at his chambers in London. The mother sighed to herself. She +was paying rather a heavy price to keep her son from Dissenters! + +Betty Frere too remembered that the vacation was coming to an end, and +drew her breath rather short. She was depending on Pitt too much for +her amusement, she told herself, and to be sure there were other young +men in the world that could talk; but she felt a sort of disgust at the +thought of them all. They were not near so interesting. They all +flattered her, and some of them were supposed to be brilliant; but +Betty turned from the thought of them to the one whose lips never +condescended to say pretty things, nor made any effort to say witty +things. They behaved towards her with a sort of obsequious reverence, +which was the fashion of that day much more than of this; and Betty +liked far better a manner which never made pretence of anything, was +thoroughly natural and perfectly well-bred, but which frankly paid more +honour to his mother than to herself. She admired Pitt's behaviour to +his mother. Even to his mother it had less formality than was the +custom of the day; while it gave her every delicate little attention +and every possible graceful observance. The young beauty had sense +enough to see that this promised more for Pitt's future wife than any +amount of civil subserviency to herself. Perhaps there is not a quality +which women value more in a man, or miss more sorely, than what we +express by the term manliness. And she saw that Pitt, while he was +enthusiastic and eager, and what she called fanciful, always was true, +honest, and firm in what he thought right. From that no fancy carried +him away. + +And Miss Betty found the days pass with almost as much charm as +fleetness. How fleet they were she did not bear to think. She found +herself recognising Pitt's step, distinguishing his voice in the +distance, and watching for the one and the other. Why not? He was so +pleasant as a companion. But she found herself also starting when he +appeared suddenly, thrilled at the unexpected sound of his voice, and +conscious of quickened pulses when he came into the room. Betty did not +like these signs in herself; at the same time, that which had wrought +the spell continued to work, and the spell was not broken. In justice +to the young lady, I must say that there was not the slightest outward +token of it. Betty was as utterly calm and careless in her manner as +Pitt himself; so that even Mrs. Dallas--and a woman in those matters +sees far--could not tell whether either or both of the young people had +a liking for the other more than the social good-fellowship which was +frank and apparent. It might be, and she confessed also to herself that +it might not be. + +'You must give that fellow time,' said her husband. Which Mrs. Dallas +knew, if she had not been so much in a hurry. + +'If he met those Gainsboroughs by chance, I would not answer for +anything,' she said. + +'How should he meet them? They are probably as poor as rats, and have +drawn 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 next +year.' + +'That is a very good thought,' said Mrs. Dallas. + +And, comforted by this thought and the plans she presently began to +weave in with it, she looked now with much more equanimity than Betty +herself towards the end of Pitt's visit. Mrs. Dallas, however, was not +to get off without another shock to her nerves. + +It was early in September, and the weather of that sultry, hot, and +moist character which we have learned to look for in connection with +the first half of that month. Miss Frere's embroidery went languidly; +possibly there might have been more reasons than one for the slow and +spiritless movement of her fingers, which was quite contrary to their +normal habit. Mrs. Dallas, sitting at a little distance on the +verandah, was near enough to hear and observe what went on when Pitt +came upon the scene, and far enough to be separated from the +conversation unless she chose to mix in it. By and by he came, looking +thoughtful, as Betty saw, though she hardly seemed to notice his +approach. There was no token in her quiet manner of the quickened +pulses of which she was immediately conscious. Something like a +tremulous thrill ran through her nerves; it vexed her to be so little +mistress of them, yet the pleasure of the thrill at the moment was more +than the pain. Pitt threw himself into a chair near her, and for a few +moments watched the play of her needle. Betty's eyelashes never +stirred. But the silence lasted too long. Nerves would not bear it. + +'What can you find to do in this weather, Mr. Pitt?' she asked +languidly. + +'It is good weather,' he answered absently. 'Do you ever read the +Bible?' + +Miss Betty's fine eyes were lifted now with an expression of some +amusement. They were very fine eyes; Mrs. Dallas thought they could not +fail of their effect. + +'The Bible?' she repeated. 'I read the lessons in the Prayer-book; that +is 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. There +is a great deal of it.' + +'But you read it piecemeal so.' + +'You must read it piecemeal any way,' returned the young lady. 'You can +read only a little each day; a portion.' + +'You could read consecutively, though, or you could choose for +yourself.' + +'I like to have the choice made for me. It saves time; and then one is +sure one has got hold of the right portion, you know. I like the +lessons.' + +'And then,' remarked Mrs. Dallas, 'you know other people and your +friends are reading that same portion at the same time, and the feeling +is very sacred and sweet.' + +'But if the Bible was intended to be read in such a way, how comes it +that 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 know +as well as I do.' + +'As I understand it, mother, what you mean is simply a body of +Christians who lived some time ago.' + +'Yes. Well, what then?' + +'I do not comprehend how they should know what you and I want to read +to-day. I am not talking of Church services. I am talking of private +reading.' + +'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 really +very wrong. This comes of your way of questioning and reasoning about +everything. 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 said +gravely. + +'Undoubtedly.' + +'Well, mother, I am not talking to you; I am attacking Miss Frere. I +can talk to her on even terms. Miss Frere, I want to know what you +understand by obeying, when we are speaking of the demands of the +Bible?' + +'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 with +which at another time she would have given a turn to the subject. + +'Then you think, distinctly, that we ought to obey the words of the +Bible?' + +'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 an +instance or two? I am talking in earnest, and mean it earnestly.' + +'Do you ever do anything in any other way?' asked the young lady, with +a charming air of fine raillery and recognition blended. 'Certainly; I +am 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 a +doubtful expression. + +'No, mamma; I like to go to the Fountain-head of authority as well as +of learning.' + +'The Fountain-head!' exclaimed Mrs. Dallas, in indignant protest; and +then she remembered her wisdom, and said no more. It cost her an +effort; however, she knew that for her to set up a defence of either +Church or Prayer-book just then would not be wise, and that she had +better leave the matter in Betty's hands. She looked at Betty +anxiously. The young lady's face showed her cool and collected, not +likely to be carried away by any stream of enthusiasm or overborne by +influence. It was, in fact, more cool than she felt. She liked to get +into a good talk with Pitt upon any subject, and so far was content; at +the same time she would rather have chosen any other than this, and was +a little afraid whereto it might lead. Religion had not been precisely +her principal study. True, it had not been his principal study either; +but Betty discerned a difference in their modes of approaching it. She +attributed that to the Puritan or dissenting influences which had at +some time got hold of him. To thwart those would at any rate be a good +work, 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 commands +we are bound to obey?' + +'Provided we understand it,' his opponent put in. + +'Provided we understand it, of course. A command not understood is +hardly a command. Now here is a word which has struck me, and I would +like to know how it strikes you.' + +He turned to the familiar twenty-fifth of Matthew and read the central +portion, the parable of the talents. He read like an interested man, +and perhaps it was owing to a slight unconscious intonation here and +there that Pitt's two hearers listened as if the words were strangely +new to them. They had never heard them sound just so. Yet the reading +was not dramatic at all; it was only a perfectly natural and feeling +deliverance. But feeling reaches feeling, as we all know. The reading +ceased, nobody spoke for several minutes. + +'What does it mean?' asked Pitt. + +'My dear,' said his mother, 'can there be a question what it means? The +words are perfectly simple, it seems to me.' + +'Mamma, I am not talking to you. You may sit as judge and arbiter; but +it is Miss Frere and I who are disputing. She will have the goodness to +answer.' + +'I do not know what to answer,' said the young lady. 'Are not the +words, as Mrs. Dallas says, perfectly plain?' + +'Then surely it cannot be difficult to say what the teaching of them +is?' + +If it was not difficult, the continued silence of the lady was +remarkable. She made no further answer. + +'_Are_ they so plain? I have been puzzling over them. I will divide the +question, and perhaps we can get at the conclusion better so. In the +first 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; they +cannot mean everybody, for it says, he "called _his own_ servants;" the +Greek is "bond-servants."' + +'His servants would be His Church then.' + +'His own people. "He delivered unto them His goods." What are the goods +he delivered to them? Some had more, some had less; all had a share and +a 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 process +by which the goods or the money concerned are multiplied. What are the +goods given to you and me?--to bring the question down into the +practical. It must be something with which we may increase the wealth +of 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 judge +between 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, every +enlargement of His dominion in this world, every addition made to the +number of His subjects, may be fairly spoken of so. The question +stands, What are the goods? That is, if you like to go into it. I am +not 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 me +before, and I am not ready with an answer.' + +'I never heard the question discussed either,' said Pitt. 'But I was +reading this passage yesterday, and could not help starting it. The +"goods" must be, I think, all those gifts or powers by means of which +we can work for God, and so work as to enlarge His kingdom. Now, what +are they?' + +'Of course we can pay money,' said the young lady, looking a good deal +mystified. 'We can pay money to support ministers, if that is what you +mean.' + +'So much is patent enough. Is money the only thing?' + +Miss Frere looked bewildered, Mrs. Dallas impatient. She restrained +herself, however, and waited. Pitt smiled. + +'We pay money to support ministers and teachers. What do the ministers +work with? what do they _trade_ with?' + +'The truth, I suppose.' + +'And how do they make the truth known? By their lips, and by their +lives; 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, and +so far as we have discovered, are three: property, speech, and personal +example. But the two last are entrusted to you and me, are they not, as +well as the former?' + +The girl looked at him now with big eyes, in which no shadow of +self-consciousness was any more lurking. Eyes that were bewildered, +astonished, inquiring, and also disturbed. 'What do you mean?' she said +helplessly. + +'It comes to this,' said Pitt. 'If we are ready to obey the Bible, we +shall use not only our money, but our tongues and ourselves to do the +work which--you know--the Lord left to His disciples to do; make +disciples 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 that +does 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 are +straining things quite beyond what is intended. We are not all meant to +be 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 given +you one instance. Now I will give you another. It is written over +here,' and he turned a few leaves,--'it is another word of Christ to +those 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 all +know what it means when we say that such a person or such a thing is +Christlike. Loving, charitable, kind'-- + +'But to _follow_ Him,--that is something positive and active. Literal +following a person is to go where he has gone, through all the paths +and to all the places. In the spiritual following, which is intended +here,--what is it? It is to do as He did, is it not? To have His aims +and 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, again +with a little laugh, as of self-recollection. 'Tell me to stop, if you +are tired of the subject.' + +'I am not in the least tired; how could you think it? It always +delights 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 for +me. 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 in +mental footsteps.' + +'I do not understand you,' said his mother, with an air both vexed and +anxious; while Miss Frere had now let her embroidery fall, and was +giving her best consideration to the subject and the speaker. She was a +little annoyed too, but she was more interested. This was a different +sort of conversation from any she had been accustomed to hear, and Pitt +was a different sort of speaker. He was not talking to kill time, or to +please her; he was--most wonderful and rare!--in earnest; and that not +in any matter that involved material interests. She had seen people in +earnest before on matters of speculation and philosophy, often on +stocks and schemes for making money, in earnest violently on questions +of party politics; but in earnest for the truth's sake, never, in all +her life. It was a new experience, and Pitt was a novel kind of person; +manly, straightforward, honest; quite a person to be admired, to be +respected, to be-- Where were her thoughts running? + +He had sat silent a moment, after his mother's last remark; gravely +thinking. 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 be +speaking to mamma. If you will look at the way Christ went, you will +see 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; we +cannot help thinking of ourselves; we are _meant_ to think of +ourselves. Everybody must think of self; or the world would not hold +together.' + +'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 where +would the world be, if everybody, as you say, put self nowhere?' + +'I will go on to another point. Christ went about doing good. It was +the 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 was +resting among friends in the little household at Bethany, He was +teaching, 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 ready +with an answer. The pause lasted till both of them felt what it +implied, 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 with +a slight bow, he intimated his willingness to hear her. Miss Frere was +nevertheless not very ready. + +'Mr. Dallas, do I understand you? Can it be that you mean--I do not +know how to put it,--do you mean that you think that everybody, that +all of us, and each of us, ought to devote his life to helping and +teaching?' + +'It can be of no consequence what I think,' he said. 'The question is +simply, what is "following Christ"?' + +'Being His disciple, I should say.' + +'What is that?' he replied quickly. 'I have been studying that very +point; 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 cannot +be my disciple"?' + +'But what do you mean, Pitt?' his mother asked in indignant +consternation. + +'What did the Lord mean, mother?' he returned very gravely. + +'Are we all heathen, then?' she went on with heat. 'For I never saw +anybody yet in my life that took such a view of religion as you are +taking.' + +'Do we know exactly Mr. Pitt's view?' here put in the other lady. 'I +confess I do not. I wish he would say.' + +'I have been studying it,' said Pitt, with an earnest gravity of manner +which gave his mother yet more trouble than his words. 'I have gone to +the Greek for it; and there the word rendered "forsake" is one that +means to "take leave of"--"bid farewell." And if we go to history for +the explanation, we do find that that was the attitude of mind which +those 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--even +life--as the cost of their following. They would begin by a secret +taking 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 women +looked at him; and his mother got rid as unobtrusively as possible of a +vexed and hot tear that would come. + +'Mr. Dallas,' Miss Frere urged again, 'these are not times of +persecution any more. We can be Christians--disciples--and retain all +our 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 anybody +will be content to put self nowhere, as Christ did, giving up his whole +life and strength--and means--to the help and service of his fellow +men, _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 or +pleasure, 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 with +that 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 me +for 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 doth +not _take up his cross_ and follow me, he cannot be my disciple"? The +cross meant shame, torture, and death, in those days; and I think in a +modified way, it means the same thing now. It means something.' + +'But Mr. Pitt, you do not answer my argument,' Miss Frere repeated. 'If +this view is correct, how comes it that nobody takes it but you?' + +'Your argument is where the dew is after a hot sun,--nowhere. Instead +of 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 faced +the lions. In later days, they have been chased and worried from +hiding-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 and +gone to the ends of the earth to tell the gospel. They have done what +was 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 understand +you.' + +'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 no +room 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 elder +Dallas'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 views +of Pitt's all sorts of possible dangers to what she had hoped would be +his future career in life. Even granting that they were a youthful +folly and would pass away, how soon would they pass away? and in the +meantime what chances Pitt might lose, what time might be wasted, what +fatal damage his prospects might suffer! And Pitt held a thing so fast +when he had once taken it up. Almost her only hope lay in Betty's +influence. + +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, for +the time at least, be open to no other. Her ordinary power would be +gone; he would see in her nothing but a talking machine with whom he +could discuss things. It was not speculation merely that busied his +thoughts now, she could see; not mere philosophy, or study of human +nature; 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. Betty +saw that there was but one thing left for her to do. Diversion was not +possible; she could not hope to turn Pitt aside from his quest after +truth; she must seem to take part in it, and so gain her advantage from +what threatened to be her discomfiture. + +The result of all which was, that after this there came to be a great +deal of talk between the two upon Bible subjects, intermingled with not +a little reading aloud from the Bible itself. This was at Betty's +instance, rather than Pitt's. When she could she got him out for a walk +or a drive; in the house (and truly, often out of the house too) she +threw herself with great apparent interest into the study of the +questions that had been started, along with others collateral, and +desired to learn and desired to discuss all that could be known about +them. So there were, as I said, continual Bible readings, mingled +occasionally with references to some old commentary; and Betty and Pitt +sat very near together, looking over the same page; and remained long +in talk, looking eagerly into one another's eyes. Mrs. Dallas was not +satisfied. + +She came upon Betty one day in the verandah, just after Pitt had left +her. The young lady was sitting with her hand between the leaves of a +Bible, and a disturbed, far-away look in her eyes, which might have +been the questioning of a troubled conscience, or--of a very different +feeling. She roused up as Mrs. Dallas came to her, and put on a +somewhat 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 this +Bible 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. He +always took things "hard," as you say; but then it used to be science +and study of history, and collecting of natural curiosities, and +drawing. Have you seen any of Pitt's drawings? He has a genius for +that. Indeed, I think he has a genius for everything,' Mrs. Dallas said +with a sigh; 'and he used to be keen for distinguishing himself, and he +did distinguish himself everywhere, always; here at school and at +college, and then at Oxford. My dear, he distinguished himself at +_Oxford_. He was always a good boy, but not in the least foolish, or +superstitious, or the least inclined to be fanatical. And now, as far +as 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 getting +ready to take his place in the world--and he would take no mean place +in the world, Betty--it is hard! Why, he talks as if he would throw +everything up. I never would have thought it of Pitt, of all people. It +is due, I am convinced, to the influence of those dissenting friends of +his!' + +'Who are they?' Miss Betty asked curiously. + +'You have heard the name,' said Mrs. Dallas, lowering her voice, though +Pitt was not within hearing. 'They used to live here. It was a Colonel +Gainsborough--English, but of a dissenting persuasion. That kind of +thing seems to be infectious.' + +'He must have been a remarkable man, if his influence could begin so +early 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 which +covered a sudden down-sinking of her heart. + +'Oh dear no! she was a child; there was no thought of such a thing. But +Pitt was fond of her, and used to go roaming about the fields with her +after flowers. My son is a botanist; I don't know if you have found it +out.' + +'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 got +this religious idea in his head, would there be any managing it, or +him? It did not frighten Miss Betty, so far as the religious idea +itself was concerned; she reflected sagely that a man might be worse +things than philanthropic, or even than pious. She had seen wives made +unhappy by neglect, and others made miserable by the dissipated habits +or the ungoverned tempers of their husbands; a man need not be +unendurable because he was true and thoughtful and conscientious, or +even devout. She could bear that, quite easily; the only thing was, +that in thoughts which possessed Pitt lately he had passed out of her +influence; beyond her reach. All she could do was to follow him into +this 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 not +feel sure that she got any nearer to him, nevertheless. She was shrewd +enough to divine the reason. + +'Mr. Pitt,' she said frankly to him one day, when the talk had been +eager in the same line it had taken that first day on the verandah, and +both parties had held the same respective positions with regard to each +other,--'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 present +that 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 were +sitting at work. It was another September day of sultry heat, yet the +verandah was also in the morning a pleasant place, sweet with the +honeysuckle fragrance still lingering, and traversed by a faint +intermittent breeze. Both ladies raised their heads to look at the +young man as he came towards them, and then, struck by something in his +face, could not take their eyes away. He came straight to his mother +and 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 have +given up fighting.' + +'Fighting!?' + +'Yes. The battle is won, and I have lost, and gained. I have given up +fighting, 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 has +made a free man of me?' + +His tone was not excited; it was quiet and sweet; but Mrs. Dallas was +excited. + +'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 years +to 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 was +right.' + +'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 you +ought 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 His +servant 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 I +was fighting? and I saw directly that I was fighting a won battle; that +my reason and conscience were entirely vanquished, and that the only +thing that held out was my will. I have given that up, and now I am the +Lord'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 my +Master. I am His for life and death; and now His commands seem the +pleasantest 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 own +supreme will.' + +'But, Pitt, you say you have come to know; what time has there been for +any such change?' + +'Not much time,' he replied; 'and I cannot tell how it is; but it +seemed 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 I +seemed 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 more +reasonable than His demands, or more delightful than yielding obedience +to them.' + +'Demands? what demands?' said Mrs. Dallas. + +Her son repeated the words with which the twelfth chapter of Romans +begins. + +'"I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye +present 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 it +gives all to God as entirely as the offering that imaged it went up in +smoke 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 been +studying all this for years, in the Bible and in the words of others +who _were_ clergymen; and now it is all plain before me. It became so +as 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 not +know where my orders will place me or what work they will give me. Only +I _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 should +certainly think I heard a Methodist talking. I suppose that is the way +they do.' + +'Did you ever hear one talk, mother?' + +'No, and do not want to hear one, even if it were my own son!' she +answered angrily. + +'But in all that I have been saying, if they say it too, the Methodists +are right, mother. A redeemed sinner is one bought with a price, and +thenceforth neither his spirit nor his body can be his own. And his +happiness is not to be his own.' + +Mrs. Dallas was violently moved, yet she had much self-command and +habitual dignity of manner, and would not break down now. More pitiful +than tears was the haughty gesture of her head as she turned it aside +to hide the quivering lips. And more tender than words was the air with +which 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 bitter +emphasis. + +'You never could have believed anything so good of me.' + +'What are you going to _do?