Mrs. Dallas was very deeply disturbed. She saw in these strange views of Pitt's all sorts of possible dangers to what she had hoped would be his future career in life. Even granting that they were a youthful folly and would pass away, how soon would they pass away? and in the meantime what chances Pitt might lose, what time might be wasted, what fatal damage his prospects might suffer! And Pitt held a thing so fast when he had once taken it up. Almost her only hope lay in Betty's influence.

Betty herself was disturbed, much more than she cared to have known. Ifthis fascination got hold of Pitt, she knew very well he would, for the time at least, be open to no other. Her ordinary power would be gone; he would see in her nothing but a talking machine with whom he could discuss things. It was not speculation merely that busied his thoughts now, she could see; not mere philosophy, or study of human nature; Pitt was carrying all these Bible words in upon himself, comparing them with himself, and working away at the discrepancy. Something that he called conscience was engaged, and restless. Betty saw that there was but one thing left for her to do. Diversion was not possible; she could not hope to turn Pitt aside from his quest after truth; she must seem to take part in it, and so gain her advantage from what threatened to be her discomfiture.

The result of all which was, that after this there came to be a great deal of talk between the two upon Bible subjects, intermingled with not a little reading aloud from the Bible itself. This was at Betty's instance, rather than Pitt's. When she could she got him out for a walk or a drive; in the house (and truly, often out of the house too) she threw herself with great apparent interest into the study of the questions that had been started, along with others collateral, and desired to learn and desired to discuss all that could be known about them. So there were, as I said, continual Bible readings, mingled occasionally with references to some old commentary; and Betty and Pitt sat very near together, looking over the same page; and remained long in talk, looking eagerly into one another's eyes. Mrs. Dallas was not satisfied.

She came upon Betty one day in the verandah, just after Pitt had left her. The young lady was sitting with her hand between the leaves of a Bible, and a disturbed, far-away look in her eyes, which might have been the questioning of a troubled conscience, or – of a very different feeling. She roused up as Mrs. Dallas came to her, and put on a somewhat wan smile.

'Where is Pitt?'

'Going to ride somewhere, I believe.'

'What have you got there? the Bible again? I don't believe in all this

Bible reading! Can't you get him off it?'

'It is the only thing to do now.'

'But cannot you get him off it?'

'Not immediately. Mr. Dallas takes a fancy hard.'

'So unlike him!' the mother went on. 'So unlike all he used to be. He always took things "hard," as you say; but then it used to be science and study of history, and collecting of natural curiosities, and drawing. Have you seen any of Pitt's drawings? He has a genius for that. Indeed, I think he has a genius for everything,' Mrs. Dallas said with a sigh; 'and he used to be keen for distinguishing himself, and he did distinguish himself everywhere, always; here at school and at college, and then at Oxford. My dear, he distinguished himself atOxford. He was always a good boy, but not in the least foolish, or superstitious, or the least inclined to be fanatical. And now, as far as I can make out, he is for giving up everything!'

'He does nothing by halves.'

'No; but it is very hard, now when he is just reading law and getting ready to take his place in the world – and he would take no mean place in the world, Betty – it is hard! Why, he talks as if he would throw everything up. I never would have thought it of Pitt, of all people. It is due, I am convinced, to the influence of those dissenting friends of his!'

'Who are they?' Miss Betty asked curiously.

'You have heard the name,' said Mrs. Dallas, lowering her voice, though

Pitt was not within hearing. 'They used to live here. It was a Colonel

Gainsborough – English, but of a dissenting persuasion. That kind of thing seems to be infectious.'

'He must have been a remarkable man, if his influence could begin so early and last so long.'

'Well, it was not just that only. There was a daughter' —

'And a love affair?' asked Miss Betty, with a slight laugh which covered a sudden down-sinking of her heart.

'Oh dear no! she was a child; there was no thought of such a thing. But Pitt was fond of her, and used to go roaming about the fields with her after flowers. My son is a botanist; I don't know if you have found it out.'

'And those were the people he went to New York to seek?'

'Yes, and could not find – most happily.'

