e, and I had learned whole chapters by
heart; but that was all. I did not know much more than the name of
Christ,--and His history, of course, and His words.'

'What more could you know?' inquired the colonel, in increasing
astonishment.

'That's just it, papa; I did not know Himself. You know what you mean
when you say you don't know somebody. I mean just that.'

'But, Esther, that sounds to me very like--very like--an improper use
of language,' said the colonel, stammering. 'How can you _know Him_, as
you speak?'

'I can't tell you, papa. I think He showed Himself to me.'

'Showed Himself! Do you mean in a vision?'

'Oh no, papa!' said Esther, smiling. 'I have not seen His face, not
literally. But He has somehow showed me how good He is, and how
glorious; and has made me understand how He loves me, and how He is
with me; so that I do not feel alone any more. I don't think I ever
shall feel alone again.'

Was this extravagance? The colonel pondered. It seemed to him a thing
to be rebuked or repressed; he knew nothing of this kind in his own
religious experience; he feared it was visionary and fanciful. But when
he looked at Esther's face, the words died on his tongue which he would
have spoken. Those happy eyes were so strong in their wistfulness, so
grave in their happiness, that they forbade the charge of folly or
fancifulness; nay, they were looking at something which the colonel
wished he could himself see, if the sight brought such contentment.
They stopped his mouth. He could not say what he thought to say, and
his own eyes oddly fell before them.

'What does William Dallas know about all this?' he asked.

'Nothing, papa. I don't think he knows it at all.'

'Why did you write about it to him, then?'

'I was sure he would be glad for me, papa. Once, a good while ago, I
asked Pitt what could be the meaning of a verse in the Bible; that
beautiful verse in Numbers; and he could not tell me, though what he
said gave me a great help. So I knew he would remember, and he would be
glad. And I want him to know Jesus too.'

The colonel felt a little twinge of jealousy here; but Esther did not
know, he reflected, that her own father was in equal destitution of
that knowledge. Or was it all visionary that she had been saying, and
his view of religion the right one after all? It _must_ be the right
one. Yet his religion had never given his face the expression that
shone in Esther's now. It almost hurt him.

'A