_' she repeated vehemently. 'What does all +this amount to? or is it anything but dissenting rant?' + +'Anything but that,' he answered gravely. 'Mother, do you remember the +words,--"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 which +enter 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 do +not yet know; but this I know plainly, that my work in the world, one +way 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 I +have begun. But if I do, mother, my law will be only one of the means I +have 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 was +the 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 of +humanity understands it. The love that would win them for heaven would +also help them on earth; and if they do not see the one thing, they do +not 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 be +obliged to you, Pitt, to answer her.' + +The young man's countenance changed; a shadow fell over it which raised +Miss Frere's sympathy. He went into the house, however, for a Bible, +and coming back with it sat down and read quietly and steadfastly the +beautiful words in Isaiah: + +'"To loose the bands of wickedness, to undo the heavy burdens, and to +let the oppressed go free, and that ye break every yoke. ... To deal +thy bread to the hungry, and that thou bring the poor that are cast out +to thy house; when thou seest the naked, that thou cover him; and that +thou hide not thyself from thine own flesh."' + +'It would take a good deal of money, certainly,' said Miss Frere, 'to +do all that; indeed, I hardly think all the fortunes in the world would +be sufficient.' + +Pitt made no answer. He sat looking down at the page from which he had +been 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 any +fanaticism 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 cover +him"--"that ye break every yoke." And, "he that hath two coats, let him +impart to him that hath none; and he that hath meat, let him do +likewise."' + +'You can find Scripture to quote for everything, said Mrs. Dallas, +rising in anger; 'that is the way Methodists and fanatics always do, as +I have heard. But I can tell you one thing, Pitt, which you may not +have taken into account; if you persist in this foolishness, your +father, I know, will take care that the fortune you have to throw away +shall not be large!' + +With these words she swept into the house. The two left behind were for +some moments very still. Pitt had drooped his head a little, and rested +his brow in his hand; Miss Betty watched him. Her dismay and dislike of +Pitt's disclosures were scarcely less than his mother's, but different. +Disappointed pride was not here in question. That he should give up a +splendid and opulent career did not much trouble her. In the first +place, he might modify his present views; in the second place, if he +did not, if he lived up to his principles, there was something in her +which 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 her +sphere, and beyond her reach? For the present, at least, his mind was +utterly taken up by this one great subject; there was no room in it +left for light things; love skirmishes could not be carried on over the +ground he now occupied; he was wholly absorbed in his new decisions and +experiences, 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 at +the 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 manner +to his mother was perfect. So had not been her manner towards him. He +had been gentle, steadfast, and true, manly and tender. 'Happy will be +the woman that will share his life, whatever it be!' thought Betty, +with some constriction of heart; but to bring herself into that +favoured place she saw little chance now. She longed to say a word of +some sort that might sound like sympathy or intelligence; but she could +not find it, and wisely held her peace. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +_LIFE PLANS_. + + +Happily or unhappily,--it was as people looked at it,--Pitt's free days +in America were drawing to a close. There were few still remaining to +him before he must leave Seaforth and home, and go back to his reading +law in the Temple. In those days there was a little more discussion of +his new views and their consequences between him and his mother, but +not 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 ass +of 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 make +ducks 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 depend +upon it, London and law will scare all this nonsense away, fast enough.' + +Mrs. Dallas felt no comforting assurance of the kind. She watched her +son during the remaining days of his presence with them--watched him +incessantly; so did Betty Frere, and so, in truth, secretly, did his +father. Pitt was rather more quiet than usual; there was not much other +change to be observed in him, or so Mrs. Dallas flattered herself. + +'I see a difference,' said Miss Frere, to whom she communicated this +opinion. + +'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; there +was 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 with +the happiness of a good son; but neither she nor Miss Frere adverted to +that anomaly. + +'I should not wonder one bit,' said Mrs. Dallas bitterly, 'if he were +to disinherit himself.' + +That would be bad, Betty agreed--deplorable; however, the thought of +her own loss busied her most just now; not of what Pitt might lose. Two +days before his departure all these various feelings of the various +persons in the little family received a somewhat violent jar. + +It was evening. Miss Frere and Pitt had had a ride that afternoon--a +long and very spirited one. It might be the last they would take +together, and she had enjoyed it with the keenness of that +consciousness; as a grain of salt intensifies sweetness, or as discords +throw out the value of harmony. Pitt had been bright and lively as much +as ever, the ride had been gay, and the one regret on Betty's mind as +they dismounted was that she had not more time before her to try what +she could do. Pitt, as yet at least, had not grown a bit precise or +sanctimonious; he had not talked nonsense, indeed, but then he never +had paid her the very poor compliment of doing that. All the more, she +as 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. Dallas +roused up to bear his part in the conversation. When supper was done +they still sat round the table, lingering in talk. Then, after a slight +pause which had set in, Pitt leaned forward a little and spoke, looking +alternately 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 more +of shocked surprise. Dumb silence followed. Angry eyes were directed +towards the speaker from the top and from the bottom of the table. Miss +Frere cast down hers with the inward thought, 'Oh, you foolish, foolish +fellow! what did you do that for, and spoil everything!' Pitt waited a +little. + +'It is duty,' he said. 'You yourselves will grant me that.' + +'And you fancy it is _your_ duty to remind us of ours!' said his +father, with contained scorn. + +The mother's agitation was violent--so violent that she had difficulty +to command herself. What it was that moved her so painfully she could +not have told; her thoughts were in too much of a whirl. Between anger, +and fear, and something else, she was in the greatest confusion, and +not able to utter a syllable. Betty sat internally railing at Pitt's +folly. + +'The only question is, Is it duty?--in either case,' the son said +steadfastly. + +'Exactly!' said his father. 'Well, you have done yours; and I will do +mine.' + +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 a +moved conscience, or mere policy and curiosity; she could not tell +which. The words were enough, however, whatever had moved them. Pitt +took a Bible and read, still sitting at the table, the Parable of the +Talents; and then he kneeled down. The elder Dallas never stirred. +Betty knelt at once. Mrs. Dallas sat still at first, but then slipped +from her chair to the floor and buried her face in her hands, where +tears that were exceedingly bitter flowed beyond all her power to +hinder them. For Pitt was praying, and to his mother's somewhat shocked +astonishment, not in any words from a book, but in words--where did he +get them?--that broke her heart. They were solemn and sweet, tender and +simple; there was neither boldness nor shyness in them, although there +was a frankness at which Mrs. Dallas wondered, along with the +tenderness that quite subdued her. + +The third one kneeling there was moved differently. The fountain of her +tears was not touched at all, neither had she any share in the passion +of displeasure which filled the father and mother. Yet she was in a +disturbance almost as complete as theirs. It was a bitter and secret +trouble, which as a woman she had to keep to herself, over which her +head bowed as she knelt there. Just for that minute she might bow her +head 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's +proceedings; she did not sympathize with his motives; at the same time +they did not make her like him the less. On the contrary, and Betty +felt it was on the contrary, she could not help admiring his bravery, +and she was almost ready to worship his strength. Somebody brave enough +to avow truth that is unwelcome, and strong enough to do what goes +against the grain with himself; such a person is not to be met with +every day, and usually excites the profound respect of his fellows, +even when they do not like him. But Betty liked this one, and liked him +the more for doing the things she disliked, and it drove her to the +bounds of desperation to feel that in the engrossment of his new +principles he was carried away from her, and out of her power. Added to +all this was the extreme strangeness of the present experience. +Absolutely kneeling round the dinner-table!--kneeling to pray! Betty +had never known such a thing, nor conceived the possibility of such a +thing. In an unconsecrated place, led by unconsecrated lips, in words +nowhere set down; what could equal the irregularity and the +impropriety? The two women, in their weakness, kneeling, and the master +of the house showing by his unmoved posture that he disallowed the +whole thing! Incongruous! unfortunate! I am bound to say that Betty +understood little of the words she so disapproved; the sea under a +stormy wind is not more uneasy than was her spirit; and towards the end +her one special thought and effort was bent upon quieting the +commotion, and at least appearing unmoved. She was pretty safe, for the +other members of the family had each enough to busy him without taking +much note of her. + +Pitt had but a day or two more to stay; and Miss Frere felt an +irresistible impulse to force him into at least one talk more. She +hardly knew what she expected, or what she wished from it; only, to let +him go so, without one more word, was unbearable. She wanted to get +nearer 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 with +him. 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; and +after breakfast Mr. and Mrs. Dallas both disappeared. Betty seized her +opportunity, and reminded Pitt that he had never showed her his +particular room, his old workshop and play place. 'It was not much to +see,' he said; however, he took her through the house, and up the open +flight of steps, where long ago Esther had been used to go for her +lessons. The room looked much as it had done at that time; for during +Pitt's stay at home he had pulled out one thing after another from its +packing or hiding place; and now, mounted birds and animals, coins, +shells, minerals, presses, engravings, drawings, and curiosities, made +a delightful litter; delightful, for it was not disorderly; only gave +one the feeling of a wealth of tastes and pursuits, every one of them +pursued to enjoyment. Betty studied the place and the several objects +in 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 is +small. 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 I +have reserved to the last, for I like to have them about while I am +here.' + +He began as he spoke to put away some little articles, and got out +paper to wrap up others. + +'And how came you by all these tastes? Mr. and Mrs. Dallas do not share +them, 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, I +believe, on both sides of the house. My mother has not that on her +conscience.' + +'But you sympathize with such supposititious ancestors?' + +'Why do you say so?' + +'Mr. Pitt,' said Betty, sitting down and folding her hands seriously in +her 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 it +on, 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 something +like an earthquake; and what is the use of earthquakes?' + +'You remember the Eastern theory--Burmese, is it? or +Siamese?--according to which the world rests on the heads of four +elephants; when one of the elephants shakes his head, there is an +earthquake. 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 small +piece of it does rest on my head, as on that of every other human +creature. On the right position and right movement of every one of us +depends more than we know. What we have to do is to keep straight and +go 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 just +raised a storm; you know it did; they did not like it; and it would +only make them more opposed to your new principles. I do not see how it +could do any good.' + +'Yes,' said Pitt, who meanwhile was going on with his packing and +putting away. 'I know all that. But don't you think people ought to +show 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 for +suspicion. It shows that they are for some reason either afraid or +ashamed 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 more +than that.' Pitt stopped in his going about the room and stood opposite +his fair opponent, if she can be called so, facing her with steady eyes +and 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 of +belonging to Him, I wish exceedingly that everybody else should see it +and know it as I do.' + +'And, if I remember, you intimated once that it was to be the business +of 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 your +business?' + +'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 into +all the world and make disciples of every creature.' + +'All the disciples!' + +'And to all the disciples that other command was given,--"Whatsoever ye +would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them." And of all the +things that a man can want and desire to have given him, there is +nothing 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, I +think 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 sat +and looked at him, and looked at the varieties of things he was putting +under shelter or out of the way. One after another, all bearing their +witness to the tastes and appetite for knowledge possessed by the +person who had gathered them together. Yes, if Pitt was not a +scientist, he was very fond of sciences; and if he were not to be +called an artist in some kinds, he was full of feeling for art. What an +anomaly he was! how very unlike this room looked to the abode of a +fanatic! + +'What is to become of all these things?' she asked, pursuing her +thoughts. + +'They will be safe here till I return.' + +'But I mean-- You do not understand me. I was thinking rather, what +would 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_ for +the service or honour of God. Did you think they were to be renounced +in all cases?' + +'Then what did you mean?' + +'The Bible means, evidently, that we are to be so minded, toward them +and toward God, that we are ready to give them up and do give them up +just so far and so fast as His service calls for it. That is all, and +it 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 I +put it?--to set people right, in short. Why don't you begin at the +beginning, 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 in +the shape of ordnance.' + +'Why do you say that? I have been very much interested in all I have +heard you say.' + +'I know that; and not in the least moved.' + +Betty was vexed. Had her tactics failed so utterly? Did Pitt think she +was a person quite and irremediably out of his plane, and inaccessible +to the interests which he ranked first of all? She had wanted to get +nearer to him. Had she so failed? She would not let the tears come into +her 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 you +will not look the way I have been pointing you. Of course, you do not +see what I see.' + +'In what direction are my eyes so set?' + +'I will not presume to tell Miss Frere what she knows so much better +than 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 are +like witnesses, stepping out from the darkness of the past and telling +the history of it--history in which they moved and had a part, you +understand.' + +'But the history of the past is not so delightful, is it, that one +would care much about hearing the witnesses? What is in that other +cabinet, where you are standing?' + +'That contains my herbarium.' + +'All that? You don't mean that all those drawers are filled with dried +flowers?' + +'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 you +going to be unlike other men? Your mother seems to apprehend some +disastrous and mysterious change in all your prospects; I cannot see +the necessity of that. In what are you going to be other than she +wishes you to be? Are not her fears mistaken?' + +Pitt smiled a grave smile; again stopped in his work and stood opposite +her. + +'I might say "yes" and "no,"' he answered. 'I do not expect to have a +red cross embroidered on my sleeve, like the old crusaders. But judge +yourself. Can those who live to do the will of God be just like those +whose 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, and +too much sense not to know what was truth. She accordingly did not say +anything, and after waiting a minute or two Pitt went on with his +preparations, locking up drawers, packing up boxes, taking down and +putting away the many objects that filled the room. There was not a +little work of this sort to be done, and he went on with it busily, and +with an evidently trained and skilled hand. + +'Then, after finishing with law, do you expect to come back here and +unpack 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 to +Greenland; or it may be to come here. Though I do not now see what I +should 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 was +something indeed very different from the general run of rich young men, +and that Mrs. Dallas had not been so far wrong in her forebodings. 'How +very absurd!' she said to herself as she went away down the open +staircase; 'and what a pity!' + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +_SKIRMISHING_. + + +To the great chagrin of his mother, and, indeed, of everybody, Pitt +took his departure a few days before the necessary set termination of +his visit. He must, he declared, have a few days to run down from +London into the country and find out the Gainsborough family; if +Colonel Gainsborough and his daughter had really gone home, he must +know. + +'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 all +the 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 me +very well. She has not money, but she has everything else. There has +been no girl more admired in Washington these two winters past; no +girl. You would have a prize, I can tell you, that many a one would +like to hinder your getting.' + +'I have no time, sir, now; and I must find out my old friends, first of +all.' + +'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. He +was manipulating skilfully, as one accustomed to the business, with awl +and a large needle, surrounded by his glue-pot and bits of leather and +paper. 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 much +recognition in it; he feared he had unwarily showed his play. But Pitt +answered then quietly, going on with his work again. + +'I said nothing of that, sir; I do not know anything about that. My old +friends may be in distress; both or one of them; it is not at all +unlikely, I think. If things had gone well with them, you would have +been almost sure to hear of their whereabouts at least. I made a +promise, at any rate, and I am bound to find them, one side or the +other of the Atlantic.' + +'Don Quixote!' muttered his father. 