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 b.u.t.ter 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 b.u.t.ter, 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 n.o.body!"
"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 n.o.bler 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 n.o.body 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 lat.i.tude 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 p.r.o.noun 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."