The winter passed, Esther hardly knew how.  For her it was in a depth of study; so absorbing that she only now and then and by minutes gave her attention to anything else.  Or perhaps I should say, her thoughts; for certainly the colonel never lacked his ordinary care, which she gave him morning and evening, and indeed all day, when she was at home, with a tender punctuality which proved the utmost attention.  But even while ministering to him, Esther’s head was apt to be running on problems of geometry and ages of history and constructions of language.  She was so utterly engrossed with her work that she gave little heed to anything else.  She did notice that Pitt Dallas still sent them no reminders of his existence; it sometimes occurred to her that the housekeeping in the hands of Mrs. Barker was becoming more and more careful; but the only way she saw to remedy that was the way she was pursuing; and she went only the harder at her constructions and translations and demonstrations.  The colonel lived his life without any apparent change.

And so went weeks and months:  winter passed and spring carne; spring ran its course, and the school year at last was at an end.  Esther came home for the long vacation.  And then one day, Mrs. Barker confided to her reluctantly that the difficulties of her position were increasing.

’You ask me, why don’t I get more strawberries, Miss Esther.  My dear, I can’t do it.’

‘Cannot get strawberries?  But they are in great plenty now, and cheap.’

‘Yes, mum, but there’s so many other things, Miss Esther.’  The housekeeper looked distressed.  Esther was startled, and hesitated.

‘You mean you have not money, Barker?  Papa does not give you enough?’

’He gives me the proper sum, Miss Esther, I’m certain; but I can’t make it do all it should do, to have things right and comfortable.’

‘Do you have less than you used at the beginning of winter?’

’Yes, mum.  I didn’t want to trouble you, Miss Esther, for to be sure you can’t do nothin’ to help it; but it’s just growin’ slimmer and slimmer.’

’Never mind; I think I know how to mend matters by and by; if we can only get along for a little further.  We must have some things, and my father likes fruit, you can get strawberries from Mrs. Blumenfeld down here, can you not?’

‘No, mum,’ said the housekeeper, looking embarrassed.  ’She won’t sell us nothin’, that woman won’t.’

’Will not sell us anything?  I thought she was so kind.  What is the matter?  Is there not a good understanding between her and us?’

’There’s too good an understanding, mum, and that’s the truth.  We don’t want no favours from the likes o’ her; and now Christopher’ ­

‘What of Christopher?’

‘Hain’t he said nothin’ to the colonel?’

‘To papa?  No.  About what?’

‘He’s gone and made an ass o’ himself, has Christopher,’ said the housekeeper, colouring with displeasure.

‘Why?  How?  What has he done?’

‘He hain’t done nothin’ yet, mum, but he’s bound he will, do the foolishest thing a man o’ his years can do.  An’ he wants me to stan’ by and see him!  I do lose my patience whiles where I can’t find it.  As if Christopher hadn’t enough to think of without that!  Men is all just creatures without the power o’ thought and foresight.’

’Thought? ­why, that is precisely what is supposed to be their distinguishing privilege,’ said Esther, a little inclined to laugh.  ‘And Christopher was always very foresighted.’

‘He ain’t now, then,’ muttered his sister.

‘What is he doing?’

‘Miss Esther, that yellow-haired woman has got holt o’ him.’

This was said with a certain solemnity, so that Esther was very much bewildered, and most incoherent visions flew past her brain.  She waited dumbly for more.

‘She has, mum,’ the housekeeper repeated; ’and Christopher ain’t a babby no more, but he’s took ­that’s what he is.  I wish, Miss Esther ­as if that would do any good! ­that we’d stayed in Seaforth, where we was.  I’m that provoked, I don’t rightly know myself.  Christopher ain’t a babby no more; but it seems that don’t keep a man from bein’ wuss’n a fool.’

’Do you mean’ ­

’Yes ’m, that’s what he has done; just that; and I might as well talk to my spoons.  I’ve knowed it a while, but I was purely ashamed to tell you about it.  I allays gave Christopher the respect belongin’ to a man o’ sense, if he warn’t in high places.’

‘But what has he done?’

’Didn’t I tell you, Miss Esther?  That yellow-haired woman has got holt of him.’

‘Yellow-haired woman?’

‘Yes, mum, ­the gardener woman down here.’

‘Is Christopher going to take service with her?’

‘He don’t call it that, mum.  He speaks gay about bein’ his own master.  I reckon he’ll find two ain’t as easy to manage as one!  She knows what she’s about, that woman does, or my name ain’t Sarah Barker.’

‘Do you mean,’ cried Esther, ­’do you mean that he is going to marry her?’

‘That’s what I’ve been tellin’ you, mum, all along.  He’s goin’ to many her, that he is; and for as old as he is, that should know better.’

’Oh, but Christopher is not old; that is nothing; he is young enough.  I did not think, though, he would have left us.’

‘An’ that, mum, is just what he’s above all sure and certain he won’t do.  I tell him, a man can’t walk two ways to once; nor he can’t serve two masters, even if one of ’em is himself, which that yellow-haired woman won’t let come about.  No, mum, he’s certain sure he’ll never leave the colonel, mum; that ain’t his meaning.’

