'I didn't want it, or I didn't know that I wanted it, while he was here.' 'People that don't know they need comfort, do _not_ need it, I fancy. You draw fine distinctions. Well, go on, Esther. You have found it, your letter says.' 'Oh yes, papa.' 'My dear, I do not understand you; and I should like to understand. Can you tell me what you mean?' As he raised his eyes to her, he saw a look come over her face that he could as little comprehend as he could comprehend her letter; a look of surprise at him, mingled with a sudden shine of some inner light. She was moving about the tea-table; she came round and stood in front of her father, full in view. 'Papa, I thought my letter explained it. I mean, that now I have come to know the Lord Jesus.' '_Now?_ My dear, I was under the impression that you had been taught and had known the truths of the gospel all your life?' 'Oh, yes, papa; so I was. The difference'-- 'Well?' 'The difference, papa, is, that now I know _Him_.' 'Him? Whom?' 'I mean Jesus, papa.' 'How do you know Him? Do you mean that lately you have begun to think about Him?' 'No, papa, I had been thinking a great while.' 'And now?'-- 'Now I have come to know Him.' That Esther knew what she meant was evident; it was equally plain that the colonel did not. He was puzzled, and did not like to show it too fully. The one face was shining with clearness and gladness; the other was dissatisfied and perplexed. 'My dear, I do not understand you,' the colonel said, after a pause. 'Have you been reading mystical books? I did not know there were any in the house.' 'I have been reading only the Bible, papa; and _that_ is not mystical.' 'Your language sounds so.' 'Why, no, papa! I do not mean anything mystical.' 'Will you explain yourself?' Esther paused, thinking how she should do this. When one has used the simplest words in one's vocabulary, and is called upon to expound them by the use of others less simple, the task is somewhat critical. The colonel watched with a sort of disturbed pleasure the thoughtful, clear brow, the grave eyes which had become so sweet. The intelligence at work there, he saw, was no longer that of a child; the sweetness was no longer the blank of unconscious ignorance, but the wisdom of some blessed knowledge. What did she know that was hidden from his experience? 'Papa, it is very difficult to tell you,' Esther began. 'I used to know about the things in the Bible, 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?'