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 circ.u.mstances? 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 enn.o.bled 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 pa.s.sing 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!"