ent on in her; she had nobody to whom she
could open her heart and tell her trouble; and the troubles we can tell
to nobody else somehow weigh very heavy, especially in young years. The
colonel loved his child with all of his heart that was not buried in
his wife's grave; still, he was a man, and like most men had little
understanding of the workings of a child's mind, above all of a girl's.
He saw Esther pale, thoughtful, silent, grave, for ever busy with her
books; and it never crossed his thoughts that such is not the natural
condition and wholesome manner of life for twelve years old. He knew
nothing for himself so good as books; why should not the same be true
for Esther? She was a studious child; he was glad to see her so
sensible.

As for Pitt, he had fallen upon a new world, and was busily finding his
feet, as it were. Finding his own place, among all these other
aspirants for human distinction; testing his own strength, among the
combatants in this wrestling school of human life; earning his laurels
in the race for learning; making good his standing and trying his power
amid the waves and currents of human influence. Pitt found his standing
good, and his strength quite equal to the call for it, and his power
dominating. At least it would have been dominating, if he had cared to
rule; all he cared for, as it happened, in that line, was to be
independent and keep his own course. He had done that always at home,
and he found no difficulty in doing it at college. For the rest, his
abilities were unquestioned, and put him at once at the head of his
fellows.

CHAPTER VII.

_COMING HOME_.

Without being at all an unfaithful friend, it must be confessed Pitt's
mind during this time was full of the things pertaining to his own new
life, and he thought little of Esther. He thought little of anybody; he
was not at a sentimental age, nor at all of a sentimental disposition,
and he had enough else to occupy him. It was not till he had put the
college behind him, and was on his journey home, that Esther's image
rose before his mental vision; the first 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 no