A Red Wallflower

'Then, for another consideration, in Seaforth you would never see, I suppose, – almost never, – sights of human distress. There are no poor there.'

'And in London?'

'The distress is before you and all round you; and such distress as I suppose your heart cannot imagine.'

'Then,' said Esther softly, 'as far as that goes, Pitt, it seems to me an argument for living in London.'

He met her eyes with an earnest warm look, of somewhat wistful recognition, intense with his own feeling of the subject, glad in her sympathy, and yet tenderly cognizant of the way the subject would affect her.

'There is one point, among many, on which you and Miss Frere differ,' he said, however, coolly, going back to his drawing.

'She does not like, or would not like, living in London?'

'I beg your pardon! but she would object to your reason for living there.'

Esther was silent; her recollection of Betty quite agreed with this observation.

'You say you have seen her?' Pitt went on presently.

'Yes.'

'And talked with her?'

'Oh yes. And liked her too, in a way.'

'Did she know your name!' he asked suddenly, facing round.

'Why, certainly,' said Esther, smiling. 'We were properly introduced; and we talked for a long while, and very earnestly. She interested me.'

Pitt's brows drew together ominously. Poor Betty! The old Spanish proverb would have held good in her case; 'If you do not want a thing known of you, don't do it.' Pitt's pencil went on furiously fast, and Esther sat by, wondering what he was thinking of. But soon his brow cleared again as his drawing was done, and he flung down the pencil and turned to her.

'Esther,' he said, 'it is dawning on me, like a glory out of the sky, that you and I are not merely to live our earthly life together, and serve together, in London or anywhere, in the work given us to do. That is only the small beginning. Beyond all that stretches an endless life and ages of better service, in which we shall still be together and love and live with each other. In the light of such a distant glory, is it much, if we in this little life on earth give all we have to Him who has bought all that, and all this too, for us?'

'It is not much,' said Esther, with a sudden veil of moisture coming over her eyes, through which they shone like two stars. Pitt took both her hands.

'I mean it literally,' he said.

'So do I.'

'We will be only stewards, using faithfully everything, and doing everything, so as it seems would be most for His honour and best for His work.'

'Yes,' said Esther. But gladness was like to choke her from speaking at all.

'In India there is not the poorest Hindoo but puts by from his every meal of rice so much as a spoonful for his god. That is the utmost he can do. Shall we do less than our utmost?'

'Not with my good-will,' said Esther, from whose bright eyes bright drops fell down, but she was looking steadfastly at Pitt.

'I am not a very rich man, but I have an abundant independence, without asking my father for anything. We can live as we like, Esther; you can keep your carriage if you choose; but for me, I would like nothing so well as to use it all for the Lord Christ.'

'Oh Pitt! oh Pitt! so would I!'

'Then you will watch over me, and I will watch over you,' said he, with a glad sealing of this compact; 'for unless we are strange people we shall both need watching. And now come here and let me tell you about your house. I think you will like that.'

There is no need to add any more. Except only the one fact, that on the day of Esther's marriage Pitt brought her a bunch of red wallflowers, which he made fast himself to her dress. She must wear, he said, no other flower but that on her wedding-day.

THE END