'Colonel Gainsborough, I have no +doubt, 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; he +let the matter drop, though his mouth was full of things he would have +liked to speak. + +So the time came for Pitt's departure, and he went; and the two women +he left behind him hardly dared to look at each other; the one lest she +should betray her sorrow, and the other lest she should seem to see it. +Betty honestly suffered. She had found Pitt's society delightful; it +had all the urbanity without the emptiness of that she was accustomed +to. Whether right or wrong, he was undoubtedly a person in earnest, who +meant his life to be something more than a dream or a play, and who had +higher ends in view than to understand dining, or even to be an +acknowledged critic of light literature, or a leader of fashion. Higher +ends even than to be at the head of the State or a leader of its +armies. There was enough natural nobleness in Betty to understand Pitt, +at least in a degree, and to be mightily attracted by all this. And his +temper was so fine, his manners so pleasant, his tender deference to +his mother so beautiful. Ah, such a man's wife would be well sheltered +from 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 Betty +half hoped, half inconsistently feared, would fade away with time. He +had stayed just long enough to kindle a tire in her heart, which now +she could not with a blow or a breath extinguish; not long enough for +the 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, so +far, at least, as she was concerned; and Betty had nothing to do now +but 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 have +had her see for any money. + +'_I_ think Pitt was taken with her,' she said to her husband, as one +seeks 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 always +like 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 all +over England to discover the family place; and then he will know that +there is more looking to be done in America.' + +'And he talked of coming over next year! Husband, he must not come. We +must 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's +gathering at Seaforth. That was a very doubtful possibility; the hope +built upon it was vaporously unsubstantial. She debated with herself +whether the best thing were not to take the first passable offer that +should present itself, marry and settle down, and so deprive herself of +the power of thinking about Pitt, and him of the fancy that she ever +had thought about him. Poor girl, she had verified the truth of the +word 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 at +different times, allowed them to come near enough to be looked at; +dallied with them, discussed, and rejected, successively, without her +own heart ever even coming in danger; as to danger to their's, that +indeed had not been taken into consideration, or had not excited any +scruple. Now, now, the fire bit her, and she could not stifle it; and a +grave doubt came over her whether even that expedient of marriage might +be found able to stifle it. She went away from Seaforth a few days +after 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 there +it chanced that she had a meeting which, in the young lady's then state +of 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 its +developments, the developments were different. Small companies, even of +fashionable 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 much +more necessarily and universally dependent on the accessories of birth, +breeding, and education, than is the case at present. It was known who +everybody was; parvenus were few; and there was still a flavour left of +old-world traditions and colonial antecedents. So, when Miss Frere was +invited to one of the best houses in the city to spend the evening, she +was not surprised to find only a moderate little company assembled, and +dresses and appointments on an easy and unostentatious footing, which +now is nearly unheard of. There was elegance enough, however, both in +the dresses and persons of many of those present; and Betty was quite +in her element, finding herself as usual surrounded by attentive and +admiring eyes, and able to indulge her love of conversation; for this +young lady liked talking better than dancing. Indeed, there was no +dancing in the early part of the evening; it was rather a musical +company, and Betty's favourite amusement was often interrupted; for the +music was too good, and the people present too well-bred, to allow of +that 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 Mozart +and Beethoven and Handel; and Betty had got into full swing of +conversation again, when a pause around her gave notice that another +performer was taking her seat at the piano. Betty checked her speech +with 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 gentlemen +immediately at hand did not know; then she was told, 'It is a Miss +Gainsborough.' + +'Gainsborough!' Betty's eyes grew large, and her face took a sudden +gravity. 'What Gainsborough?' + +Nobody knew. 'English, I believe,' somebody said. + +All desire to talk died out of Betty's lips; she became as silent as +the most rigid decorum could have demanded, and applied herself to +listen, and of course those around her were becomingly silent also. +What was the astonishment of them all, to hear the notes of a hymn, and +then the hymn itself, sung by a sweet voice with very clear accent, so +that every word was audible! The hymn was not known to Miss Frere; it +was fine and striking; and the melody, also unfamiliar, was exceedingly +simple. Everybody listened, that was manifest; it was more than the +silence of politeness which reigned in the rooms until the last note +was ended. And Betty listened more eagerly than anybody, and a strange +thrill 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 and +had a very full and rich tone; its power was only moderate. The +peculiarity lay in the manner with which the meaning was breathed into +the notes. Betty could not get rid of the fancy that it was a spirit +singing, and not a woman. Simpler musical utterance she had never +heard, 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 voice +was tender, pleading, joyous, triumphant. How anybody should dare sing +such words in a mixed company, Betty could not conceive; yet she envied +the singer; and heard with a strange twinge at her heart the words of +the 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 the +redeemed in heaven,--'Worthy is the Lamb that was slain.' + +As sweet and free as the jubilant shout of a bird the notes rang; with +a _lift_ in them, however, which the unthinking creature neither knows +nor can express. Betty's eye roved once or twice round the room during +the 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 some +others shocked. Others looked curiously grave. + +The music ceased and the singer rose. Nobody proposed that she should +sing again. + +'What do you think of the good taste of that?' one of Betty's cavaliers +asked 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 teacher +somewhere. She has tried her hand on us, hasn't she?' + +'A teacher!' Betty repeated the word, but gave no attention to the +question. She was looking across the room at the musician, who was +standing by the piano talking with a gentleman. The apartment was not +so large but that she could see plainly, while it was large enough to +save her from the charge of ill-bred staring. She saw a moderately tall +figure, as straight as an Indian, with the head exquisitely set on the +shoulders, the head itself covered with an abundance of pale brown +hair, disposed at the back in a manner of careless grace which reminded +Betty of a head of Sappho on an old gem in her possession. The face she +could not see quite so well, for it was partly turned from her; Betty's +attention centred on the figure and carriage. A pang of jealous rivalry +shot through her as she looked. There was not a person in the room that +carried 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, nor +of pride at all; it was not that; it was simple, maidenly dignity, not +dignity aped. Betty read so much, and rapidly read what else she could +see. She saw that the figure she was admiring was dressed but +indifferently; the black silk had certainly seen its best days, if it +was not exactly shabby; no ornaments whatever were worn with it. The +fashion of garments at that day was, as I have remarked, very trying to +any but a good figure, while it certainly showed such a one to +advantage. Betty knew her own figure could bear comparison with most; +the one she was looking at would bear comparison with any. Miss +Gainsborough was standing in the most absolute quiet, the arms crossed +over 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 was +commenting on. 'You don't speak of _balance_ unless--how shall I put +it? Don't you know what I mean?' + +'No!' laughed her companion. + +'You might save me the trouble of telling you, if you were clever. You +know you do not speak of "balance," except--well, except where either +the 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 still +laughing. + +'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 at +this moment near her, Betty went on: 'Dear Mrs. Chatsworth, do take me +over and introduce me to Miss Gainsborough! I am filled with admiration +and curiosity. But first, who is she?' + +'I really can tell you little. She is a great favourite of my friend +Miss 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 is +very 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 Miss +Gainsborough withdrew; the two girls were left face to face. + +Yes, what a face! thought Betty, as soon as it was turned upon her; and +with every minute of their being together the feeling grew. Not like +any face she had ever seen in her life, Betty decided; what the +difference was it took longer to determine. Good features, with +refinement in every line of them; a fair, delicate skin, matching the +pale brown hair, Betty had seen as good repeatedly. What she had not +seen was what attracted her. The brow, broad and intellectual, had a +most beautiful repose upon it; and from under it looked forth upon +Betty 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 faces +but of those who have gone through discipline and have learned the +habit 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 ask +you a question or two. May I? and will you hear me patiently? I see you +will.' + +The other made a courteous, half smiling sign of assent, _not_ as if +she were surprised. Betty noticed that. + +'It is very bold, for a stranger,' she went on, making her observations +while she spoke; 'but the thing is earnest with me, and I must seize my +chance, if it _is_ a chance. It has happened,'--she lowered her voice +somewhat and her words came slower,--'it has happened that I have been +studying 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 usual +thing, you know.' + +'May I ask you a counter question? What should be the motive with which +one 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 as +well as I do, what people thought of it. What is she up to?' But aloud +she answered,-- + +'I think it was very happy, as regarded the choice of the hymn; it was +peculiar, but very effective. My question meant, why did you sing a +hymn at all?' + +'I will tell you,' said the other. 'I do not know if you will +understand me. I sang that, because I have given myself to Christ, and +my voice must be used only as His servant.' + +Quick as thought it flashed upon Betty, the words she had heard Pitt +Dallas quote so lately, quote and descant upon, about giving his body +'a living sacrifice.' 'How you two think alike!' was her instant +reflection; 'and how you would fit if you could come together!--which +you never shall, if I can prevent it.' But her face showed only serious +attention 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 everybody +sings?' + +'_I_ cannot sing them,' said Esther simply. 'My voice is Christ's +servant.' But the smile with which these (to Betty) severe words were +spoken was entirely charming. There was not severity but gladness upon +every line of the curving lips, along with a trait of tenderness which +touched Betty's heart. In all her life she had never had such a feeling +of inferiority. She had given due reverence to persons older than +herself; it was the fashion in those days; she had acknowledged a +certain social precedence in ladies who were leaders of society and +heads of families; she had never had such a feeling of being set down, +as before this young, pure, stately creature. Mentally, Betty, as it +were, stepped down from the dais and stood with her arms folded over +her breast, in the Eastern attitude of reverence, during the rest of +the interview. + +'Then you do not do anything,' said Betty incredulously, 'if you cannot +do it _so?_' + +'Not if I know it,' the other said, smiling more broadly and with some +archness. + +'But still--may I speak frankly?--that does not tell me all. You +know--you _must_ know--that not everybody would like your choice of +music?' + +'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, that +His 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 could +never be free.' + +'Free for what?' + +'Whatever one likes! I should be miserable if I felt I could not do +what 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 you +cannot 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 her +grey 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 I +know Him?' + +'Do you wish me to tell you?' + +'Indeed, yes.' + +'If you are in dead earnest, and seek Him, He will reveal Himself to +you. But then, you must be willing to obey every word He says. Good +night.' + +She offered her hand. Before Miss Frere, however, could take it, up +came 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 saw +several gentlemen casting longing looks in this direction, but they did +not 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 her +life is not a failure?' + +'Miss Gainsborough will say that,' replied Betty. 'As for me, my life +is a problem that I have not solved.' + +'What do you mean by a "failure," Mrs. Chatsworth?' the other girl +asked. + +'Oh, just a failure! Turning out nothing, coming to nothing; nothing, I +mean, that is satisfying. "_Tout lasse,--tout casse,--tout passe!_" A +true 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 envy +you. And yet I do not. You have got to wake up from all that. You are +seventeen, eighteen--nineteen, is it?--and you have not found out yet +that 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 was +speaking of life now.' + +'Does not everlasting life begin now?' said Esther, with another of +those rare smiles. They were so rare and so beautiful that Betty had +come to watch for them,--arch, bright, above all happy, and full of a +kind 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 the +simplest truth. We were made to be happy in the love of God; and as we +were made for that, nothing less will do.' + +'Are you happy? My dear, I need not ask; your face speaks for you. I +believe that pricked me on to ask the question with which we began, in +pure envy. I see you are happy. But confess honestly now, honestly, and +quite between ourselves, confess there is some delightful lover +somewhere, who provokes those smiles, with which no doubt you reward +him?' + +Esther's grey eyes opened unmistakeably at her hostess while she was +speaking, and then a light colour rose on her cheek, and then she +laughed. + +'I neither have, nor ever expect to have, anything of the kind,' she +said. And then she was no longer to be detained, but took leave, and +went 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. I +believe she supports herself and her father--he is old or invalid or +something--by teaching; perhaps they have a little something to help +her out. But I fancy she sees very little society. I never meet her +anywhere. The lady in whose house she was educated is a very warm +friend of hers, and she introduced her to me. So I get her to come here +sometimes for a little change.' + +Betty went home with a great many thoughts in her mind, which kept her +half the night awake. Jealousy perhaps pricked her the most. Not that +Pitt loved this girl; about that Betty was not sure; but how he would +love her if he could see her! How anybody would, especially a man of +refined nature and truth of character, who requires the same in those +connected with him. What a pure creature this was! and then, she was +not only tender, but strong. The look on her face, the lines of her +lips, 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 had +something to bear, and something to do, both of which called for and +called out that strength and sweetness; and yet she was so +happy!--happy after Pitt's fashion. And this was the girl he had been +looking to find. Betty could deserve well of him by letting him know +where to find her! But then, all would be lost, and Betty's life a +failure indeed. She could not face it. And besides, as things were, +they were quite safe for the other two. The childish friendship had +faded out; would start up again, no doubt, if it had a chance; but +there was no need that it should. Pitt was at least heart-whole, if not +memory-free; and as for Esther, she had just declared a lover to be a +possibility nowhere within the range of her horizon. Esther would not +lose anything by not seeing Pitt any more. But then, _would_ she lose +nothing? The girl teaching to support herself and her father, alone and +poor, what would it be to her life if Pitt suddenly came into it, with +his strong hand and genial temper and plenty of means? What would it be +to Betty's life, if he went out of it? She turned and tossed, she +battled and struggled with thoughts; but the end was, she went on to +Washington without ever paying Esther a visit, or letting her know that +her 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 it +all winter, so it ought to be ripe now. We are going over to spend the +summer 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 to +us, and to him it is something; for although he will have no need to +practise in any profession, I agree with him and Mr. Dallas in thinking +that it is good a young man should _have_ a profession; and, at any +rate, what has been begun had better be finished. So, some time in May +we think to leave Seaforth, on our way to London. Dear Betty, will you +take pity on an old woman and go with us, to give us the brightness of +your youth? Don't you want to see London? and I presume by this time +Pitt has qualified himself to be a good cicerone. Besides, we shall not +be fixed in London. We will go to see whatever you would most like to +see in the kingdom; perhaps run up to Scotland. Of course what _I_ want +to see is my boy; but other things would naturally have an attraction +for you. Do not say no; it would be a great disappointment to me. Meet +us in New York about the middle of May. Mr. Dallas wishes to go as soon +as the spring storms are over. I have another reason for making this +journey; I wish to keep Pitt from coming over to America.' + +Betty's heart made a bound as she read this letter, and went on with +faster beats than usual after she had folded it up. A voyage, and +London, and Pitt Dallas for a showman! What could be more alluring in +its temptation and promise? Going about in London with him to guide and +explain things--could opportunity be more favourable to finish the work +which last summer left undone? Betty's heart jumped at it; she knew she +would 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 unduly +forward? would it not look as though she went on purpose to see--not +London but somebody in London? That would be the very truth, Betty +confessed to herself, with a pang of shame and humiliation; the pang +was keen, yet it did not change her resolution. What if? Nobody knew, +she argued, and nobody would have cause to suspect. There was reason +enough, ostensible, why she should go to England with Mrs. Dallas; if +she refused to visit all the old ladies who had sons, her social limits +would be restricted indeed. But Mrs. Dallas herself; would not she +understand? Mrs. Dallas understood enough already, Betty said to +herself defiantly; they were allies in this cause. It was very +miserable that it should be so; however, not now to be undone or set +aside. 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 no +need 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 Pitt +Dallas again at Seaforth and again spent weeks in his mother's house +while he was there, would have been too obvious; this was better every +way. Of course she could not refuse such an invitation; such a chance +of seeing something of the world; she who had always been too poor to +travel. Pitt could not find any matter of surprise nor any ground for +criticism in her doing that. And it would give her all the opportunity +she wished for. + +Here, most inopportunely, came before her the image of Esther. How +those two would suit each other! How infallibly Pitt would be devoted +to her if he could see her! But Betty said to herself that _she_ had a +better 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. Dallas +that she would be delighted to go. + +And then, having made her choice, she put away thought. All through the +voyage she was a most delightful companion. A little stifled +excitement, like forcing heat in a greenhouse, made all her social +qualities blossom out in unwonted brilliancy. She was entertaining, +bright, gay, witty, graceful; she was the admiration and delight of the +whole company on board; and Mrs. Dallas thought to herself with proud +satisfaction that Pitt could find nothing better than that, nor more +attractive, and that she need wish nothing better than that at the head +of her son's household and by his side. That Pitt could withstand such +enchantment was impossible. She was doing the very best thing she could +do in coming to England and in bringing Betty with her. + +Having meditated this journey for months, Mr. Dallas had made all his +preparations. Rooms had been engaged in a pleasant part of the city, +and there, very soon after landing, the little party found themselves +comfortably established and quite at home. + +'Nothing like England!' Mr. Dallas grumbled with satisfaction. 'You +couldn't do this in New York; they understand nothing about it, and +they are too stupid to learn. I believe there isn't a lodging-house in +all the little Dutch city over there; you could not find a single house +where 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 an +excellent dinner, and went to rest in rooms pleasant and well +appointed; but Betty was in a state of feverish excitement which would +not let her be a moment at ease. Now she was here, she almost was ready +to wish herself back again. How would Pitt look at her? how would he +receive her? and yet, what affair was it of his, if his mother brought +a young friend with her, to enjoy the journey and make it agreeable? It +was nothing to Pitt; and yet, if it _were_ nothing to him, Betty would +want to take passage in the next packetship sailing for New York or +Boston. 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 on +one part, most anxious and painful on the other. The first sight of him +calmed Betty's heart-beating; at the same time it gave her a great +thrill of pain. Pitt was himself so frank and so quiet, she said to +herself, there was no occasion for her to fear anything in his +thoughts; his greeting of her was entirely cordial and friendly. He was +neither surprised nor displeased to see her. At the same time, while +this was certainly comforting, Pitt looked too composedly happy for +Betty's peace of mind. Apparently he needed neither her nor +anybody;--'Do men ever?' said Betty to herself bitterly. And besides, +there was in his face and manner a nobleness and a pureness which at +one blow drove home, as it were, the impressions of the last year. Such +a look she had never seen on any face in her life; _except_--yes, there +was one exception, and the thought sent another pang of pain through +her. But women do not show what they feel; and Pitt, if he noticed Miss +Frere at all, saw nothing but the well-bred quiet which always belonged +to 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 a +great deal these last weeks. You got my letter in which I told you he +was 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, and +asked abruptly,-- + +'Then what were you doing at Kensington?' + +'There was business. I have been obliged to give some time to it. You +will be as much surprised as I was, to learn that my old uncle has left +all he had in the world to me.' + +'To you!' Mrs. Dallas did not utter a scream of delight, or embrace her +son, or do anything that many women would have done in honour of the +occasion; 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 could +have done anything else; but I did not know the old gentleman had so +much sense, for all that. Is the property large?' + +'Rather large.' + +'My dear, I am very glad. That makes you independent at once. I do not +know whether I ought to be glad of that; but you would never be led off +from any line of conduct you thought fit to enter, by either having or +wanting 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 at +Kensington 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 not +move in and take possession?' + +'Take possession!--we?' + +'Yes, mother; it is all ready. The old servants are there, and will +take very passably good care of you. Mrs. Bunce can cook a chop, and +boil an egg, and make a piece of toast; let me see, what else can she +do? Everything that my old uncle liked, I know; beyond that, I cannot +say how far her power extends. But I think she can make you +comfortable.' + +'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 of +things 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 will +always 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 set +up housekeeping there yourself; you might never wish it; and in the +meantime all this expense going on?' + +'I know what uncle Strahan would have liked, mamma; but apart from +that, I could never turn adrift his old servants. They are devoted to +me now; and, besides, I wish to have the house taken care of. When you +have seen it, you will not talk any more about having it let. You will +come at once, will you not? It is better than _this_. I told Mrs. Bunce +she might make ready for you; and there is a special room for Miss +Frere, where she may study several things.' + +He gave a pleasant glance at the young lady as he spoke, which +certainly assured her of a welcome. But Betty felt painfully +embarrassed. + +'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's +hospitality, generous as it is.' + +'You will come with us, of course,' said Mrs. Dallas. 'You are one of +us, as much as anybody could be.' + +'And you would be very sorry afterwards if you did not, I can tell +you,' said Pitt frankly. 