Miss Betty mused. Certainly Pitt was 'persistent.' And now he had got this religious idea in his head, would there be any managing it, or him? It did not frighten Miss Betty, so far as the religious idea itself was concerned; she reflected sagely that a man might be worse things than philanthropic, or even than pious. She had seen wives made unhappy by neglect, and others made miserable by the dissipated habits or the ungoverned tempers of their husbands; a man need not be unendurable because he was true and thoughtful and conscientious, or even devout. She could bear that, quite easily; the only thing was, that in thoughts which possessed Pitt lately he had passed out of her influence; beyond her reach. All she could do was to follow him into this new and very unwonted sphere, and seem to be as earnest as he was. He met her, he reasoned with her, he read to her, but Betty did not feel sure that she got any nearer to him, nevertheless. She was shrewd enough to divine the reason.

'Mr. Pitt,' she said frankly to him one day, when the talk had been eager in the same line it had taken that first day on the verandah, and both parties had held the same respective positions with regard to each other, – 'Mr. Pitt, are you fighting me, or yourself?'

He paused and looked at her, and half laughed.

'You are right,' said he. And then he went off, and for the present that was all Miss Betty gained by her motion.

Nobody saw much of Pitt during the rest of the day. The next morning, after breakfast, he came out to the two ladies where as usual they were sitting at work. It was another September day of sultry heat, yet the verandah was also in the morning a pleasant place, sweet with the honeysuckle fragrance still lingering, and traversed by a faint intermittent breeze. Both ladies raised their heads to look at the young man as he came towards them, and then, struck by something in his face, could not take their eyes away. He came straight to his mother and stood there in front of her, looking down and meeting her look; Miss Frere could not see how, but evidently it troubled Mrs. Dallas.

'What is it now, Pitt?' she asked.

'I have come to tell you, mother. I have come to tell you that I have given up fighting.'

'Fighting!?'

'Yes. The battle is won, and I have lost, and gained. I have given up fighting, mother, and I am Christ's free man.'

'What?' exclaimed Mrs. Dallas bewilderedly.

'It is true, mother. I am Christ's servant. The things are the same. How should I not be the servant, the bond-servant, of Him who has made a free man of me?'

His tone was not excited; it was quiet and sweet; but Mrs. Dallas was excited.

'A free man? My boy, what are you saying? Were you not always free?'

'No, mother. I was in such bonds, that I have been struggling for years to do what was right – what I knew was right – and was unable.'

'To do what was right? My boy, how you talk! You always did what was right.'

'I was never Christ's servant, mamma.'

'What delusion is this!' cried Mrs. Dallas. 'My son, what do you mean? You were baptized, you were confirmed, you were everything that you ought to be. You cannot be better than you have always been.'

He smiled, stooped down and kissed her troubled face.

'I was never Christ's servant before,' he repeated. 'But I am His servant now at last, all there is of me. I wanted you to know at once, and Miss Frere, I wanted her to know it. She asked me yesterday whom I was fighting? and I saw directly that I was fighting a won battle; that my reason and conscience were entirely vanquished, and that the only thing that held out was my will. I have given that up, and now I am the Lord's servant.'

'You were His servant before.'

'Never, in any true sense.'

'My dear, what difference?' asked Mrs. Dallas helplessly.

'It was nominal merely.'

'And now?'

'Now it is not nominal; it is real. I have come to know and love my Master. I am His for life and death; and now His commands seem the pleasantest things in the world to me.'

'But you obeyed them always?'

'No, mamma, I did not. I obeyed nothing, in the last resort, but my own supreme will.'

'But, Pitt, you say you have come to know; what time has there been for any such change?'

'Not much time,' he replied; 'and I cannot tell how it is; but it seemed as if, so soon as I had given up the struggle and yielded, scales fell from my eyes. I cannot tell how it was; but all at once I seemed to see the beauty of Christ, which I never saw before; and, mamma, the sight has filled me with joy. Nothing now to my mind is more reasonable than His demands, or more delightful than yielding obedience to them.'

'Demands? what demands?' said Mrs. Dallas.

Her son repeated the words with which the twelfth chapter of Romans begins.

'"I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service; and be not conformed to this world."'

'But, my dear, that means' —

'It means all.'

'How all?'

'There is nothing more left to give, when this sacrifice is presented. It covers the whole ground. The sacrifice is a living sacrifice, but it gives all to God as entirely as the offering that imaged it went up in smoke and flame.'

