Part 29 (1/2)

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-fas.h.i.+oned chaise lounge, and turning over an English newspaper. His att.i.tude 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 n.o.ble 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.'