'My old house is quite something to see; and I +promise 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 an +honour?' + +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 a +bewildering prospect of pleasure. She heard with but half an ear what +Pitt and his mother were saying; yet she did hear it, and lost not a +word, braiding in her own reflections diligently with the thoughts thus +suggested. They talked of Mr. Strahan, of his illness, through which +Pitt had nursed him; of the studies thus interrupted; of the property +thus suddenly come into Pitt's hands. + +'I do not see why you should go on with your law reading,' Mrs. Dallas +broke out at last. 'Really,--why should you? You are perfectly +independent already, without any help from your father; house and +servants 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 law +for any more?' + +'One must do something, you know.' + +'Something--but I never heard that law was an amusing study. Is it not +the 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 used +for its legitimate purposes! I want to have the command of it. If the +study is sometimes dry, the practice is often, or it often may be, in +the highest degree interesting.' + +'Purposes! What purposes?' Mrs. Dallas pursued, fastening on that one +word in Pitt's speech. + +'Righting the wrong, mother, and lifting up the oppressed. A knowledge +of 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 entrance +broke off the conversation. Then it was all gone over again, Mr. +Strahan's illness, Pitt's ministrations, the will, the property, the +house; concluding with the plan of removing thither. Betty, saying +nothing herself, watched the other members of the party; the gleam in +Mr. Dallas's money-loving eyes, the contained satisfaction of Mrs. +Dallas's motherly pride, and the extremely different look on the +younger man's face. With all the brightness and life of his talk to +them, with all the interest and pleasure he showed in the things talked +about, there was a quiet apartness on his brow and in his eyes, a lift +above trifles, a sweetness and a gravity that certainly found their +aliment neither in the sudden advent of a fortune nor in any of the +accessories of money. Betty saw and read, while the others were +talking; and her outward calm and careless demeanour was no true +indication 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 her +restless soul in common with that happy repose that was about him? And +yet, how restlessness is attracted by rest! Of all things it seemed to +Betty one of the most delightful and desirable. Not to be fretted, not +to be anxious; to be never 'out of sorts,' never, seemingly, +discontented with anything or afraid of anything!--while these terms +were the very reverse of all which must describe her and every one else +whom she knew. Where did that high calm come from? No face that Betty +had ever seen had that look upon it; except-- + +Oh, she wished she had never seen that other, or that she could forget +it. Those two fitted together. 'But I should make him just as good a +wife,' 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 contented +with 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 to +be a little awkward, at the same time it was most deliciously +adventurous and novel. She sat demurely enough by Mrs. Dallas's side, +eyeing the strange streets through which they passed, hearing every +word that was spoken by anybody, and keeping the while herself an +extremely smooth and careless exterior. She was full of interest for +all she saw, and yet the girl saw it as in a dream, or only as a +background upon which she saw Pitt. She saw him always, without often +seeming to look at him. The content of Mr. and Mrs. Dallas was +inexpressible. + +'Where will you find anything like that, now?' said Mr. Dallas, as they +were passing Hyde Park. 'Ah, Miss Betty, wait; you will never want to +see Washington again. The Capitol? Pooh, pooh! it may do for a little +beginning 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 takes +precedence of all other things for the present.' + +'Not my _new_ house,' said Pitt. 'It is anything but that. There is +nothing new about it but the master. I thought I should bring you back +with me, mother; so I told Mrs. Bunce to have luncheon ready. As I +said, she can cook a chop.' + +By degrees the houses became thinner, as they drove on; grass and trees +were again prominent; and it was in a region that looked at least half +country that the carriage at last stopped. Indeed more than half +country, for the city was certainly left behind. Everything was in +fresh green; the air was mild and delicious; the place quiet. The +carriage turned from the road and passed through an iron gateway and up +a gravel sweep to the door of an old house, shaded by old trees and +surrounded by a spread of velvety turf. The impression, as Betty +descended from the carriage, was that here had been ages of dignified +order and grave tranquillity. The green-sward was even and soft and of +vivid freshness; the old trees were stately with their length of limb +and great solid trunks; and the house?-- + +The house, towards which she turned, as if to ask questions of it, was +of moderate size, built of stone, and so massively built as if it had +been meant to stand for ever. That was seen at once in the thickness of +the walls, the strong oaken doorway, and the heavy window frames. But +as soon as Betty set foot within the door she could almost have +screamed with delight. + +'Upon my word, very good! very well!' said Mr. Dallas, standing in the +hall and reviewing it. And then, perceiving the presence of the +servants, 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 for +travellers, Mrs. Bunce?' + +Dignified order and grave tranquillity was the impression on Betty's +mind again, as they were ushered into the dining-room. It was late, and +the party sat down at once to table. + +But Betty could hardly eat, for feasting her eyes. And when they went +up-stairs to their rooms that feast still continued. The house was +irregular, with rather small rooms and low ceilings; which itself was +pleasant after the more commonplace regularity to which Miss Frere had +been accustomed; and then it was full--all the rooms were full--of +quaintness and beauty. Oak wainscottings, dark with time; oaken +doorways with singular carvings; chimney-pieces, before which Betty +stood in speechless delight and admiration; small-paned windows set in +deep window niches; in one or two rooms dark draperies; but the late +Mr. Strahan had not favoured anything that shut out the light, and in +most of the house there were no curtains put up. And then, on the +walls, in cupboards and presses, on tables and shelves, and in +cabinets, there was an endless variety and wealth of treasures and +curiosities. 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. To +examine them must be the work of many days; it was merely the fact of +their being there which Betty took in now, with a sense of the great +riches of the new mental pasture-ground in which she found herself. She +changed her dress in a kind of breathless mood; noticing as she did so +the old-fashioned and aged furniture of her room. Aged, not infirm; the +manufacture solid and strong as ever; the wood darkened by time, the +patterns quaint, but to Betty's eye the more picturesque. Her apartment +was a corner room, with one deep window on each of two sides; the +look-out over a sunny landscape of grass, trees, and scattered +buildings. On another side was a deep chimney-place, with curious +wrought-iron fire-dogs. What a delightful adventure--or what a terrible +adventure--was it which had brought her to this house! She would not +think of that; she dressed and went down. + +The rest of the party were gathered in the library, and this room +finished Betty's enchantment. It was a well-sized room, the largest in +the house, on the second floor; and all the properties that made the +house generally interesting were gathered and culminated here. Dark +wainscotting, dark bookcases, and dark books, gave it an aspect that +might have been gloomy, yet was not so; perhaps because of the many +other objects in the room, which gave points of light or bits of +colour. What they were, Betty could only find out by degrees; she saw +at once, in general, that this must have been a favourite place of the +late owner, and that here he had collected a special assemblage of the +things 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 the +same hand. The floor was dark and polished, and on it lay here and +there bits of soft carpeting, which were well worn. Betty advanced +slowly to the corner where the party were siting, taking in the effect +of all this; then almost started as Pitt gave her a chair, to see in +the corner just beyond the group a stuffed bear showing his teeth at +her. + +The father and mother had been talking about various matters at home, +and the talk went on. Betty presently left them, and began to examine +the sides of the room. She studied the bear, which was in an upright +position, 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 before +the empty chimney, and then she went to look at it nearer by. It was a +most exquisite thing. Two great panes of plate glass were so set in a +frame that a space of some three or four inches separated them. In this +space, in every variety of position, were suspended on invisible wires +some twenty humming birds, of different kinds; and whether the light +fell upon this screen in front or came through it from behind, the +display was in either case most beautiful and novel. Betty at last +wandered to the chimney-piece, and went no farther for a good while; +studying the rich carving and the coat of arms which was both +sculptured and painted in the midst of it. By and by she found that +Pitt was beside her. + +'Mr. Strahan's?' she asked. + +'No; they belonged to a former possessor of the house. It came into my +uncle'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 back +to 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 as +that. 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 followed +them, and was looking at a sort of cabinet which was framed into the +wall. + +'I was going to invite Miss Frere's attention to it; yet, on +reflection, 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, while +Betty 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 a +medal struck for the members of the Amphictyonic Council. But see this +coin of Syracuse; _this_ was a common coin of trade; only of a size not +the most common.' + +'All I can say is, their coinage was far handsomer than ours, if it was +like 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 is +what you mean by the _obverse_--of this particular coin? Are you sure?' + +Pitt produced a key from his pocket, unlocked the glass door of the +cabinet, and took the coin from its bed. On the other side was what he +had stated to be there. Betty took the piece in her hands to look and +admire. + +'That is certainly very fine,' she said; but her attention was not +entirely 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 presided +over the fine fountain of sweet water near Syracuse. The coinage of +that city was extremely beautiful and diversified; yielding to hardly +any other in design and workmanship. Here is an earlier one; you see +the very different stage art had attained to.' + +'A regular Greek face,' remarked Betty, going back to the coin she held +in her hand. 'See the straight line of the nose and the very short +upper 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 at +least that which the soul shines through.' + +'What are these little fish swimming about the head? They would seem to +indicate a marine deity.' + +'The dolphin; the Syracusan emblem.' + +'I wish I had been born in those times!' said Betty. And the wish had a +meaning 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 been +born 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 to +its place, 'you are not an enthusiastic numismatist!' + +'No; how should I? Coins are not a thing to excite enthusiasm. They are +beautiful, and curious, but not exactly--not exactly stirring.' + +'I had a scholar once,' remarked Pitt, as he locked the glass door of +the cabinet, 'whose eyes would have opened very wide at sight of this +collection. Have you heard anything of the Gainsboroughs, mother?' + +Betty started, inwardly, and was seized with an unreasoning fear lest +the question might next be put to herself. Quietly, as soon as she +could, she moved away from the coin cabinet, and seemed to be examining +something 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 looked +up the family after I came home last fall; their headquarters are at a +nice old place down in Devonshire. I introduced myself and got +acquainted with them. They are pleasant people. But they knew nothing +of the colonel. He has not come home, and he has not written. Thus much +I 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 Betty +herself. + +'Show you London, mamma! Show you a bit of it, you mean. It would take +something like a lifetime to show you London. What bit will you begin +with?' + +'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; 'and +the wax-work.' + +'Do you think I have never seen a lion, Mr. Dallas?' said the young +lady. + +'Well,--small ones,' said the gentleman, stroking his chin. 'But the +Tower is a big lion itself. I believe _I_ should like to go to the +Tower. 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 care +for that kind of thing. I should like to see the Temple, and Pitt's +chambers.' + +'So should I,' said the younger lady. + +'You might do worse,' said Pitt. 'Then to-morrow we will go to the +Temple, and to St. Paul's.' + +'St. Paul's? _that_ will not hold us long, will it?' said Betty. 'Is it +so 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 just +so. 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 standing +before those coins; and Pitt would be showing them to her; and she--she +would enter into his talk about them, and would understand and have +sympathy, and there would be sympathy on other points too. If Esther +ever stood there, in that beautiful old library, it would be as +mistress and at home. Betty had a premonition of it; she put her hands +before her eyes to shut out the picture. Suppose she earned well of the +two and gained their lasting friendship by saying the words that would +bring them to each other? That was one way out of her difficulty. But +then, why should she? What right had Esther Gainsborough to be happy +more than Betty Frere? The other way out of her difficulty, namely, to +win Pitt's liking, would be much better; and then, they both of them +might be Esther's friends. For of one thing Betty was certain; _if_ she +could win Pitt, he would be won. No half way-work was possible with +him. He would never woo a woman he did not entirely love; and any woman +so loved by him would not need to fear any other woman; it would be +once for all. Betty had never, as it happened, met thoroughgoing truth +before; she recognised it and trusted it perfectly in Pitt; and it was +one of the things, she confessed to herself, that drew her most +mightily to him. A person whom she could absolutely believe, and always +be sure of. Whom else in the world could she trust so? Not her own +brothers; not her own father; mother she had none. How did she know so +securely that Pitt was an exception to the universal rule?--the +question might be asked, and she asked it. She had not seen him tested +in any great thing. But she had seen him tried in little bits of +everyday things, in which most people think it is no harm to dodge the +truth a little; and Betty recognised the soundness of the axiom,--'He +that 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 two +ladies. Mr. Dallas preferred some other occupation. But the interest +brought to the inspection was not altogether legitimate. Mrs. Dallas +cared principally to see how comfortable her son's chambers were, and +to refresh herself with the tokens of antiquity and importance which +attached to the place and the institution to which he belonged. Betty +was no antiquarian in the best of times, and at present had all her +faculties concentrated on one subject and one question which was not of +the past. Nevertheless, it is of the nature of things that a high +strain of the mind renders it intensely receptive and sensitive for +outward impressions, even though they be not welcomed; like a taut +string, which answers to a breath breathed upon it. Betty did not care +for the Temple; had no interest in the old Templars' arms on the sides +of the gateways; and thought its medley of dull courts and lanes a very +undesirable place. What was it to her where Dr. Johnson had lived? she +did not care for Dr. Johnson at all, and as little for Oliver +Goldsmith. Pitt, she saw, cared; how odd it was! It was some comfort +that 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. How +little, she did not show. The beauty of the old church, its venerable +age, and the strange relics of the past in its monuments, did command +some attention. Yet Betty grudged it; and went over the Halls and the +Courts afterward with a half reluctant foot, hearing as if against her +will all that Pitt was telling her and his mother about them. Oh, what +did it matter, that one of Shakspeare's plays had been performed in the +Middle Temple Hall during its author's lifetime? and what did it +signify whether a given piece of architecture were Early English or +Perpendicular Gothic? What did interest her, was to see how lively and +warm was Pitt's knowledge and liking of all these things. Evidently he +delighted in them and was full of information concerning them; and his +interest did move Betty a little. It moved her to speculation also. +Could this man be so earnest in his enjoyment of Norman arches and +polished shafts and the effigies of old knights, and still hold to the +views and principles he had avowed and advocated last year? Could he, +who took such pleasure in the doings and records of the past, really +mean to attach himself to another sort of life, with which the honours +and dignities and delights of this common world have nothing to do? + +The question recurred again afresh on their return home. As Betty +entered the house, she was struck by the beauty of the carved oak +staircase, and exclaimed upon it. + +'Yes,' said Pitt; 'that is the prettiest part of the house. It is said +to 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 is +the 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 up +together? it is one whole; and I take it to be certain that in +proportion to anyone's love for spiritual and moral beauty will be, +_coeteris paribus_, his appreciation of all expression of it, in nature +or art.' + +'_But_', said Betty, '"spiritual and moral beauty"! You do not mean +that 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 it +really took up more room than was proportionate to the size of the +house. What did Pitt mean by those last words? she was querying. And +could it be possible that the owner of a house like this, with a +property corresponding, would not be of the world and live in the world +like other men? He must, Betty thought. It is all very well for people +who have not the means to make a figure in society, to talk of +isolating themselves from society. A man may give up a little; but when +he has much, he holds on to it. But how was it with Pitt? She must try +and find out. + +She accordingly made an attempt that same evening, beginning with the +staircase again. + +'I admired Inigo Jones all the way up-stairs,' she said, when she had +an opportunity to talk to Pitt alone. Mr. Dallas had gone to sleep +after dinner, and his wife was knitting at a sufficient distance. 'The +quaint fancies and delicate work are really such as I never imagined +before 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 not +new?' + +'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 of +truth?' + +'Well, I suppose so; of some truth. Roses must be roses, and trees must +be 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 not +true 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 talking +mystery, or--forgive me--transcendentalism.' + +'No; nothing but simple and very plain fact. It is this first,--that +all truth is one; and this next,--that in the world of creation things +material are the expression of things spiritual. So all real beauty in +form 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 of +what I am saying, in some things. For instance, you cannot look up +steadily into the blue infinity of one of our American skies on a clear +day--at least _I_ cannot--without presently getting the impression of +truth, pure, unfailing, incorruptible truth, in its Creator. The rose, +everywhere in the world, so far as I know, is the accepted emblem of +love. And for another very familiar instance,--Christ is called in the +Bible the Sun of righteousness--the Light that is the life of man. Do +you know how close to fact that is? What this earth would be if +deprived of the sun for a few days, is but a true image of the +condition of any soul finally forsaken by the Sun of righteousness. In +one word, death; and that is what the Bible means by death, of which +the death we commonly speak of is again but a faint image.' + +Betty fidgeted a little; this was not what she wished to speak of; it +was getting away from her point. + +'Your staircase set me wondering about _you_,' she said boldly, not +answering his speech at all. + +'In yet another connection?' said Pitt, smiling. + +'In another connection. You remember you used to talk to me pretty +freely 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 as +beautiful. Whatever it signifies to you, to my lower vision it means a +position in the world and the means to maintain it. And I debated with +myself, 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 for +himself 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 the +question 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 its +arising.' + +'Is one responsible for doubts? One _may_ be responsible for the state +of mind from which they spring. Then, if you will allow me, I will say +no more on the subject for a day or two. But I will not leave you +unanswered; that is, unless you refuse to submit to my guidance, and +will 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; her +husband was of the party instead. The inspection of the place was +thorough, and occupied some hours; Pitt, being able, through an old +friend of Mr. Strahan's who was now also _his_ friend, to obtain an +order from the Constable for seeing the whole. At dinner Betty +delivered 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 take +time, if you want to see anything.' + +'Well,' said Betty, 'I must say, if this is what it means, to live in +an 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 have +supped fall of horrors." Really I have read history, but that gives it +to 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 no +such monument in America. I shouldn't think snow would lie on the +Tower!' + +'Doesn't often,' said Pitt. + +'Think, Mrs. Dallas! I stood in that little chapel there,--the +prisoners' chapel,--and beneath the pavement lay between thirty and +forty people, the remains of them, who lay there with their heads +separated from their bodies; and some of them with no heads at all. The +heads had been set up on London bridge, or on Temple Bar, or some other +dreadful place. And then as we went round I was told that here was the +spot where Lady Jane Grey was beheaded; and there was the window from +which she saw the headless body of her husband carried by; and _there_ +stood the rack on which Anne Askew was tortured; and there was the +prison where Arabella Stuart died insane; and here was the axe which +used to be carried before the Lieutenant when he took a prisoner to his +trial, and was carried before the prisoner when he returned, mostly +with the sharp edge turned towards him. I do not see how people used to +live in those times. There are Anne Boleyn and her brother, Lady Jane +Grey and her husband, and other Dudleys innumerable'-- + +'My dear, do stop,' said Mrs. Dallas. 