'What sacrifice imaged it?'

'The burnt-sacrifice of old. That always meant consecration.'

'How do you know? You are not a clergyman.'

Pitt smiled again, less brightly. 'True, mother, but I have been studying all this for years, in the Bible and in the words of others who were clergymen; and now it is all plain before me. It became so as soon as I was willing to obey it.'

'And what are you going to do?'

'Do? I cannot say yet. I am a soldier but just enlisted, and do not know where my orders will place me or what work they will give me. Only

I have enlisted; and that is what I wanted you to know at once.

Mother, it is a great honour to be a soldier of Christ.'

'I should think, – if I did not see you and hear your voice, – I should certainly think I heard a Methodist talking. I suppose that is the way they do.'

'Did you ever hear one talk, mother?'

'No, and do not want to hear one, even if it were my own son!' she answered angrily.

'But in all that I have been saying, if they say it too, the Methodists are right, mother. A redeemed sinner is one bought with a price, and thenceforth neither his spirit nor his body can be his own. And his happiness is not to be his own.'

Mrs. Dallas was violently moved, yet she had much self-command and habitual dignity of manner, and would not break down now. More pitiful than tears was the haughty gesture of her head as she turned it aside to hide the quivering lips. And more tender than words was the air with which her son presently stooped and took her hand.

'Mother!' he said gently and tenderly.

'Pitt, I never would have believed this of you!' she said with bitter emphasis.

'You never could have believed anything so good of me.'

'What are you going to do?' she repeated vehemently. 'What does all this amount to? or is it anything but dissenting rant?'

'Anything but that,' he answered gravely. 'Mother, do you remember the words, – "No man when he hath lighted a lamp covereth it with a vessel, or putteth it under a bed; but putteth it on a stand, that they which enter in may see the light"? Every Christian is such a lighted lamp, intended for some special place and use. My special use and place I do not yet know; but this I know plainly, that my work in the world, one way or another, must be the Lord's work. For that I live henceforth.'

'You will go into the Church?' cried his mother.

'Not necessarily.'

'You will give up reading law?'

'No, I think not. At present it seems to me I had better finish what I have begun. But if I do, mother, my law will be only one of the means I have to work with for that one end.'

'And I suppose your money would be another?'

'Undoubtedly.'

'What has money to do with teaching people?' Miss Frere asked. It was the first word she had spoken; she spoke it seriously, not mockingly. The question brought his eyes round to her.

'Do you ask that?' said he. 'Every unreasoning, ignorant creature of humanity understands it. The love that would win them for heaven would also help them on earth; and if they do not see the one thing, they do not believe in the other.'

'Then – But – What do you propose?'

'It is simple enough,' he said.

'It is too simple for Betty and me,' said his mother. 'I would be obliged to you, Pitt, to answer her.'

The young man's countenance changed; a shadow fell over it which raised Miss Frere's sympathy. He went into the house, however, for a Bible, and coming back with it sat down and read quietly and steadfastly the beautiful words in Isaiah:

'"To loose the bands of wickedness, to undo the heavy burdens, and to let the oppressed go free, and that ye break every yoke. … To deal thy bread to the hungry, and that thou bring the poor that are cast out to thy house; when thou seest the naked, that thou cover him; and that thou hide not thyself from thine own flesh."'

'It would take a good deal of money, certainly,' said Miss Frere, 'to do all that; indeed, I hardly think all the fortunes in the world would be sufficient.'

Pitt made no answer. He sat looking down at the page from which he had been reading.

'Nobody is required to do more than his part of the work,' said Mrs.

Dallas. 'If Pitt will be contented with that' —

'What is my part of it, mother?'

'Why, your share; what you can do properly and comfortably, without any fanaticism of sacrifice.'

'Must I not do all I can?'

'No, not all you can. You could spend your whole fortune in it.'

'I was thinking, easily,' observed Miss Frere.

'What is the Bible rule? "When thou seest the naked, that thou cover him" – "that ye break every yoke." And, "he that hath two coats, let him impart to him that hath none; and he that hath meat, let him do likewise."'

'You can find Scripture to quote for everything, said Mrs. Dallas, rising in anger; 'that is the way Methodists and fanatics always do, as I have heard. But I can tell you one thing, Pitt, which you may not have taken into account; if you persist in this foolishness, your father, I know, will take care that the fortune you have to throw away shall not be large!'

