nd now you have comfort?' he said, after a moment's pause.

'Yes, papa. More than comfort.'

'Because you think that God looks upon you with favour.'

'Because I love Him, papa. I know Him and I love Him. And I know He
loves me, and will do everything for me.'

'How do you know it?' asked the colonel almost harshly. 'That sounds to
me rather presuming. You may hope it; but how can you know it?'

'He has made me know it, papa. And He has said it in the Bible. I just
believe what He says.'

Colonel Gainsborough gave up the argument. Before Esther's face of
quiet confidence he felt himself baffled. If she were wrong, he could
not prove her wrong. Uneasy and worsted, he gave up the discussion; but
thought he would not have any more letters go to William Dallas.

And as the days went on, he watched furtively his daughter. He had not
been mistaken in his observations that evening. A steadfastness of
sweet happiness was about her, beautifying and elevating all she did
and all she was. Fair quiet on the brow, loving gladness on the lips,
and hands of ready ministry. She had always been a dutiful child,
faithful in her ministering; but now the service was not of duty, but
of love, and gracious accordingly, as the service of duty can never be.
The colonel watched, and saw something of the difference, without being
able, however, to come at a satisfactory understanding of it. He saw
how, under this influence of love and gladness, his child was becoming
the rarest of servants to him; and more still, how under it she was
developing into a most exquisite personal beauty. He watched her, as if
by watching he might catch something of the secret mental charm by
virtue of which these changes were wrought. But 'the secret of the Lord
is with them that fear Him;' and it cannot be communicated from one to
another.

As has been mentioned, Pitt's letters after he got to work at Oxford
became much fewer and scantier. It was only at very rare intervals that
one came to Colonel Gainsborough; and Esther made no proposition of
writing to England again. On that subject the colonel ceased to take
any thought. It was otherwise with Pitt's family.

Mrs. Dallas sat one evening pondering over the last letter received
from her son. It was early autumn; a little fire burning in the
chimney, towards which the master of the house stretched out his legs,
lying very much at his ease in an old-fashioned chaise lounge, and
turning over an English news