'I cannot eat my dinner, and you +cannot.' + +'Eat dinner! Did anybody use to eat dinner, in those times? Did the +world go on as usual? with such horrors on the throne and in the +dungeon?' + +'It is a great national monument,' said Mr. Dallas, 'that any people +might 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't +so blue, either, if you could know all.' + +'Where are you going to take us next, Pitt?' Mrs. Dallas asked, to give +things a pleasanter turn. + +'How did you like St. Paul's, Miss Betty?' her husband went on, before +Pitt 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 a +reminiscence of the Tower and the axe there very often. I had no +conception 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 hear +a debate--if it could be managed.' + +Pitt said it could be managed; and it was managed; and they went to the +Park; and they drove out to see some of the beauties near London, +Richmond, Hampton Court, and Windsor; and several days passed away in +great enjoyment for the whole party. Betty forgot the Tower and grew +gay. The strangeness of her position was forgotten; the house came to +be familiar; the alternation of sight-seeing with the quiet household +life was delightful. Nothing could be better, might it last. Could it +not last? Nay, Betty would have relinquished the sight-seeing and +bargained 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 galleries +and 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 her +which 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 doubtful +invitation.' + +Betty, however, declared herself ready for anything. So she was, under +such guidance. + +They took a cab for a certain distance; then Pitt dismissed it, and +they went forward on foot. It was a dull, hot day; clouds hanging low +and threatening rain, but no rain falling as yet. Rain, if decided, to +a good degree keeps down exhalations in the streets of a city, and so +far is a help to the wayfarer who is at all particular about the air he +breathes. No such beneficent influence was abroad to-day; and Betty's +impressions 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 fashionable +quarter. This particular street is a business thoroughfare, as you see.' + +Betty was silent, and they went on a while; then turned sharp out of +this thoroughfare into a narrow alley. It was hot and close and dank +enough 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 thermometer +well up, on a summer day, altogether make an atmosphere not suited to +delicate senses. Pitt picked the way along the narrow passage, which at +the end opened into a little court. This was somewhat cleaner than the +alley; also it lay so that the sun sometimes visited it, though here +too his visits could be but brief, for on the opposite side the court +was shut in and overshadowed by the tall backs of great houses. They +seemed, to Betty's fancy, to cast as much moral as physical shadow over +the place. The houses in this court were small and dingy. If one looked +straight up, there was a space of grey cloud visible; some days it +would no doubt be a space of blue sky. No other thing even dimly +suggesting refreshment or purity was within the range of vision. Pitt +slowly paced along the row of houses. + +'Who lives here?' Betty asked, partly to relieve the oppression that +was creeping upon her. + +'No householders, that I know of. People who live in one room, or +perhaps in two rooms; therefore in every house there are a number of +families. This is Martin's court. And _here_,'--he stopped before one +of the doors,--'in this house, in a room on the third floor--let me +suppose a case'-- + +'Third floor? why, there are only two stories.' + +'In the garret, then,--there lives an old woman, over seventy years +old, all alone. She has been ill for a long time, and suffers a great +deal of pain.' + +'Who takes care of her?' Betty asked, wondering at the same time why +Pitt 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 the +kindness of her neighbours. They are poor, too, and have their hands +full; 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 they +did not forget it.' + +'And what if they did forget it?' + +'Then she must wait till somebody remembered; wait perhaps days, to get +her bed made; lie alone in her pain all day, except for those rare +visits; and even have to hire a boy with a penny to bring her a pitcher +of water; lie alone all night and wait in the morning till somebody +could give her her breakfast.' + +'Why do you tell me all this, Mr. Pitt?' said Betty, facing round on +him. + +'Ask me that by and by. Come a little farther. Here, in this next house +but one, there is a man sick with rheumatism--in a fever; when I first +saw 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 to +light 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 all +this to me? I have no power to help them. Do you know these people +yourself?' + +'Yes, I know them. In the last house of the row there is another old +woman I want to tell you of; and then we will go. She is not ill, nor +disabled; she is only very old and quite alone. She is not unhappy +either, for she is a true old Christian. But think of this: in the room +which she occupies, which is half underground, there is just one hour +in 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 and +holds it in the sunshine to read for that blessed hour. It is all she +has in the twenty-four. The rest of the time she must only think of +what 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 the +alley, and through the alley back to the street. There they walked more +moderately a space of some rods before she found breath and words. She +faced 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 he +spoke Pitt called another cab, and Betty and he were presently speeding +on again, whither she knew not. It was a good time to talk, and she +repeated 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 of +Christ, 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 parishes +are often very large, the sufferers very many, the cases of fraud and +trickery almost--perhaps quite--as numerous as those at least which +come to the notice of the parish authorities. The parish authorities +are but average men; is it wonderful if they are hard administrators? I +can 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 darkened +and flashing; she half laughed. + +'You are eloquent,' she said. 'You ought to be representing the case on +the floor of the House of Commons.' + +'Well,' he said, coming down to an easier tone, 'the parish authorities +are but men, as I said, and they grow suspicious, naturally; and in any +case 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 been +telling you of? And it is hard dealing with the parish authorities. I +know 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 runs +the risk of being taken in, and throwing money away upon rogues which +ought 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 you +time 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 that +elephant 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; the +world does not rest on your head.' + +'Part of it does. Go on and answer my question. What ought I to do for +these 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 anything +about, equally miserable?' + +'_More_ miserable, I assure you,' said Pitt, looking at her. 'What +then? Answer my question, like a good woman.' + +'I am not a good woman.' + +'Answer it _like_ a good woman, anyhow,' said Pitt, smiling. 'What +should I do, properly, for such people as those I have brought to your +notice? Apply the golden rule--the only one that _can_ give the measure +of things. In their place, what would you wish--and have a right to +wish--that some one should do for you? what may those who have nothing +demand 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? I +am not talking for nothing. Take my old Christian, near eighty, who +sees 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 hours +without even the company of a sunbeam. Imagine--what would you, in her +place, wish for?' + +'I should wish to die, I think.' + +'It would be welcome to Mrs. Gregory, I do not doubt, though perhaps +for a different reason. Still, you would not counsel suicide, or +manslaughter. While you continued in life, what would you like?' + +'Oh,' said Betty, with an emphatic utterance, 'I would like a place +where I could breathe!' + +'Better lodgings?' + +'Fresh air. I would beg for air. Of all the horrors of such places, the +worst seems to me the want of air fit to breathe.' + +'Then you think she ought to have a better lodging, in a better +quarter. 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 of +much 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 in +this 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 in +summer and make my fire in winter, and prepare nice meals for me. I +would like good bread, and a cup of drinkable tea, and a little bit of +butter on my bread. And clothes enough to keep clean; and then I would +like to live to thank you!' + +Betty had worked herself up to a point where she was very near a great +burst of tears. She stopped with a choked sob in her throat, and looked +out 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 have +got it, I believe. Go on now, please, and tell me what ought to be done +for 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 that +cannot 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 condition +I have described; the chill of a rheumatic fever, and a room without +fire, in the depth of winter. What would your sense of justice demand +from the well and strong and comfortable and _able?_ Honestly.' + +'Why,' said Betty, again surveying Pitt from one side, '_with my +notions_, I should want a doctor, and an attendant, and a comfortable +room.' + +'I do not doubt his notions would agree with yours,--if his fancy could +get 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, "Whatsoever +thy 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 I +found, some time ago, a man who had been injured by an accident. A +heavy piece of iron had fallen on his foot; he worked in a machine +shop. For months he was obliged to stay at home under the doctor's +care. He used up all his earnings; and strength and health were alike +gone. The man of fifty looked like seventy. The doctor said he could +hardly 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 the +world's failures.' + +'Suppose for a moment it were Christ the Lord himself in either of +these 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 He +counts 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 perfectly +well. But then his employers would not take him on again; they said +they 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 his +family 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 all +you 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 and +pursuits,--literary, and artistic, and antiquarian, and I don't know +what all,--and be a mere walking Benevolent Society?' + +'No need to give them up, any further than as they would interfere with +something more important and more enjoyable.' + +'_More enjoyable!_' + +'Yes. I think, Miss Betty, the pleasure of doing something for Christ +is the greatest pleasure I know.' + +Betty could have cried with vexation; in which, however, there was a +distracting mingling of other feelings,--admiration of Pitt, envy of +his evident happiness, regret that she herself was so different; but, +above all, dismay that she was so far off. She was silent the rest of +the drive. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + +_THE DUKE OF TREFOIL_. + + +They drove a long distance, much of the way through uninteresting +regions. Pitt stopped the cab at last, took Betty out, and led her +through one and another street and round corner after corner, till at +last he turned into an alley again. + +'Where are you taking me now, Mr. Pitt?' she asked, in some +trepidation. '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 a +very narrow alley, leading again, as might be seen by the gleam of +light at the farther end, into a somewhat more open space--another +court. _Here_ the word open had no application. The sides of the alley +were very near together and very high, leaving a strange gap between +walls of brick, at least strange when considered with reference to +human habitation; all of freedom or expanse there was indicated +anywhere being a long and very distant strip of blue sky overhead when +the 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 under +their breathless envelopment. Hot, sultry, stifling, the air felt to +Betty; well-nigh unendurable; but Pitt seemed to be of intent that she +should endure it for a while, and with some difficulty she submitted. +Happily the place was cleaner than Martin's Court, and no dead cats nor +decaying vegetables poisoned what air there was. But surely somewhat +else poisoned it. The doors of dwellings on the one side and on the +other stood open, and here and there a woman or two had pressed to the +opening with her work, both to get light and to get some freshness, if +there were any to be had. + +Half way down the alley, Pitt paused before one of these open doors. A +woman had placed herself as close to it as she could, having apparently +some fine work in hand for which she could not get light enough. Betty +could without much difficulty see past her into the space behind. It +was a tiny apartment, smaller than anything Miss Frere had ever seen +used as a living room; yet a living room it was. She saw that a very +minute stove was in it, a small table, and another chair; and on some +shelves against the wall there was apparently the inmate's store of +what stood to her for china and plate. Two cups Betty thought she could +perceive; what else might be there the light did not serve to show. The +woman was respectable-looking, because her dress was whole and +tolerably clean; but it showed great poverty nevertheless, being +frequently mended and patched, and of that indeterminate dull grey to +which all colours come with overmuch wear. She seemed to be +middle-aged; but as she raised her head to see who had stopped in front +of her, Betty was so struck by the expression and tale-telling of it +that she forgot the question of age. Age? she might have been a hundred +and fifty years old, to judge by the life-weary set of her features. A +complexion that told of confinement, eyes dim with over-straining, +lines of face that spoke weariness and disgust; and further, what to +Betty's surprise seemed a hostile look of defiance. The face cleared, +however, as she saw who stood before her; a great softening and a +little light came into it; she rose and dropped a curtsey, which was +evidently not a mere matter of form. + +'How do you do, Mrs. Mills?' said Pitt, and his voice was very gentle +as 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 stifles +the 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 you +business 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 is +an American lady, from over the sea ever so far; and I want her to know +what sort of a place London is.' + +'It's a bitter poor place for the likes of us,' said the woman. 'You +should show her where the grand folk lives, that built these houses for +the poor to be stowed in.' + +'Yes, I have showed her some of those, and now I have brought her to +see your part of the world.' + +'It's not to call a part o' the world!' said the woman. 'Do you call +this a part of the world, Mr. Dallas? I mind when I lived where trees +grow, and there was primroses in the grass; them's happier that hasn't +known 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, and +bless 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 which +Betty guessed was assumed to hide the tenderer feeling beneath. 'He's +done for. There ain't nothin' but ill luck comes upon folks as lives in +such a hole, and couldn't other!' + +'I'll come and see you about Tim,' said Pitt. 'Keep up a good heart in +the 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 her +questions. The way was long enough to let her think them all over +several times. At last the cab stopped, Pitt handed her out, and led +her into the Gardens. Here was a change. Trees of noble age and growth +shadowed the ground, greensward stretched away in peaceful smoothness, +the dust and the noise of the great city seemed to be escaped. It was +fresh and shady, and even sweet. They could hear each other speak, +without unduly raising their voices. Pitt went on till he found a place +that 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 that +last 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 like +that?' + +'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 are +congregated 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 large +incomes. That woman we visited--what did you think of her?' + +'She impressed me very much, and oddly. I could not quite read her +look. She seemed to be in a manner hostile, not to you, but I thought +to 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 her +child sleep. For that lodging that woman pays half-a-crown a week--that +is, about five shillings American money--to one of the richest noblemen +in England.' + +'A nobleman!' cried Betty. + +'The Duke of Trefoil.' + +'A nobleman!' Betty repeated. 'A duke, and a lace-mender, and five +shillings a week!' + +'The glass roofs of his hothouses and greenhouses would cover an acre +of ground. His wife sits in a boudoir opening into a conservatory where +it is summer all the year round; roses bloom and violets, and geraniums +wreathe the walls, and palm trees are grouped around fountains. She +eats 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 so +plenty, the while my lace-mender strains her eyes to get half-a-crown a +week for his Grace. All that alley and its poor crowded lodgings belong +to him.' + +'I don't wonder she looks bitter, poor thing. Do you suppose she knows +how her landlord lives?' + +'I doubt if she does. She perhaps never heard of the house and gardens +at Trefoil Park. But in her youth she was a servant in a good house in +the country,--not so great a house,--and she knows something of the +difference between the way the rich live and the poor. She is very +bitter 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 last +winter, late, and found my way obstructed by the crowd of arrivals to +an entertainment given at a certain great house. The house stood a +little back from the street, and carpeting was laid down for the softly +shod feet to pass over. Of course there were gathered a small crowd of +lookers-on, pressing as near as they were allowed to come; trying to +catch, if they might, a gleam or a glitter from the glories they could +not approach. I don't know if the contrast struck them, but it struck +me; the contrast between those satin slippers treading the carpet, and +the bare feet standing on the muddy stones; feet that had never known +the touch of a carpet anywhere, nor of anything else either clean or +soft.' + +'But those contrasts must be, Mr. Dallas.' + +'Must they? Is not something wrong, do you think, when the Duke of +Trefoil eats strawberries all the year long, and my lace-mender, in the +height of the season, perhaps never sees one?--when the duchess sits in +her bower of beauty, with the violets under her feet and the palms over +her head, and the poor in her husband's houses cannot get a flower to +remind them that all the world is not like a London alley? Does not +something within you say that the scales of the social balance might be +a 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 the +lower classes do. I said I did not know whether the contrast struck the +people that night, but I do know it did. I heard words and saw looks +that betrayed it. And when the day comes that the poor will know more +and begin to think about these things, I am afraid there will be +trouble.' + +'But what can you do?' + +'That is exactly what I was going to ask you,' said Pitt, changing his +tone 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 the +feeling of wrong done her somewhere, bitter to hatred; what can, not +you, 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 exception +of 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, in +full 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 child +some things that he could eat. He is well now; as well as he ever will +be.' + +'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 is +concerned?' + +'Have I? Would _you_ stop with that?' + +Betty sat very quiet, but internally fidgeted. What did Pitt ask her +these questions for? Why had he taken her on this expedition? She +wished she had not gone; she wished she had not come to England; and +yet she would not be anywhere else at this moment but where she was, +for any possible consideration. She wished Pitt would be different, and +not fill his head with lace-menders and London alleys; and yet--even +so--things might be worse. Suppose Pitt had devoted his energies to +gambling, and absorbed all his interests in hunters and racers. Betty +had known that sort of thing; and now summarily concluded that men must +make themselves troublesome in one way or another. But this particular +turn 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 cadence +in 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 come +somebody else into them, and you might begin the whole thing over +again. In that way the Duke of Trefoil might give you enough to do for +a 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 impart +to him that hath none"?' + +'I don't think it means _that_,' said Betty. 'That you are to give away +all you have, till you haven't left yourself an overcoat.' + +'Are you sure? Not if somebody else needed it more? That is the +question. We come back to the--"Whatsoever ye would that men should do +unto you." "Heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the dead, cast out +devils." 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 of +Trefoil 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, 'they +must be taken out of that hole where they are now.' + +'And, as you truly suggest that the number of persons wanting such +relief is unlimited, the first thing to be done is to build proper +houses 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, easy +to keep clean, and rentable for what the industrious poor can afford to +pay. That will give sufficient interest for the capital expended, and +even allow me, without further outlay, to go on extending my +accommodations. Mrs. Mills will move into the first of my new houses, I +hope, 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 were +minded still as I seemed to be minded last year. I have showed you a +fraction of the reasons why I should not have changed, and you have +approved them.' + +Betty found nothing to answer; it was difficult not to approve them, +and yet she hated the conclusion. The conversation was not resumed +immediately. All the quiet beauty of the scene around them spoke, to +Betty, for a life of ease and luxury; it seemed to say, Keep at a +distance from disagreeable things; if want and squalor are in the +world, you belong to a different part of the world; let London be +London, you stay in Kensington Gardens. Take the good of your +advantages, and enjoy them. That this was the noblest view or the +justest conclusion, she would not say to herself; but it was the view +in which she had been brought up; and the leopard's spots, we know, are +persistent. Pitt had been brought up so too; what a tangent he had +taken 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 see +at some distance what looks like a large and fine mansion, amongst +trees 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 inside +than outside.' + +'You have been inside?' + +'A number of times. I am sorry I cannot take you in; but it is not open +to 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, was +a very uncommon man, full of rare knowledge, and very highly regarded +by those who knew him. Lord Holland was a great friend of his, and he +was 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 in +the 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 for +our sakes. Mrs. Dallas would not like that.' + +'No,' said Pitt, 'the case is not such. Once in a while I have gone to +Holland 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's +court, 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 two +opposite sides of a cup at the same time?' + +'But one has _duties_ to Society!' objected Betty, bewildered somewhat +by the argument and the smile together. + +'So I think, and I am trying to meet them. Do not mistake me. I do not +mean to undervalue _real_ society; I will take gladly all I can that +will give me mental stimulus and refreshment. But the round of fashion +is somewhat more vapid than ever, I grant you, after a visit to my +lace-mender. Those two things cannot go on together. Shall we walk +home? 