With these words she swept into the house. The two left behind were for some moments very still. Pitt had drooped his head a little, and rested his brow in his hand; Miss Betty watched him. Her dismay and dislike of Pitt's disclosures were scarcely less than his mother's, but different. Disappointed pride was not here in question. That he should give up a splendid and opulent career did not much trouble her. In the first place, he might modify his present views; in the second place, if he did not, if he lived up to his principles, there was something in her which half recognised the beauty and dignity and truth of such a life. But in either case, alas, alas! how far was he drifted away out of her sphere, and beyond her reach? For the present, at least, his mind was utterly taken up by this one great subject; there was no room in it left for light things; love skirmishes could not be carried on over the ground he now occupied; he was wholly absorbed in his new decisions and experiences, and likely to be engaged with the consequences of them. Betty was sorry for him just now, for she saw that he felt pain; and at the same time she admired him more than ever. His face was more sweet, she thought, and yet more strong, than she had ever seen it; his manner to his mother was perfect. So had not been her manner towards him. He had been gentle, steadfast, and true, manly and tender. 'Happy will be the woman that will share his life, whatever it be!' thought Betty, with some constriction of heart; but to bring herself into that favoured place she saw little chance now. She longed to say a word of some sort that might sound like sympathy or intelligence; but she could not find it, and wisely held her peace.

CHAPTER XXXVIII
LIFE PLANS

Happily or unhappily, – it was as people looked at it, – Pitt's free days in America were drawing to a close. There were few still remaining to him before he must leave Seaforth and home, and go back to his reading law in the Temple. In those days there was a little more discussion of his new views and their consequences between him and his mother, but not much; and none at all between him and his father.

'Pitt is not a fool,' he had said, when Mrs. Dallas, in her distress, confided to him Pitt's declaration; 'I can trust him not to make an ass of himself; and so can you, wife.'

'But he is very strong when he takes a thing in his head; always was.'

'This thing will get out of his head again, you will see.'

'I do not believe it. It isn't his way.'

'One thing is certain, – I shall never give my money to a fool to make ducks and drakes with; and you may hint as much to him.'

'It would be very unwise policy,' said Mrs. Dallas thoughtfully.

'Then let it alone. I have no idea there is any need. You may depend upon it, London and law will scare all this nonsense away, fast enough.'

Mrs. Dallas felt no comforting assurance of the kind. She watched her son during the remaining days of his presence with them – watched him incessantly; so did Betty Frere, and so, in truth, secretly, did his father. Pitt was rather more quiet than usual; there was not much other change to be observed in him, or so Mrs. Dallas flattered herself.

'I see a difference,' said Miss Frere, to whom she communicated this opinion.

'What is it?' asked the mother hastily. For she had seen it too.

'It is not just easy to put it in words; but I see it. Mrs. Dallas, there is a wonderful rest come into his face.'

'Rest?' said the other. 'Pitt was never restless, in a bad sense; there was no keep still to him; but that is not what you mean.'

'That is not what I mean. I never in my life saw anybody look so happy.'

'Can't you do something with him?'

'He gives me no chance.'

It may seem strange that a good mother should wish to interfere with the happiness of a good son; but neither she nor Miss Frere adverted to that anomaly.

'I should not wonder one bit,' said Mrs. Dallas bitterly, 'if he were to disinherit himself.'

That would be bad, Betty agreed – deplorable; however, the thought of her own loss busied her most just now; not of what Pitt might lose. Two days before his departure all these various feelings of the various persons in the little family received a somewhat violent jar.

It was evening. Miss Frere and Pitt had had a ride that afternoon – a long and very spirited one. It might be the last they would take together, and she had enjoyed it with the keenness of that consciousness; as a grain of salt intensifies sweetness, or as discords throw out the value of harmony. Pitt had been bright and lively as much as ever, the ride had been gay, and the one regret on Betty's mind as they dismounted was that she had not more time before her to try what she could do. Pitt, as yet at least, had not grown a bit precise or sanctimonious; he had not talked nonsense, indeed, but then he never had paid her the very poor compliment of doing that. All the more, she as well as the others was startled by what came out in the evening.

