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