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. Pitt +let the subject that day so thoroughly handled thenceforth drift out of +sight; he referred to it no more; and continually, day after day, he +gave himself up to the care of providing new entertainment for his +guests. Drives into the country, parties on the river, visits to grand +places, 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 things +were going well for her hopes concerning her son and Miss Frere; but +Betty herself was going through an experience of infinite pain. It was +impossible not to enjoy at the moment these enjoyable things; the life +at Pitt's old Kensington house was like a fairy tale for strangeness +and prettiness; but Betty was living now under a clear impression of +the fact that it _was_ a fairy tale, and that she must presently walk +out of it. And gradually the desire grew uppermost with her to walk out +of it soon, while she could do so with grace and of her own accord. The +pretty house which she had so delighted in began to oppress her. She +would presently be away, and have no more to do with it; and somebody +else would be brought there to reign and enjoy as mistress. It +tormented Betty, that thought. Somebody else would come there, would +have a right there; would be cherished and cared for and honoured, and +have the privilege of standing by Pitt in his works and plans, helping +him, and sympathizing with him. A floating image of a fair, stately +woman, with speaking grey eyes and a wonderful pure face, would come +before her when she thought of these things, though she told herself it +was little likely that _she_ would be the one; yet Betty could think of +no other, and almost felt superstitiously sure at last that Esther it +would be, in spite of everything. Esther it would be, she was almost +sure, if she, Betty, spoke one little word of information; would she +have done well to speak it? Now it was too late. + +'I think, Mrs. Dallas,' she began, one day, 'I cannot stay much longer +with you. Probably you and Mr. Dallas may make up your minds to remain +here all the winter; I should think you would. If I can hear of +somebody 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 at +first; things came about naturally, and it could not be helped; and I +am sure I have enjoyed it exceedingly; but, dear Mrs. Dallas, I cannot +stay here always, you know. I am ashamed to remember how long it is +already.' + +'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, she +was not in the least light-hearted; bitterness can laugh as easily as +pleasure sometimes. 'He is a very kind friend, and a perfect host; but +there is no reason why he should care about my coming or going, you +know.' + +'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 for +important exceptions. I shall have his respect, and my own too, better +if I go now.' + +'My dear, I cannot have you!' said Mrs. Dallas uneasily, but afraid to +ask a question. 'No, we shall not stay here for the winter. Wait a +little longer, Betty, and we will take you down into the country, and +make 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 can +grant me that, my dear?' + +Betty did not know how to refuse. + +'Has Pitt got over his extravagancies of last year?' the older lady +ventured, after a pause. + +'I do not think he gets over anything,' said Betty, with inward bitter +assurance. + +The day came that had been fixed for a visit to the Abbey. Pitt had not +been eager to take them there; had rather put it off. He told his +mother that one visit to Westminster Abbey was nothing; that two visits +were nothing; that a long time and many hours spent in study and +enjoyment of the place were necessary before one could so much as begin +to know Westminster Abbey. But Mrs. Dallas had declared she did not +want 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 and +fixed for this day. + +'You did not want to bring us here, because you thought we would not +appreciate it?' Betty said to Pitt, in an aside, as they were about +entering. + +'Nobody can appreciate it who takes it lightly,' he answered. + +That day remained fixed in Betty's memory for ever, with all its +details, sharp cut in. The moment they entered the building, the +greatness and beauty of the place seemed to overshadow her, and roused +up all the higher part of her nature. With that, it stirred into keen +life 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 of +the 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 she +could not but feel met in the girl's heart with the pain which she +could not bid away, and the one heightened the other, after the strange +fashion that pain and pleasure have of sharpening each other's powers. +Betty took in with an intensity of perception all the riches of the +Abbey that she was capable of understanding; and her capacity in that +way was far beyond the common. She never in her life had been quicker +of appreciation. The taste of beauty and the delight of curiosity were +at times exquisite; never failing to meet and heighten that underlying +pain which had so moved her whole nature to sentient life. For the +commonplace and the indifferent she had to-day no toleration at all; +they were regarded with impatient loathing. Accordingly, the progress +round the Poets' corner, which Mrs. Dallas would make slowly, was to +Betty almost intolerable. She must go as the rest went, but she went +making silent protest. + +'You do not care for the poets, Miss Betty,' remarked Mr. Dallas +jocosely. + +'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 honour +to be left out of Westminster Abbey as to be put in.' + +'Fie, fie, Miss Betty! what heresy is here! Westminster Abbey! why, it +is 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. You +are devoted to _The Faerie Queene_, of course!' + +'I never read it.' + +'You might do worse,' remarked Pitt, who was just before them with his +mother. + +'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 glad +to see _his_ monument.' + +It was a relief to pass on at last from the crowd of literary folk into +the nobler parts of the Abbey; and yet, as the impression of its +wonderful beauty and solemn majesty first fully came upon Miss Frere, +it was oddly accompanied by an instant jealous pang: 'He will bring +somebody else here some day, who will come as often as she likes, be at +home here, and enjoy the Abbey as if it were her own property.' And +Betty wished she had never come; and in the same inconsistent breath +was exceedingly rejoiced that she had come. Yes, she would take all of +the beauty in that she could; take it and keep it in her memory for +ever; taste it while she had it, and live on the after-taste for the +rest 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's +friend, an order which permitted them to go their own way and take +their own time, unaccompanied and untrammelled by vergers. No showman +was necessary in Pitt's presence; he could tell them all, and much more +than they cared about knowing. Mrs. Dallas, indeed, cared for little +beyond the tokens of England's antiquity and glory; her interest was +mostly expended on the royal tombs and those connected with them. For +was not Pitt now, virtually, one of the favoured nation, by habit and +connection as well as in blood? and did not England's greatness send +down a reflected light on all her sons?--only poetical justice, as it +was earlier sons who had made the greatness. But of that Mrs. Dallas +did not think. 'England' was an abstract idea of majesty and power, +embodied in a land and a government; and Westminster Abbey was in a +sort the record and visible token of the same, and testimony of it, in +the face of all the world. So Mrs. Dallas enjoyed Westminster Abbey, +and her heart swelled in contemplation of its glories; but its real +glories she saw not. Lights and shadows, colouring, forms of beauty, +associations of tenderness, majesties of age, had all no existence for +her. The one feeling in exercise, which took its nourishment from all +she looked upon, was pride. But pride is a dull kind of gratification; +and the good lady's progress through the Abbey could not be called +satisfactory to one who knew the place. + +Mr. Dallas was neither proud nor pleased. He was, however, an +Englishman, and Westminster Abbey was intensely English, and to go +through and look at it was the right thing to do; so he went; doing his +duty. + +And beside these two went another bit of humanity, all alive and +quivering, intensely sensitive to every impression, which must needs be +more or less an impression of suffering. Her folly, she told herself, +it was which had so stripped her of her natural defences, and exposed +her to suffering. The one only comfort left was, that nobody knew it; +and nobody should know it. The practice of society had given her +command 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 apart +from the others with her son,--'come here and see this! Look here--the +tomb of two little children of Edward III.!' + +'After going over some of the other records, ma'am, I can but call them +happy to have died little.' + +'But isn't it interesting? Pitt tells me there were _six_ of the little +princess's brothers and sisters that stood here at her funeral, the +Black Prince among them. Just think of it! Around this tomb!' + +'Why should it be more interesting to us than any similar gathering of +common people? There is many a spot in country graveyards at home where +more 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? And +why should we care,'--Betty hastily went on to generalities, seeing the +astonishment in Mrs. Dallas's face,--'why should we be more interested +in the monuments and deaths of the great, than in those of lesser +people? 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's +daughter and the little village girl stand on the same footing, when +once they have left this state of things. There is only one nobility +that can make any difference then.' + +'"One nobility!"' repeated Mrs. Dallas, bewildered. + +'You remember the words,--"Whosoever shall do the will of my Father +which is in heaven, the same is _my mother_, _and my sister_, _and +brother_." The village girl will often turn out to be the daughter of +the King then.' + +'But you do not think, do you,' said Betty, 'that _all_ that one has +gained in this life will be lost, or go for nothing? +Education--knowledge--refinement,--all that makes one man or woman +really greater and nobler and richer than another,--will _that_ be all +as though it had not been?--no advantage?' + +'What we know of the human mind forbids us to think so. Also, the +analogy of God's dealings forbids it. The child and the fully developed +philosopher do not enter the other world on an intellectual level; we +cannot suppose it. _But_, all the gain on the one side will go to +heighten his glory or to deepen his shame, according to the fact of his +having been a servant of God or no.' + +'I don't know where you are getting to!' said Mrs. Dallas a little +vexedly. + +'If we are to proceed at this rate,' suggested her husband, 'we may as +well 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 we +should be so much more interested in this tomb of Edward the Third's +children than in that of any farmer's family?' + +'My dear,' said Mrs. Dallas, 'I am astonished to hear you speak so. Are +not _you_ interested?' + +'Yes ma'am; but why should I be? For really, often the farmer's family +is 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 even +a republican may allow. The contrast here is greater. The glory and +pomp of earthly power is here brought into sharp contact with the +nothingness of it, So much yesterday,--so little to-day. Those uplifted +hands in prayer are exceedingly touching, when one remembers that all +their 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 not +think at all.' + +'Here is a tablet to Lady Knollys,' said Pitt, moving on. 'She was a +niece of Anne Boleyn, and waited upon her to the scaffold.' + +'But that is only a tablet,' said Mrs. Dallas. 'Who is this, Pitt?' She +was 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 the +chapel. How comes she to be here?' + +'Her funeral was after Elizabeth came to the throne. But she had been +in miserable circumstances, poor woman, before that.' + +'I wonder she lived at all,' said Betty, 'after losing husband and +daughter in that fashion! But people do bear a great deal and live +through it!' + +Which words had an application quite private to the speaker, and which +no one suspected. And while the party were studying the details of the +tomb of John of Eltham, Pitt explaining and the others trying to take +it 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 delight +themselves in its glories, and in each other, alternately. What do I +here? 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 to +everything she saw and everything she heard. Her words, she knew, +though she could not help it, were now and then flavoured with +bitterness. + +In the next chapel Mrs. Dallas heard with much sympathy and wonder the +account of Catharine of Valois and her remains. + +'I don't think she ought to lie in the vault of Sir George Villiers, if +he _was_ father of the Duke of Buckingham,' she exclaimed. + +'That Duke of Buckingham had more honour than belonged to him, in life +and 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 way +thither, Betty almost for a while forgot her troubles in the exceeding +majesty and beauty of the place. The power of very exquisite beauty, +which always and in all forms testifies to another world where its +source and its realization are, came down upon her spirit, and hushed +it as with a breath of balm; and the littleness of this life, of any +one individual's life, in the midst of the efforts here made to deny +it, stood forth in most impressive iteration. Betty was awed and +quieted for a minute. Mr. and Mrs. Dallas were moved differently. + +'And this was Henry the Seventh's work!' exclaimed Mr. Dallas, making +an effort to see all round him at once. 'Well, I didn't know they could +build so well in those old times. Let us see; when was he +buried?--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 he +had in his lifetime. Being king of England was not just so easy to him +as his son found it. Crowns are heavy in the best of times; and his was +specially.' + +'It is a strange ambition, though, to be glorified so in one's funeral +monument,' said Betty. + +'A very common ambition,' remarked Pitt. 'But this chapel was to be +much more than a monument. It was a chantry. The king ordered ten +thousand masses to be said here for the repose of his soul; and +intended that the monkish establishment should remain for ever to +attend to them. Here around his tomb you see the king's particular +patron saints,--nine of them,--to whom he looked for help in time of +need; all over the chapel you will find the four national saints, if I +may so call them, of the kingdom; and at the end there is the Virgin +Mary, with Peter and Paul, and other saints and angels innumerable. The +whole chapel is like those touching folded hands of stone we were +speaking of,--a continual appeal, through human and angelic mediation, +fixed in stone; though at the beginning also living in the chants of +the monks.' + +'Well, I am sure that is being religious!' said Mrs. Dallas. 'If such a +place 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." What +have 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 pains +about it.' + +'If he had believed on Christ, mother, he would have known he had no +need. Think of those ten thousand masses to be said for him, that his +sins might be forgiven and his soul received into heaven; you see how +miserably 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 to +have ten thousand masses said for him, and filled his chapel with +intercessory saints.' + +'But I do not see how any one is to have certainty, Mr. Pitt,' Betty +said. '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 believeth +in me _shall never die_." The love that came down here to die for us +will 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 partial +disobedience, cannot perfectly trust.' + +'How can sinful creatures do anything perfectly, Pitt?' his mother +asked, almost angrily. + +'Mamma,' said he gravely, 'you trust _me_ so.' + +Mrs. Dallas made no reply to that; and they moved on, surveying the +chapels. The good lady bowed her head in solemn approbation when shown +the place whence the bodies of Cromwell and others of his family and +friends were cast out after the Restoration. 'They had no business to +be 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 others +were buried, not honourably, not far off. One of Cromwell's daughters, +who was a Churchwoman and also a royalist, they allowed to remain in +the 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 with +dishonour, 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 did +not seem to hear it. They passed on, from one chapel to another, going +more 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 is +one of the sorrowfullest things in the world. I wonder if all other +countries are as bad? Think of this woman's troublesome, miserable +life; and now, after Fotheringay, the honour in which she lies in this +temple 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 are +all composed now; and all interests fade away before the one supreme, +eternal; they are gone where "the honour that cometh from God" is the +only honour left. Well for them if they have that! Here is the Countess +of Richmond, the mother of Henry VII. She was of kin or somehow +connected, it is said, with thirty royal personages; the grand-daughter +of Catharine of Valois, grandmother of Henry VIII., Elizabeth's +great-grandmother. She was, by all accounts, a noble old lady. Now all +that is left is these pitiful folded hands.' + +Mrs. Dallas passed on, and they went from chapel to chapel, and from +tomb to tomb, with unflagging though transient interest. But for Betty, +by and by the brain and sense seemed to be oppressed and confused by +the multitude of objects, of names and stories and sympathies. The +novelty wore off, and a feeling of some weariness supervened; and +therewith the fortunes and fates of the great past fell more and more +into the background, and her own one little life-venture absorbed her +attention. Even when going round the chapel of Edward the Confessor and +viewing the grand old tombs of the magnates of history who are +remembered there, Betty was mostly concerned with her own history; and +a dull bitter feeling filled her. It was safe to indulge it, for +everybody else had enough beside to think of, and she grew silent. + +'You are tired,' said Pitt kindly, as they were leaving the Confessor's +chapel, and his mother and father had gone on before. + +'Of course,' said Betty. 'There is no going through the ages without +some fatigue--for a common mortal.' + +'We are doing too much,' said Pitt. 'The Abbey cannot be properly seen +in 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.' She +looked back as she spoke towards the tombs they were leaving, and +wished, almost, that she were as still as they. She felt her eyes +suffusing, and hastily went on. 'I shall be going home, I expect, in a +few 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, at +any rate.' + +She was capable of no more words just then, and was about to move +forward, when Pitt by a motion of his hand detained her. + +'One moment,' said he. 'Do you say that you are thinking of returning +to America?' + +'Yes. It is time.' + +'I would beg you, if I might, to reconsider that,' he said. 'If you +could stay with my mother a while longer, it would be, I am sure, a +great boon to her; for _I_ am going away. I must take a run over to +America--I have business in New York--must be gone several weeks at +least. Cannot you stay and go down into Westmoreland with her?' + +It seemed to Betty that she became suddenly cold, all over. Yet she was +sure there was no outward manifestation in face or manner of what she +felt. She answered mechanically, indifferently, that she 'would see'; +and they went forward to rejoin their companions. But of the rest of +the 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; in +Westminster Abbey, brought thither by him, and lingering where her own +feet now lingered; in the house at Kensington, going up the beautiful +staircase, and standing before the cabinet of coins in the library. +Above all, found by Pitt in New York. For he would find her; perhaps +even now he had news of her; _she_ would be coming with hope and +gladness and honour over the sea, while she herself would be returning, +crossing the same sea the other way,--in every sense the other way,--in +mortification and despair and dishonour. Not outward dishonour, and yet +the worst possible; dishonour in her own eyes. What a fool she had +been, to meddle in this business at all! She had done it with her eyes +open, trusting that she could exercise her power upon anybody and yet +remain in her own power. Just the reverse of that had come to pass, and +she had nobody to blame but herself. If Pitt was leaving his father and +mother 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,--slow +torture,--during which she must show as little of what she felt as an +Indian at the stake. She must be with Mrs. Dallas, and hear the whole +matter talked of, and from point to point as the history went on; and +must help talk of it. For if Pitt was going to New York now, Betty was +not; that was a fixed thing. She must stay for the present where she +was. + +She was a little pale and tired, they said on the drive home. And that +was all anybody ever knew. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + +_A VISIT_. + + +Pitt sailed for America in the early days of Autumn; and September had +not yet run out when he arrived in New York. His first researches, as +on former occasions, amounted to nothing, and several days passed with +no fruit of his trouble. The intelligence received at the post office +gave him no more than he had been assured of already. They believed a +letter did come occasionally to a certain Colonel Gainsborough, but the +occasions 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 much +to observation and conjecture. To exercise the former, he perambulated +the 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. He +watched keenly all the figures he passed, at least until assured they +had 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 were +looking for somebody; the streets were not as now filled with a +confused and confusing crowd going all ways at once; and no policeman +was needed, even for the most timid, to cross Broadway where it was +busiest. What a chance there was then for the gay part of the world to +show itself! A lady would heave in sight, like a ship in the distance, +and come bearing down with colours flying; one all alone, or two +together, having the whole sidewalk for themselves. Slowly they would +come and pass, in the full leisure of display, and disappear, giving +place to a new sail just rising to view. No such freedom of display and +monopoly of admiration is anywhere possible any longer in the city of +Gotham. + +Pitt had been walking the streets for days, and was weary of watching +the various feminine craft which sailed up and down in them. None of +them were like the one he was looking for, neither could he see +anything that looked like the colonel's straight slim figure and +soldierly bearing. He was weary, but he persevered. A man in his +position was not open to the charge of looking for a needle in a +haystack, such as would now be justly brought to him. New York was not +quite so large then as it is now. It is astonishing to think what a +little place it was in those days; when Walker Street was not yet built +on 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 State +Street, and St. George's Church was in Beekman Street, and Beekman +Street was a place of fashion. The city was neither so dingy nor so +splendid as it is now, and the bright sun of our climate was pouring +all the gold it could upon its roofs and pavements, those September +days when Pitt was trying to be everywhere and to see everything. + +One of those sunny, golden days he was sauntering as usual down +Broadway, enjoying the clear aether which was troubled by neither smoke +nor cloud. Sauntering along carelessly, yet never for a moment +forgetting his aim, when his eye was caught by a figure which came up +out of a side street and turned into Broadway just before him. Pitt had +but a cursory glance at the face, but it was enough to make him follow +the owner of it. He walked behind her at a little distance, +scrutinizing the figure. It was not like what he remembered Esther. He +had said to himself, of course, that Esther must be grown up before +now; nevertheless, the image in his mind was of Esther as he had known +her, a well-grown girl of thirteen or fourteen. This was no such +figure. It was of fair medium height, or rather more. The dress was as +plain as possible, yet evidently that of a lady, and as unmistakeable +was the carriage. Perhaps it was that more than anything which fixed +Pitt's attention; the erect, supple figure, the easy, gliding motion, +and the set of the head. For among all the multitude that walk, a truly +beautiful 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 strides +brought him near her, and he followed, watching; balancing hopes and +doubts. That was not Esther as he remembered her; but then years had +gone by; and was not that set of the head on the shoulders precisely +Esther'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 a +door, without ever giving him the chance he wanted. She had a little +portfolio under her arm, like a teacher, and she paused to speak to the +servant who opened the door to her; Pitt judged that it was not her own +house. 