All supper-time Pitt was particularly talkative and bright. Mrs. Dallas's face took a gleam from the brightness, and even Mr. Dallas roused up to bear his part in the conversation. When supper was done they still sat round the table, lingering in talk. Then, after a slight pause which had set in, Pitt leaned forward a little and spoke, looking alternately at one and the other of his parents.

'Mother, – father, – I wish you would do one thing before I go away.'

At the change in his tone all three present had pricked up their ears, and every eye was now upon him.

'What is that, Pitt?' his mother said anxiously.

'Have family prayer.'

If a bombshell had suddenly alighted on the table and there exploded, there would have been, no doubt, more feeling of fright, but not more of shocked surprise. Dumb silence followed. Angry eyes were directed towards the speaker from the top and from the bottom of the table. Miss Frere cast down hers with the inward thought, 'Oh, you foolish, foolish fellow! what did you do that for, and spoil everything!' Pitt waited a little.

'It is duty,' he said. 'You yourselves will grant me that.'

'And you fancy it is your duty to remind us of ours!' said his father, with contained scorn.

The mother's agitation was violent – so violent that she had difficulty to command herself. What it was that moved her so painfully she could not have told; her thoughts were in too much of a whirl. Between anger, and fear, and something else, she was in the greatest confusion, and not able to utter a syllable. Betty sat internally railing at Pitt's folly.

'The only question is, Is it duty? – in either case,' the son said steadfastly.

'Exactly!' said his father. 'Well, you have done yours; and I will do mine.'

His wife wondered at his calmness, and guessed that it was studied.

Neither of them was prepared for Pitt's next word.

'Will you?' he said simply. 'And will you let me make a beginning now?

Because I am going away?'

'Do what you like,' said the older man, with indescribable expression. Betty interpreted it to be restrained rage. His wife thought it was a moved conscience, or mere policy and curiosity; she could not tell which. The words were enough, however, whatever had moved them. Pitt took a Bible and read, still sitting at the table, the Parable of the Talents; and then he kneeled down. The elder Dallas never stirred. Betty knelt at once. Mrs. Dallas sat still at first, but then slipped from her chair to the floor and buried her face in her hands, where tears that were exceedingly bitter flowed beyond all her power to hinder them. For Pitt was praying, and to his mother's somewhat shocked astonishment, not in any words from a book, but in words – where did he get them? – that broke her heart. They were solemn and sweet, tender and simple; there was neither boldness nor shyness in them, although there was a frankness at which Mrs. Dallas wondered, along with the tenderness that quite subdued her.

The third one kneeling there was moved differently. The fountain of her tears was not touched at all, neither had she any share in the passion of displeasure which filled the father and mother. Yet she was in a disturbance almost as complete as theirs. It was a bitter and secret trouble, which as a woman she had to keep to herself, over which her head bowed as she knelt there. Just for that minute she might bow her head and confess to her trouble, while no one could see; and her head, poor girl, went low. She did not in the least approve of Pitt's proceedings; she did not sympathize with his motives; at the same time they did not make her like him the less. On the contrary, and Betty felt it was on the contrary, she could not help admiring his bravery, and she was almost ready to worship his strength. Somebody brave enough to avow truth that is unwelcome, and strong enough to do what goes against the grain with himself; such a person is not to be met with every day, and usually excites the profound respect of his fellows, even when they do not like him. But Betty liked this one, and liked him the more for doing the things she disliked, and it drove her to the bounds of desperation to feel that in the engrossment of his new principles he was carried away from her, and out of her power. Added to all this was the extreme strangeness of the present experience. Absolutely kneeling round the dinner-table! – kneeling to pray! Betty had never known such a thing, nor conceived the possibility of such a thing. In an unconsecrated place, led by unconsecrated lips, in words nowhere set down; what could equal the irregularity and the impropriety? The two women, in their weakness, kneeling, and the master of the house showing by his unmoved posture that he disallowed the whole thing! Incongruous! unfortunate! I am bound to say that Betty understood little of the words she so disapproved; the sea under a stormy wind is not more uneasy than was her spirit; and towards the end her one special thought and effort was bent upon quieting the commotion, and at least appearing unmoved. She was pretty safe, for the other members of the family had each enough to busy him without taking much note of her.