Esther went silently away, thinking many things.  She was more amused than anything else, with the lightheartedness of youth; yet she recognised the fact that this change might introduce other changes.  At any rate, it furnished an occasion for discussing several things with her father.  As usual, when she wanted a serious talk with the colonel, she waited till the time when his attention would be turned from his book to his cup of tea.

‘Papa,’ she began, after the second cup was on its way, ’have you heard anything lately of Christopher’s plans?’

‘Christopher’s plans?  I did not know he had any plans,’ said the colonel drily.

‘He has, papa,’ said Esther, divided between a desire to laugh and a feeling that after all there was something serious about the matter.  ‘Papa, Christopher has fallen in love.’

‘Fallen in what?’ shouted the colonel.

’Papa! please take it softly.  Yes, papa, really; Christopher is going to be married.’

‘He has not asked my consent.’

‘No, sir, but you know ­Christopher is of age,’ said Esther, unable to maintain a gravity in any way corresponding to that on her father’s face.

‘Don’t talk folly!  What do you mean?’

’He has arranged to marry Mrs. Blumenfeld, the woman who keeps the market garden over here.  He does not mean to leave us, papa; the places are so near, you know.  He thinks, I believe, he can manage both.’

‘He is a fool!’

‘Barker is very angry with him.  But that does not help anything.’

‘He is an ass!’ repeated the colonel hotly.  ’Well, that settles one question.’

’What question, papa?

’We have done with Christopher.  I want no half service.  I suppose he thinks he will make more money; and I am quite willing he should try.’

Esther could see that her father was much more seriously annoyed than he chose to show; his tone indicated a very unusual amount of disturbance.  He turned from the table and took up his book.

‘But, papa, how can we do without Christopher?’

There was no answer to this.

’I suppose he really has a great deal of time to spare; our garden ground is so little, you know.  He does not mean to leave us at all.’

‘I mean he shall!’

Esther sat silent and pondered.  There were other things she wished to speak about; was not this a good occasion?  But she hesitated long how to be gin.  The colonel was not very deep in his book, she could see; he was too much annoyed.

‘Papa,’ she said slowly after a while, ’are our circumstances any better than they were?’

‘Circumstances? what do you mean?’

’Money, papa; have we any more money than we had when we talked about it last fall?’

‘Where is it to come from?’ said the colonel in the same short, dry fashion.  It was the fashion in which he was wont to treat unwelcome subjects, and always drove Esther away from a theme, unless it were too pressing to be avoided.

’Papa, you know I do not know where any of our money comes from, except the interest on the price of the sale at Seaforth.’

‘I do not know where any more is to come from.’

’Then, papa, don’t you think it would be good to let my schooling stop here?’

‘No.’

’Papa, I want to make a very serious proposition to you.  Do not laugh at me’ (the colonel looked like anything but laughing), ’but listen to me patiently.  You know we cannot go on permanently as we have done this year, paying out more than we took in?’

‘That is my affair.’

’But it is for my sake, papa, and so it comes home to me.  Now this is my proposal.  I have really had schooling enough.  Let me give lessons.’

‘Let you do what?’

’Lessons, papa; let me give lessons.  I have not spoken to Miss Fairbairn, but I am almost sure she would be glad of me; one of her teachers is going away.  I could give lessons in Latin and French and English and drawing, and still have time to study; and I think it would make up perhaps all the deficiency in our income.’

The colonel looked at her.  ’You have not spoken of this scheme to anybody else?’

‘No, sir; of course not.’

‘Then, do not speak of it.’

‘You do not approve of it, papa?’

’No.  My purpose in giving you an education was not that you might be a governess.’

’But, papa, it would not hurt me to be a governess for a while; it would do me no sort of hurt; and it would help our finances.  There is another thing I could teach ­mathematics.’

‘I have settled that question,’ said the colonel, going back to his book.

‘Papa,’ said the girl after a pause, ’may I give lessons enough to pay for the lessons that are given me?’

‘No.’

’But, papa, it troubles me very much, the thought that we are living beyond our means; and on my account.’  And Esther now looked troubled.

‘Leave all that to me.’

Well, it was all very well to say, ‘Leave that to me;’ but Esther had a strong impression that matters of this sort, so left, would not meet very thorough attention.  There was an interval here of some length, during which she was pondering and trying to get up her courage to go on.

’Papa,’ ­she broke the silence doubtfully, ­’I do not want to disturb you, but I must speak a little more.  Perhaps you can explain; I want to understand things better.  Papa, do you know Barker has still less money now to do the marketing with than she had last year?’

‘Well, what do you want explained?’ The tone was dry and not encouraging.

‘Papa, she cannot get the things you want.’

‘Do I complain?’

‘No, sir, certainly; but ­is this necessary?’

‘Is what necessary?’

’Papa, she tells me she cannot get you the fruit you ought to have; you are stinted in strawberries, and she has not money to buy raspberries.’

‘Call Barker.’

The call was not necessary, for the housekeeper at this moment appeared to take away the tea-things.

‘Mrs. Barker,’ said the colonel, ’you will understand that I do not wish any fruit purchased for my table.  Not until further orders.’

The housekeeper glanced at Esther, and answered with her decorous, ‘Certainly, sir;’ and with that, for the time, the discussion was ended.