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 went +in, she would probably come out again. + +But Pitt had a tiresome waiting of an hour. He strolled up and down or +stood still leaning against a railing, never losing that door out of +his range of vision. The hour seemed three; however, at the end of it +the lady did come out again, but just when he was at his farthest, and +she turned and went up the street again the way she had come, walking +with a quick step. Pitt followed. Where she had turned into Broadway +she turned out of it, and went down an unattractive side street; +passing from that into another and another, less and less promising +with every corner she turned, till she entered the one which we know +was not at all eligible where Colonel Gainsborough lived. Pitt's hopes +had been gradually falling, and now when the quarry disappeared from +his 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 have +thought she had come merely to visit some poor protege, but that she +had certainly seemed to take a latch-key from her pocket and let +herself in with it. Pitt reviewed the place, waited a few minutes, and +then 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 live +in that street. + +But as soon as the door was opened Pitt knew where he was; for he +recognised Barker. She was not the one, however, with whom he wished +first to exchange recognitions; so he contented himself with asking in +an assured manner for Colonel Gainsborough. + +'Yes, sir, he's in,' said Barker doubtfully; as he stood in the doorway +she 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 the +colonel's particular room, and was face to face with his old friend. +Esther was not there; and without looking at anything Pitt felt in a +moment 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 the +colonel and him. But the colonel was like himself. They stood and faced +each other. + +'Have I changed so much, colonel?' he said at last. 'Do you not know +me?' + +'William Dallas?' said the colonel. 'I know the voice! But yes, you +have changed,--you have changed, certainly. It is the difference +between the boy and the man. What else it is, I cannot see in this +light,--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 before +this.' + +'So I suppose,' said the colonel drily. 'Of course, hearing nothing of +you, 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 you +know where to look.' + +'Pardon me, Colonel Gainsborough, that was precisely not my case. I did +not know where to look. I have been here for days now, looking, till I +was almost in despair; only I knew you must be somewhere, and I would +not despair. I have looked for you in America and in England. I went +down to Gainsborough Manor, to see if I could hear tidings of you +there. Every time that I came home to Seaforth for a visit I took a +week of my vacation and came here and hunted New York for you; always +in vain.' + +'The shortest way would have been to ask your father,' said the +colonel, still drily. + +'My father? I asked him, and he could tell me nothing. Why did you not +leave us some clue by which to find you?' + +'Clue?' said the colonel. 'What do you mean by clue? I have not hid +myself.' + +'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 head +like 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 intercourse +with Mr. Dallas for a long time; not since we moved into our present +quarters; and our address _here_ he does not know, I suppose. He ceased +writing to me, and of course I ceased writing to him. From you we have +never heard at all, since we came to New York.' + +'But I wrote, sir,' said Pitt, in growing embarrassment and +bewilderment. 'I wrote repeatedly.' + +'What do you suppose became of your letters?' + +'I cannot say. I wrote letter after letter, till, getting no answer, I +was 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 my +father, 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 a +mortified 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 Dallas +that I used to know; or rather, not like the _young_ William. I +supposed you had grown old; and with age comes wisdom. That is the +natural 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 never +neglected. I sought for you as long as possible, and in every way that +was possible, whenever I was in this country. I left off writing, but +it was because writing seemed useless. I have come now in pursuance of +my 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 look +for 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 expect +it, 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 Pitt +did not feel the truth of the declaration.) 'Now tell me about +yourself.' + +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 colonel +listened, growing more and more interested; thawed out a good deal in +his manner; yet maintained on the whole an indifferent apartness which +was not in accordance with the old times and the liking he then +certainly cherished for his young friend. Pitt could not help the +feeling that Colonel Gainsborough wished him away. It began to grow +dark, and he must bring this visit to an end. + +'May I see Esther?' he asked, after a slight pause in the consideration +of this fact, and with a change of tone which a mother's ear would have +noted, and which perhaps Colonel Gainsborough's was jealous enough to +note. The answer had to be waited for a second or two. + +'Not to-night,' he said a little hurriedly. 'Not to-night. You may see +her to-morrow.' + +Pitt could not understand his manner, and went away with half a frown +and half a smile upon his face, after saying that he would call in the +morning. + +It had happened all this while that Esther was busy up-stairs, and so +had 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 was +lit, the little fire kindled for the kettle, the table brought up to +the colonel's couch, which, as in old time, he liked to have so; and +Esther made his toast and served him with his cups of tea, in just the +old fashion. But the way her father looked at her was _not_ just in the +old fashion. He noticed how tall she had grown,--it was no longer the +little Esther of Seaforth times. He noticed the lovely lines of her +supple figure, as she knelt before the fire with the toasting-fork, and +raised her other hand to shield her face from the blaze. His eye +lingered 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 did +not dwell there. Yet it could not but come back again; and the +colonel's own face took a grim set as he looked. Oddly enough, he said +never 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. It +wasn't anything about taxes?' + +'No.' + +'I've got all _that_ ready,' said Esther contentedly, 'so he may come +when 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 set +right. 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 let +the 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, I +think not. I loved Seaforth once--dearly!--but we had friends there +then; or we thought we had. I do not think it would be pleasant to be +there 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 you +here too long!' + +What had stirred the colonel up to so much speculation? Esther +hesitated. + +'Papa, I know our friends there seem very eager to have us; and so far +it would be good; but--if we went back, have we enough to live upon and +be independent?' + +'No.' + +'Then I would rather be here. We are doing very nicely, papa; you are +comfortable, are you not? I am very well placed, and earning +money--enough money. Really we are not poor any longer. And it is so +nice to be independent!' + +'Not poor!' said the colonel, between a groan and a growl. 'What do you +call poor? For you and for me to be in this doleful street is to be all +that, I should say.' + +'Papa,' said Esther, her lips wreathing into a smile, 'I think nobody +is 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 by +deprivation?--'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 never +knew. For _us_ to be in a prison like this, and shut out from the +world!' + +'Papa, I never thought you cared for the world. And this does not feel +like a prison to me. I have been very happy here, and free, and oh, so +thankful! If you remember how we were before, papa.' + +'All the same,' said the colonel, 'it is not fitting that those who are +meant for the world should live out of it. I wish I had taken you home +years ago. You see nobody. You have seen nobody all your life but one +family; 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 very +much, once; but I have given him up long ago. When I found he had +forgotten us, it was not worth while for me to remember. That is all +dead. 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 his +father's fault, perhaps.' + +'It does not make much difference,' said Esther easily. 'If anything +could make him forsake us--after the old times--he is not worth +thinking 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 which +allowed the hearer to divine that the closing of that chapter had not +been without pain, and that the pain had perhaps scarcely died out. But +he did not pursue the subject, nor say any more about anything. He only +watched his daughter, uninterruptedly, though stealthily. Watched every +line of her figure; glanced at the sweet, fair face; followed every +quiet graceful movement. Esther was studying, and part of the time she +was drawing, absorbed in her work; yet throughout, what most struck her +father was the high happiness that sat on her whole person. It was in +the supreme calm of her brow; it was in a half-appearing smile, which +hardly 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 an +uneasy figure, nor do the movements of grace come from a restless +spirit. 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 watching +eyes, and now and then set his teeth, in a grim kind of way for which +there seemed no sort of provocation. 'The heart knoweth his own +bitterness;' no doubt Colonel Gainsborough's tasted its own particular +draught 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 be +no harm to see how that was. She was up very early, a long while before +the sun; and after a somewhat careful dressing, for it was not in +Esther's nature to do anything imperfectly, she went down-stairs, to +her father's little study or dwelling room. It was free for her use at +this time of day; the colonel took a late breakfast, and was never up +long before it. This had grown to be his invalid habit; in the early +days of his life and of military service, no doubt it had been +different. The room was empty and still at this hour; even Mrs. Barker +was not yet astir, and a delightful sense of privacy and security +encompassed the temporary occupant. The weather was still warm; no fire +would be needed till it was time for the colonel's toast. Moving like a +mouse, 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 school +work? 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 them +too, as things were, but this must come first. She must 'draw water +from the wells of salvation,' before she felt freshened up for the +rather weary encounters and dry routine of school life; she must feel +the Rock under her feet, and breathe the air of heaven a bit before she +ventured forth into the low-lying grounds and heavy vapours of earthly +business and intercourse; and she must have her armour well on, and +bright, before she dared to meet the possible dangers and temptations +which might come to her in the course of the day. It is true, this day +was a free day, but that made no difference. Being at home had its +trials and difficulties as well as being abroad. + +But drawing from those wells, and breathing that air, Esther thought +nothing of trials or difficulties; and, in matter of fact, for her they +hardly seemed to exist, or were perceived, as it were, dimly, and their +contact scarce felt. I suppose it is true in all warfares, that a +well-armed and alert soldier is let alone by the foes that would have +swallowed him up if he had been defenceless or not giving heed. And if +you could have seen Esther's face during that hour, you would +understand that all possible enemies were, at least for the time, as +hushed as the lions in Daniel's den; so glad, so grave, so pure and +steadfast, so enjoying, was the expression which lay upon it. Reading +and praying--praying and reading--an hour good went by. Then Esther +rose up, ready for the work of the day. + +She threw open all the windows and put out her lamp. Then she gave both +the rooms a careful cleaning and dusting and putting in order; set the +table in the one for breakfast, and laid the fire in the other, to be +lit whenever her father might desire it. All this done and in +readiness, she sat down again to study. This time it was study of a +lower grade; partly preparation for school work, partly reading for her +own advancement, though there was not much time for this latter. It was +long past eight, and Mrs. Barker came with the chafing-dish of red +coals and the tea-kettle. She stood by while Esther made the tea, +looking on or meditating; and then began to blow the coals in the +chafing-dish. She blew the coals and looked at Esther. + +'Miss Esther,' she began, 'did master say anything about the visitor +that 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 had +opened 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's +nearer me. But howsomever, mum, what I did see of him, somehow, it put +me 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 light +behind 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. Papa +went there, you know, last summer, to see old friends, or to see what +had become of them; and Mr. and Mrs. Dallas were gone to England, to +their son, and with them the young lady he is to marry. I daresay he +may be married by this time, or just going to be married. He has quite +forgotten 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 to +see his face!--but it may be as you say.' + +Perhaps Esther would have put some further question to her father at +breakfast about his yesterday's visit, but as it happened she had other +things to think of. The colonel was in a querulous mood; not altogether +uncommon in these days, but always very trying to Esther. When he +seemed contented and easy, she felt repaid for all labours or +deprivations; but when that state of things failed, and he made himself +uncomfortable about his surroundings, there would come a miserable _cui +bono_ 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 a +question, 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 to +to-day with a sudden pull. 'It is Mrs. Bounder's butter, and we have +always found it very good; and she lets us have it at a lower rate than +we could get it in the stores.' + +'Nothing is good that is got "at a low rate." I do not believe in that +plan. It is generally a cheat in the end.' + +'It has been warm weather, you know, papa; and it is difficult to keep +things so nice without a cool cellar.' + +'That is one of the benefits of living in Major Street. It ought to be +called "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 comes +it 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! My +dear, 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 such +people 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 to +a crisp.' + +'Papa, I am very sorry! I did not mean to give you a burnt piece. Mine +is very good. Let me find you a better bit.' + +'It doesn't matter!' said the colonel, giving his plate an unloving +shove. 'A man lives and dies, all the same, whether his bacon is burnt +or not. I suppose nothing matters! Are you going to that party, at +Mrs.-- 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 extremely +unwilling 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 to +go 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 would +pay, you know, as part of the rent. The money is ready, and that is a +great deal more pleasure than a dress and a party would be to me. And +then, winter is coming on, and we must lay in our fuel. I think to do +it 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 the +end.' + +'Deucedly pleasant!' said the colonel grimly, and rising from the +table. 'I am going to my room, Esther, and I do not wish to be called +to see any body. If business comes, you must attend to it.' + +'Called to see anybody'! Who ever came to that house, on business or +otherwise, but at the most rare intervals! And now one business visit +had just come yesterday, there might not be another in months. Esther +looked a little sorrowful, for her father's expression, most unwonted +from his mouth, showed his irritation to be extreme; but what had +irritated him? However, she was somewhat accustomed to this sort of +demonstration, which nevertheless always grieved her; and she was glad +that she had escaped telling her father her second reason. The truth +was, Esther's way of life was so restricted and monotonous +outwardly--she lived so by herself and to herself--that the stimulus +and refreshment of a social occasion like that one when she had met +Miss Frere a year ago was almost too pleasant. It made Esther feel a +little too sensibly how alone and shut out from human intercourse was +the nobler part of herself. A little real intellectual converse and +contact was almost too enjoyable; it was a mental breath of fresh air, +in which life seemed to change and become a different thing; and +then--we all know how close air seems after fresh--the routine of +school teaching, and the stillness and uniformity of her home +existence, seemed to press upon her painfully, till after a time she +became wonted to it again. So, on the whole, she thought it not amiss +that 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 usually +did, and she set herself to the doing of what this holiday at home gave +her to do. There was mending, making up accounts, a drawing to finish +for a model; after that, if she could get it all done in time, there +might be a bit of blessed reading in a new book that her old friend +Miss Fairbairn had lent her. Esther set her face bravely to her day's +work. + +The morning was not far advanced, and the mending was not finished, +when the unwonted door-knocker sounded again. This time the door was +opened 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 just +in her bread, had volunteered to go to the door for her. Pitt was +ushered into the little parlour, in which, as nobody was there, he had +leisure to make several observations. Yesterday he had had no leisure +for them. Now he looked about him. That the fortunes of the family must +have come down very much it was evident. Such a street, in the first +place; then this little bit of a house; and then, there was more than +that; he could see tokens unmistakeable of scantness of means. The +drugget was well worn, had been darned in two places--very neatly, but +darned it was, and the rest of it threatened breaches. The carpet +beyond the drugget was old and faded, and the furniture?--Pitt wondered +if it could be the same furniture, it looked so different here. There +was the colonel's couch, however; he recognised that, although in its +chintz cover, which was no longer new, but faded like the carpet. Books +on the table were certainly the colonel's books; but no pictures were +on the walls, no pretty trifles lying about; nothing was there that +could testify of the least margin of means for anything that was not +strictly necessary. Yet it was neat and comfortable; but Pitt felt that +expenditures were very closely measured, and no latitude allowed to +ease or to fancy. He stood a few minutes, looking and taking all this +in; and then the inner door opened, and he forgot it instantly. At one +stroke, as it were, the mean little room was transformed into a sacred +temple, and here was the priestess. The two young people stood a second +or two silent, facing each other. + +But Esther knew him at once; and more, as she met the frank, steadfast +eyes that she had known and trusted so long ago, she trusted them at +once again and perfectly. There was no mistaking either their truth or +their kindness. In spite of his new connections and alienated life, her +old friend had not forgotten her. She extended her hand, with a flash +of 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 no +words for what went on within him. With the first sight of Esther he +knew that he had met his fate. Here was all that he had left six or +seven years ago, how changed! The little head, so well set on its +shoulders, with its wealth of beautifully ordered hair; those wonderful +grave, soft, sweet, thoughtful eyes; the character of the quiet mouth; +the pure dignity and grace of the whole creature,--all laid a spell +upon the man. He found no words to speak audibly; but in his mind words +heaped on words, and he was crying to himself, 'Oh, my beauty! Oh, my +gazelle! My fair saint! My lily! My Queen!' What right he had to the +personal pronoun does not appear; however, we know that appropriation +is an instinct of humanity for that which it likes. And it may also be +noted, that Pitt never thought of calling Esther a _rose_. Nor would +any one else. That was not her symbol. Roses are sweet, sweeter than +anything, and yielding in fairness to nothing; but--let me be pardoned +for saying it--they are also common. And Esther was rather something +apart, rare. If I liken her to a lily, I do not mean those fair white +lilies which painters throw at the feet of Franciscan monks, and +dedicate also to the Virgin,--Annunciation lilies, so called. They are +common too, and rather specially emblems of purity. What I am thinking +of, and what Pitt was thinking of, is, on the contrary, one of those +unique exotic lilies, which are as much wonders of colour as marvels of +grace; apart, reserved, pure, also lofty, and delicate to the last +degree; queening it over all the rest of the flowers around, not so +much by official pre-eminence of beauty as by the superiority of the +spiritual nature. A difference internal and ineffable, which sets them +of necessity aside of the crowd and above it. + +Pitt felt all this in a breath, which I have taken so many words +clumsily to set forth. He, as I said, took no words, and only gave such +expression to his thoughts as he could at the moment by bowing very low +over Esther's hand and kissing it. Something about the action hurt +Esther; 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; not +that I am here now.' + +'I got over _that_ surprise a great while ago,' said Esther. 'At least +I thought I did; but it comes back to me now that I see you. How was +it? How could it be?' + +In answer to which, Pitt gave her a detailed account of his various +efforts in past years to discover the retreat of his old friends. This +was useful to him; he got his breath, as it were, which the sight of +Esther had taken away; was himself again. + +Esther listened silently, with perfect faith in the speaker and his +statements, with a little undefined sort of regretfulness. So, then, +Pitt need not have been lost to them, if only they could have been +found! 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 had +done. 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 the +dead-letter office, the fire.' + +'It was not very strange that you could not find us when you came to +New York. We really troubled the post office very little, having after +a while nothing to expect from it, and that was the only place where +you 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 not +right in that quarter; indeed, had suspected it long ago. + +'But you got some letters from me?' Pitt went on, 'while you were in +Seaforth? 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, the +second year after I went?' + +'Yes,' she said, without looking at him. + +'Esther, that letter was worth everything to me. It was like a sunbeam +coming out between misty clouds and showing things for a moment in +their true colours. I never forgot it. I never could forget it, though +I fought for some years with the truth it revealed to me. I believed +what you told me, and so I knew what I ought to do; but I struggled +against my convictions. I knew from that time that it was the happiest +thing and the worthiest thing to be a saint; all the same, I wanted to +be a sinner. I wanted to follow my own way and be my own master. I +wanted 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 well +as other people do, and was unwilling to give up a life of +self-indulgence, which I had means to gratify. Esther, I fought hard! I +fought 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 to +know the truth of what you told me; I have learned to know Christ; and +I know, as you know, that all things that may be desired are not to be +compared with that knowledge. I understand what Paul meant when he said +he had suffered the loss of all things for it and counted them less +than nothing. So do I; so would I; so have I, as far as the giving up +of 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 that +possessed her. She did not know what in the world could make her think +of tears at that moment; but there was a strange sensation as if, had +she been alone, she would have liked to cry. No shadow of such a +softness 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 lighting +a lost battle; that my sense and reason and conscience were all gained +over, 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 you +wrote that letter?' + +'Yes,' she said quietly. 