Pitt had but a day or two more to stay; and Miss Frere felt an irresistible impulse to force him into at least one talk more. She hardly knew what she expected, or what she wished from it; only, to let him go so, without one more word, was unbearable. She wanted to get nearer to him, if she could, if she might not bring him nearer to her; and at any rate she wanted the bitter-sweet pleasure of arguing with him. Nothing might come of it, but she must have the talk if she could. So she took the first chance that offered.

The family atmosphere was a little oppressive the next morning; and after breakfast Mr. and Mrs. Dallas both disappeared. Betty seized her opportunity, and reminded Pitt that he had never showed her his particular room, his old workshop and play place. 'It was not much to see,' he said; however, he took her through the house, and up the open flight of steps, where long ago Esther had been used to go for her lessons. The room looked much as it had done at that time; for during Pitt's stay at home he had pulled out one thing after another from its packing or hiding place; and now, mounted birds and animals, coins, shells, minerals, presses, engravings, drawings, and curiosities, made a delightful litter; delightful, for it was not disorderly; only gave one the feeling of a wealth of tastes and pursuits, every one of them pursued to enjoyment. Betty studied the place and the several objects in it with great and serious attention.

'And you understand all these things!' said she.

'So little, that I am ashamed to speak of it.'

'I know!' said Betty; 'that is what nobody says whose knowledge is small. It takes a good deal of knowing to perceive how much one doesnot know.'

'That is true.'

'And what becomes of all these riches when you are gone away?'

'They remain in seclusion. I must pack them up to-day. It is a job I have reserved to the last, for I like to have them about while I am here.'

He began as he spoke to put away some little articles, and got out paper to wrap up others.

'And how came you by all these tastes? Mr. and Mrs. Dallas do not share them, I think.'

'No. Impossible to say. Inherited from some forgotten ancestor, perhaps.'

'Were there ever any Independents or Puritans among your ancestors?'

'No!' said Pitt, with a laughing look at her. 'The record is clean, I believe, on both sides of the house. My mother has not that on her conscience.'

'But you sympathize with such supposititious ancestors?'

'Why do you say so?'

'Mr. Pitt,' said Betty, sitting down and folding her hands seriously in her lap, 'I wish you would let me ask you one thing.'

'Ask it certainly,' said he.

'But it is really not my business; only, I am puzzled, and interested, and do not know what to think. You will not be displeased?'

'I think I can answer for that.'

'Then do tell me why, when you are just going away and cannot carry it on, you should have done what you did last night?'

'As I am just going away, don't you see, it was my only chance.'

'But I do not understand why you did it. You knew it would be something like an earthquake; and what is the use of earthquakes?'

'You remember the Eastern theory – Burmese, is it? or Siamese? – according to which the world rests on the heads of four elephants; when one of the elephants shakes his head, there is an earthquake. But must not the elephant therefore move his head?'

'But the world does not rest on your head.'

'I do not forget that,' said Pitt gravely. 'Not the world, but a small piece of it does rest on my head, as on that of every other human creature. On the right position and right movement of every one of us depends more than we know. What we have to do is to keep straight and go straight.'

'But did you think it was duty to do what you did last night?'

'I did it in that faith.'

'I wish you would explain to me!' cried the lady. 'I cannot understand. I believe you, of course; but why did you think it duty? It just raised a storm; you know it did; they did not like it; and it would only make them more opposed to your new principles. I do not see how it could do any good.'

'Yes,' said Pitt, who meanwhile was going on with his packing and putting away. 'I know all that. But don't you think people ought to show their colours, as much as ships at sea?'

'Ships at sea do not always show their colours.'

'If they do not, when there is occasion, it is always ground for suspicion. It shows that they are for some reason either afraid or ashamed to announce themselves.'

'I do not understand!' said Miss Frere perplexedly. 'Why should youshow your colours?'

'I said I was moved by duty to propose prayers last night. It was more than that.' Pitt stopped in his going about the room and stood opposite his fair opponent, if she can be called so, facing her with steady eyes and a light in them which drew her wonder. 'It was more than duty. Since I have come to see the goodness of Christ, and the happiness of belonging to Him, I wish exceedingly that everybody else should see it and know it as I do.'