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 newspaper. His attitude bespoke the comfortable ease and carelessness of his mind, on which certainly nothing lay heavy. His wife was in all things a contrast. Her handsome, stately figure was yielding at the moment to no blandishments of comfort or luxury; she sat upright, with Pitt's letter in her hand, and on her brow there was an expression of troubled consideration. 'Husband,' she said at length, 'do you notice how Pitt speaks of the colonel and his daughter?' 'No,' came slowly and indifferently from the lips of Mr. Dallas, as he turned the pages of his newspaper. 'Don't you notice how he asks after them in every letter, and wants me to go and see them?' 'Natural enough. Pitt is thinking of home, and he thinks of them;--part of the picture.' 'That boy don't forget!' 'Give him time,' suggested Mr. Dallas, with a careless yawn. 'He has had some time,--a year and a half, and in Europe; and distractions enough. But don't you know Pitt? He sticks to a thing even closer than you do.' 'If he cares enough about it.' 'That's what troubles me, Hildebrand. I am afraid he does care. If he comes home next summer and finds that girl-- Do you know how she is growing up?' 'That is the worst of children,' said Mr. Dallas, in the same lazy way; 'they will grow up.'