is so, _so_ lovely!"
"Isn't it?" said Mr Manchuri. "And my girl was like her--a sort ofqueenly way about her. Do you know, miss--you don't mind if I call youPriscilla?"
"Please do," said Priscilla.
"Do you know that in a sort of manner you remind me of my dear Esther.She was darker than you; but she was like you. God took her. Shall Itell you why?"
"Please," said Priscilla. She had come back to the present world now,and was gazing, with all her heart in her eyes, at the queer old man.
"She was too good for earth," said Mr Manchuri; "that is why God tookher. He wanted her to bloom in the Heavenly Gardens. She wasn't a bitlike me. I am all for money and bargains--I made a rare one to-day; butI mustn't talk of that. That is a secret. I am a rich man--very rich;and when I die I will leave my money to different charities. I have notkith or kin to leave it to--neither kith nor kin, for Esther is with Godand the angels. But, all the same, I can't help making money. It isthe one pleasure I have. If a week goes by when I can't turn over acool hundred or even sometimes a thousand I am put out and miserable.You don't understand that feeling, do you?"
"No; I don't," said Priscilla.
"No more did Esther; I could not get it into her. I tried to with allmy might, but not one little bit of it would get through that pure whitearmour she wore--the armour of righteousness, I take it."
"Tell me more about her," said Priscilla, bending forward and lookingfull into Mr Manchuri's eyes.
"I could talk about her for ever to you," was the answer; "although, asa matter of fact, I have not mentioned my child's name to a living soulfor going on thirty years. It is thirty years since she went to God,and she is as young as ever in the Heavenly Gardens--not seventeen yet;just like you."
"Yes," said Priscilla. "It is very, very interesting," she added. "Itseems to me," she continued, "as if I knew now why I am taking thisjourney, and why God did not want me to see the lovely mountains thatsurround Zermatt."
"You are more and more like Esther the more you talk," said Mr Manchuri."She was all for star-gazing and that sort of thing. I take it, thatincludes mountain-gazing and going into raptures at sunsets and atsunrises, and going into fits at shadows on the hills and lights acrossthe valleys, and little flowers growing in clumps by brooks, and livingthings that you can see if you look deep into running water, and thesongs of birds, and the low hum of insects on a summer evening. Afterthese things, which she liked best of all, she loved books that made herthink, and I could not get her to take the slightest interest in whatshe wore, or in money, bless you! But she was sweet beyond words withchildren, and with people who were in trouble; and there were girls ofher own class in life who adored her. They are elderly women now--oldish, almost--with children of their own; but two or three of themhave called their girls Esther after her, although they don't resembleher one little bit. You are the first girl I ever came across who inthe very least resembles her. I wish I could see your face in thelight."
"I love the things she loved," said Priscilla.
"Hers must have been a most beautiful nature." Then she addedfervently, "It was very lucky for her that she died."
"Why do you say that?" said Mr Manchuri. "Lucky for her? Well, perhapsso, for God and the angels and the Gardens of Heaven must be the verybest company and place for one like my Esther; but nevertheless, shewould have had a good time down here."
"No, she wouldn't," said Priscilla stoutly. "The world is not made forpeople like her."
"Then _you_ don't find the world a good place?" said Mr Manchuri,speaking in an interested voice.
Priscilla took a long time before she replied. Then she said verygravely:
"I don't find the world a good place--I mean the people in it; and Iwant to say something"--her voice broke and changed--"I _must_ saysomething; please let me."
"Of course you shall, my dear Priscilla. My dear girl, don't agitateyourself; say anything you like."
"You have been so kind comparing me to your child--to your beautifulchild," said Priscilla. "But I must undeceive you. Although I love themountains and the things of nature, and although I cry in my heart forgoodness, and although I am the same age as your Esther was when shewent away to God, I am not a bit like her, for I am not good. I am--wicked."
Mr Manchuri was startled at this statement, which he took to be theexaggeration of a young and sensitive girl.
"You must not be too introspective," he said after a pause. "That isvery bad for all young things. Esther was not. She had a beautifulbelief in God, and in goodness, and in joy. She was never, neverdiscontented--never once. If you are not like her in that, you must tryto grow like her. I tell you what; you interest me tremendously. Youshall come to see me in London, and I will show you Esther's portrait."
"I can't come," said Priscilla. "You talk to me out of your kind, verykind heart; but you don't know. I am not a good girl. I have donesomething far and away beyond the ordinary bad things that girls do, andI cannot possibly come to you under false colours. If I could, I wouldbe friendly with worldly people, but I am not in touch with them; andgood people I can have nothing to do with. So I must stand alone. Ishall never see your Esther; I know that; but thank you all the same fortelling me about her; and--and--I shall never forget the picture youhave given me of her most lovely character."
Mr Manchuri was considerably startled at Priscilla's words, and in someextraordinary way, as she spoke, the image of Annie Brooke when shelooked at him with that crafty expression in her eyes returned to him,and he said to himself:
"I will get to the bottom of the secret that is troubling the girl whois like my Esther; and I have a very shrewd suspicion that Miss Brookeis mixed up in the affair." Priscilla closed her eyes after she haduttered the last words, as though she were too tired to say any more,and Mr Manchuri sat and watched her. She had very handsome, long,thick, black eyelashes, and the likeness to his Esther was even moreapparent in her face when her eyes were shut than when they were open.The more the old man looked at her, the more did his heart go out toher. It had been for long years a withered heart--a heart engrossed inthat most hardening of all things--money-making. To make money just forthe love of making it is enough to crush the goodness and frankness outof all lives, and Mr Manchuri had twenty times too much for his ownneeds. Still, his excitement over a bargain or a good speculation wasas keen as ever; and even now, at this very moment, was he not wearinginside his waistcoat that curious necklace which he had bought fromAnnie Brooke that day? He would make, after paying the hundred poundswhich he had given Annie, at least one hundred and fifty pounds on thenecklace.
Yes; he lived for that sort of thing. He had a very handsome house,however, at the corner of Park Lane, and this house was filled with richfurniture, and he had a goodly staff of servants, and many friends asrich as himself came to see him, and he drank the most costly wines andate the most expensive dinners, and never spent a penny on charity ordid one good thing with all his gold. There was one room, however, inthat house which was kept sacred from the faintest touch of worldliness.This room contained the portrait of the child who was taken away fromhim in her first bloom. It was a simple room, having a little white bedand the plainest furniture that a girl could possibly use. There were afew of Esther's possessions lying about--her work-box, her littlewriting-desk, a pile of books, most of them good and worth reading; andMr Manchuri kept the key of that room and never allowed any one to enterit. It was the sacred shrine in that worldly house. It was, in shortthe heart of the house.
But now Mr Manchuri discovered on this midnight journey that thatwithered heart of his own, which he had supposed to be dead to all theworld, was suddenly alive and keenly interested in a girl of the age ofhis Esther--a girl who absolutely told him that she was not good, andthat because she was not good she must stand alone.
"I will get her secret out of the poor young thing," he said to himself;"and what is more--what is more, I will help her a little bit for thesake of m
y Esther."
Priscilla was really very tired. She slept a good deal during thenight, all of which time they had the carriage to themselves. But inthe morning some fresh travellers entered their compartment, and MrManchuri had no opportunity of saying a word in private to Priscillauntil they were on their way to London. When, however, they had crossedthe Channel, the first thing he did was to engage a private _coupe_ onthe express train, and soon, as they were whirling away towards thegreat centre of life and commerce, he was once again alone with hisyoung companion.
"Now, my dear," he said, "you will just forgive me for asking you