'More happy.' But she did not look up. + +'The happiness in your letter was the sunbeam that cleared up +everything for me. Now I have talked enough; tell me of yourself and +your father.' + +'There is not much to tell,' said Esther, with that odd quietness. She +felt somehow oppressed. 'We are living in the old fashion; have been +living so all along.' + +'But-- _Quite_ in the old fashion?' he said, with a swift glance at the +little 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 to +New 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 some +stocks that gave out somehow. He lost it all. So then we had nothing +but the stipend from England; and I think papa somehow lost part of +that, 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 very +well now. We are out of debt, and that is everything. And I think papa +is pretty comfortable.' + +'And Esther?' + +'Esther is happy.' + +'But--I should think--forgive me!--that this bit of a house would +hardly 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 on +quickly: 'Papa thought he could not give me all the advantages he +wished, if we stayed in Seaforth. So we came to New York. And now, you +see, 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 to +do, you know; and this certainly was given me. And by means of that we +get 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 thoughts +the 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 fancy +that teaching for money is just the same as teaching for pleasure. But +I am very glad to be able to do it. Before that, there was a time when +I did not know just what was going to become of us. Now I am very +happy.' + +Pitt could not at the moment speak all his thoughts. Moreover, there +was something about Esther that perplexed him. She was so unmovedly +quiet in her manner. It was kind, no doubt, and pleasant, and pleased; +and yet, there was a smooth distance between him and her that troubled +him. He did not know how to get rid of it. It was so smooth, there was +nothing to take hold of; while it was so distant, or put her rather at +such a distance, that all Pitt's newly aroused feelings were stimulated +to the utmost, both by the charm and by the difficulty. How exquisite +was this soft dignity and calm! but to the man who was longing to be +permitted 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 too +frank and free. Pitt wished she would have shown a little embarrassment +or consciousness. 'Christopher is happy. He has become a householder +and a market-gardener, and, above all, a married man. Married a +market-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. 'It +was very good for us, almost as good for us as for him. Christopher has +become a man of substance. We hire this house of him, or rather of his +wife.' + +'Are the two not one, then?' + +Esther laughed. 'Yes,' she said; 'but you know, _which_ one it is +depends 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 of +kindnesses, to which Pitt listened eagerly though with a some what +distracted 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 the +kitchen?' + +'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 table +to-day.' + +'Never mind. If the supplies fall short, I will go out and get some +oysters. I know the colonel likes oysters. Sit still, and let us talk +while 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 not +begin to talk. He was thinking; and words were not ready. It was Esther +who 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 old +fashion. 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 it +was that her father should have been so reticent; that he should not +have so much as informed her who his visitor had been. And then it also +occurred to her how he had desired not to be called down to see anybody +that morning. Then it must be that he did not want to see Pitt? Had he +taken a dislike to him? disapproved of his marriage, perhaps? And how +would luncheon be under these circumstances? One thought succeeded +another in growing confusion, but then Pitt began to talk, and she was +obliged to attend to him. + +'Then your father did not tell you that I have become a householder +too?' + +'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 his +uncle, of Mr. Strahan's excellences and peculiarities, of his favour, +his illness and death, and the property he had bequeathed intact to his +grand-nephew. He described the house at Kensington, finding a singular +pleasure in talking about it; for, as his imagination recalled the old +chambers and halls, it constantly brought into them the sweet figure of +the girl he was speaking to, and there was a play of light often, or a +warm glow, or a sudden sparkle in his eyes, which Esther could not help +noticing. Woman-like, she was acute enough also to interpret it +rightly; only, to be sure, she never put _herself_ in the place of the +person concerned, but gave all that secret homage to another. 'It is +like Pitt!' she thought, with a suppressed sigh which she could not +stop to criticize,--'it is like him; as much in earnest in love as in +other things; always in earnest! It must be something to be loved so.' +However, carrying on such aside reflections, she kept all the while her +calm, sweet, dignified manner, which was bewitching Pitt, and entered +with generous interest into all he told her; supplying in her own way +what he did not tell, and on her part also peopling the halls and +chambers at Kensington with two figures, neither of which was her own. +Her imagination flew back to the party, a year ago, at which she had +seen Betty Frere, and mixed up things recklessly. How would _she_ fit +into this new life of Pitt, of which he had been speaking a little +while 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 there +was a little pause. Esther half wondered that he did not get up and go +away; but there was no sign of that. Pitt sat quietly, thoughtfully, +also contentedly, before her, at least so far as appeared; of all his +thoughts, not one of them concerned going away. It had begun to be a +mixed pleasure to Esther, his being there; for she thought now that he +was married he would be taken up with his own home interests, and the +friend of other days, if still living, would be entirely lost. And so +every look and expression of his which testified to a fine and sweet +and strong character, which proved him greatly ennobled and beautified +beyond what she had remembered him; and all his words, which showed the +gentleman, the man of education and the man of ability; while they +greatly delighted Esther, they began oddly to make her feel alone and +poor. Still, she would use her opportunity, and make the most of this +interview. + +'And what are you going to be, Pitt?' she asked, when both of them had +been quite still for a few minutes. He turned his face quick towards +her 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 come +to me for the answer.' + +'I do. What is the answer? Give it, please. Is there any reason why a +man 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 business +view, 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 the +wrong and delivering the oppressed.' + +'That is my view,' said Pitt quietly. + +'And is that what you are going to do?' she said with smothered +eagerness, and as well a smothered pang. + +'I do not propose to be a lawyer merely,' he said, in the same quiet +way, not looking at her. 'But I thought it would give me an advantage +in the great business of righting the wrong and getting the oppressed +go 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 unaccountable +feeling 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 and +sweet smile. The sweetness of it was so unlike the Pitt Dallas she used +to know, that Esther was confounded. 'Do you ask me? What should be the +work 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 He +immediately gave the gauge and measure of that love, the greatest +possible,--"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 that +the only use of it is to do His work. I will study law for that, and +practise as I may have occasion; and for that I will use all the means +He may give me: so far as I can, to "break every yoke, and let the +oppressed go free;" to "heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, raise the +dead, cast out devils," so far as I may. Surely it is the least I can +do for my Master.' + +Pitt spoke quietly, gravely, with the light of a settled purpose in his +eye, and also with the peace of a fixed joy in his face. Indeed, his +face said more than his words, to Esther who knew him and it; she read +there the truth of what he said, and that it was no phantasy of passing +enthusiasm, but a lifelong choice, grave and glad, of which he was +telling 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 a +minute, 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; she +was not crying. 'Glad for you,--and sorry that there are so very few +who 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 the +old 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,' she +thought, 'he is going to tell me about his bride and his marriage.' And +she rather wished she could be spared that special communication. At +the same time, the wondering speculation seized her again, whether +Betty Frere, as she had seen her, was likely to prove a good helpmeet +for this man. + +'You suppose it is true? There can be no doubt about that, I think, for +the 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 the +woman when she is old.' + +'Neither ought to be independent of the other!' + +'They seldom are,' said Esther, feeling inclined to laugh, although not +in the least merry. Pitt was silent a few minutes, evidently revolving +something in his mind. + +'You said you had two rooms unoccupied,' he began at last. 'I want to +be 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,--and +I do.' + +'I do not believe they would suit you, Pitt,' said Esther, consumed +with 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 be +taken 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 going +to tell me who the lady is supposed to be?' + +'Oh, I know,' said Esther, smiling, yet perplexed. 'I believe I have +seen her. And I admire her too, Pitt, very much. Though when I saw her +I do not think she would have agreed with the views you have been +expressing to me.' + +'Where did you see her?' + +'Last fall. Oh, a year ago, almost; time enough for minds to change. It +was 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 I +ask 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 of +things, however, might not long survive our proposing to be anything +more. But we never did propose to be anything more. What made you think +it?' + +'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; for +he goes nowhere, and it is very hard for him to move; but he went. It +was 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 from +you; and papa had a mind to see what was the meaning of it all, and +whether anybody was left in Seaforth or not. I thought everybody had +forgotten 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, and +had been in Seaforth a long while; and the lady was there too whom you +were going to marry; and that this year they had all gone over to see +you, 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 eyes +avoided Pitt now, and her colour went and came. 'It was a very straight +story.' + +'Yet not a bit of truth in it. Oh yes, they came over to see me; but I +have never thought of marrying Miss Frere, nor any other lady; nor ever +shall, unless--you have forgotten me, Esther?' + +Esther sat so motionless that Pitt might have thought she had not heard +him, but for the swift flashing colour which went and came. She had +heard him well enough, and she knew what the words were meant to +signify, for the tone of them was unmistakeable; but answer, in any +way, Esther could not. She was a very fair image of maidenly modesty +and womanly dignity, rather unmistakeable, too, in its way; but she +spoke not, nor raised an eyelid. + +'Have you forgotten me, Esther?' he repeated gently. + +She did not answer then. She was moveless for another instant; and +then, rising, with a swift motion she passed out of the room. But it +was not the manner of dismissal or leave-taking, and Pitt waited for +what was to come next. And in another moment or two she was there +again, all covered with blushes, and her eyes cast down, down upon an +old book which she held in her hand and presently held open. She was +standing before him now, he having risen when she rose. From the very +fair brow and rosy cheek and soft line of the lips, Pitt's eye at last +went down to the book she held before him. There, on the somewhat large +page, lay a dried flower. The petals were still velvety and rich +coloured, 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 tell +him. She was filled with confusion. What dreadful thing was this, that +his memory should be not so good as hers! She could not speak; the +lovely shamefaced flushes mounted up to the delicate temples and told +their tale, but Pitt, though he read them, did not at once read the +flower. Esther made a motion as if she would take it away, but he +prevented her and looked closer. + +'The red Cheiranthus,' he repeated. 'Did it come from Seaforth? I +remember, 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 of +the rest of it?' + +'Papa made me burn all the rest,' said Esther, with her own cheeks now +burning. 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 Pitt +got rid of the book and took herself in his arms instead. + +And then for a few minutes there was no more conversation. They had +reached a point of mutual understanding where words would have been +superfluous. + +But words came into their right again. + +'Esther, do you remember my kissing you when I went away, six or seven +years ago?' + +'Certainly!' + +'I think that kiss was in some sort a revelation to me. I did not fully +recognise it then, what the revelation was; but I think, ever since I +have been conscious, vaguely, that there was an invisible silken thread +of some sort binding me to you; and that I should never be quite right +till 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 a +little effort. 'You always liked certainties.' + +'Did you miss me?' + +'Pitt, more than I can possibly tell you! Not then only, but all the +time since. Only one thing has kept me from being very downhearted +sometimes, when time passed, and we heard nothing of you, and I was +obliged 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 think +about you at all. Happily I had plenty of duties to think of. And +duties, 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 a +queen, 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 always +had 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, and +Mrs. Barker does not know that you are here. And it would be a sort of +relief to take hold of something so commonplace as luncheon; I seem to +myself 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 will +look on complacently and see you, who have been wholly his possession +and property, pass over out of his hands into mine? It is not human +nature.' + +Esther stood still and coloured high. + +'Does papa know?' + +'He knows all about it, Queen Esther; _except_ what you may have said +to 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 him +together, much better than you could alone.' + +Esther drew a long breath. + +'Then you speak to Barker, and I will get some oysters,' said Pitt with +a parting kiss, and was off in a moment. + +The luncheon after all passed off quite tolerably well. The colonel +took the oysters, and Pitt, with a kind of grim acquiescence. He was an +old soldier, and no doubt had not forgotten all the lessons once +learned in that impressive school; and as every one knows, to accept +the inevitable and to make the best of a lost battle are two of those +lessons. Not that Colonel Gainsborough would seriously have tried to +fight off Pitt and his pretensions, if he could; at least, not as +things were. Pitt had told him his own circumstances; and the colonel +knew that without barbarity he could not refuse ease and affluence and +an excellent position for his daughter, and condemn her to +school-keeping and Major Street for the rest of her life; especially +since the offer was accompanied with no drawbacks, except the one +trifle, that Esther must marry. That was an undoubtedly bitter pill to +swallow; but the colonel swallowed it, and hardly made a wry face. He +would be glad to get away from Major Street himself. So he ate his +oysters, as I said, grimly; was certainly courteous, if also cool; and +Pitt 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, just +enough for politeness, and then went off to his room again, with the +dry 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 my +work. There is something I must do, and I can do it just as well while +you are talking.' + +She went off, and returned with drawing-board and pencils; took her +seat, 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. I +can 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 it +was 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 any +longer. You may give me lessons; nobody else.' + +'But!'--said Esther, catching her breath; then, not willing to open the +whole chapter of discussion she saw ahead, she caught at the nearest +and smallest item. 'You know, I am under obligations; and I must meet +them until other arrangements are made. I am expected, I am depended +on; 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 from +her fingers. 'Give me your place, please.' + +Esther gave him her chair and took his. And then she sat down and +watched the drawing. Now and then her eyes made a swift passage to his +face for a half second, to explore the features so well known and yet +so new; but those were a kind of fearful glances, which dreaded to be +caught, and for the most part her eyes were down on the drawing and on +the hands busied with it. Hands, we know, tell of character; and +Esther's eyes rested with secret pleasure on the shapely fingers, which +in their manly strength and skilful agility corresponded so well to +what 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 a +great deal too elaborate and difficult for my scholar. She is not far +enough advanced for that.' + +'I'll take another piece of paper, then, and begin again. What do you +want?' + +'Just a tree, lightly sketched, and a bit of rock under it; something +like 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 at +all. I will go and see your school madam and tell her you have made +another engagement.' + +'But every honest person fulfils the obligations he is under, before +assuming new ones.' + +'That's past praying for!' said Pitt, with a shake of his head. 'You +have 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 will +not 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 so +far from presuming, it was so delicate in its urgency, there was so +much wistfulness in it, and at the same time the whole magnetism of his +personal influence. Esther placed her hand within his, she could not +help that; the bright colour flamed up in her cheeks; words were not +ready. + +'What are you thinking about?' said he. + +'Papa,' Esther said, half aloud; but she was thinking of a thousand +things 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 to +be 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 her +heart and filling it; like as the tide at flood comes in upon the empty +shore. Whatever her father might think upon the just mooted question, +those two hands had found each other, once and for all. Thoughts went +roving, aimlessly, meanwhile, as thoughts will, in such a flood-tide of +content. 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 here +nearly all my life.' + +'Do you like New York?' + +'I was not thinking of New York. Yes, I like it. I think I like any +place 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, the +immediate response, that where he was would be what she liked best. It +flushed in her cheek and it parted her lips, but it came not forth in +words. 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, I +suppose,--almost never,--sights of human distress. There are no poor +there.' + +'And in London?' + +'The distress is before you and all round you; and such distress as I +suppose your heart cannot imagine.' + +'Then,' said Esther softly, 'as far as _that_ goes, Pitt, it seems to +me an argument for living in London.' + +He met her eyes with an earnest warm look, of somewhat wistful +recognition, intense with his own feeling of the subject, glad in her +sympathy, and yet tenderly cognizant of the way the subject would +affect 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 living +there.' + +Esther was silent; her recollection of Betty quite agreed with this +observation. + +'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 Spanish +proverb would have held good in her case; 'If you do not want a thing +known of you, _don't do it_.' Pitt's pencil went on furiously fast, and +Esther sat by, wondering what he was thinking of. But soon his brow +cleared again as his drawing was done, and he flung down the pencil and +turned 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, and +serve together, in London or anywhere, in the work given us to do. That +is only the small beginning. Beyond all that stretches an endless life +and ages of better service, in which we shall still be together and +love and live with each other. In the light of such a distant glory, is +it much, if we in this little life on earth give all we have to Him who +has bought all that, and all this too, for us?' + +'It is not much,' said Esther, with a sudden veil of moisture coming +over her eyes, through which they shone like two stars. Pitt took both +her hands. + +'I mean it literally,' he said. + +'So do I.' + +'We will be only stewards, using faithfully everything, and doing +everything, so as it seems would be most for His honour and best for +His work.' + +'Yes,' said Esther. But gladness was like to choke her from speaking at +all. + +'In India there is not the poorest Hindoo but puts by from his every +meal of rice so much as a spoonful for his god. That is the utmost he +can do. Shall we do less than our utmost?' + +'Not with my good-will,' said Esther, from whose bright eyes bright +drops fell down, but she was looking steadfastly at Pitt. + +'I am not a very rich man, but I have an abundant independence, without +asking my father for anything. We can live as we like, Esther; you can +keep your carriage if you choose; but for me, I would like nothing so +well 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, with +a glad sealing of this compact; 'for unless we are strange people we +shall both need watching. And now come here and let me tell you about +your house. I think you will like that.' + +There is no need to add any more. Except only the one fact, that on the +day 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, no +other 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, Miss +Esther.= + +chapter 19: =And how are we going to get it= replaced by =And how are +we goin' to get it= + +chapter 25: =Maybe ye don't have none= replaced by =Maybe ye don't hev +none= + +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 I +was 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 =the +Prayer-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 the +doorway= + +chapter 47: =stedfast eyes= replaced by =steadfast eyes= + +chapter 48: =looking stedfastly= replaced by =looking steadfastly= + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Red Wallflower, by Susan Warner + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A RED WALLFLOWER *** + +***** This file should be named 26828.txt or 26828.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/6/8/2/26828/ + +Produced by Daniel Fromont + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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