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
