“I have sowed, and you have reaped; and the day is coming when ‘both he that soweth and they that reap shall rejoice together:’ that is, if you hold out; ‘for in due season ye shall reap, if ye faint not.’”—Pilgrim’s Progress.
A few days after, as Mr. Ewart entered the room in which Mark, or rather Ernest, as we must now call him, was sitting in an armchair, propped up by cushions, and looking exceedingly pale, Charles, who was looking over the back of the chair, addressed his tutor playfully with the words, “I am so much disappointed, Mr. Ewart; here’s a young nobleman to whom I have been telling all sorts of good news, and he looks as grave as a judge upon them all.”
“I feel so bewildered,” said Ernest, pressing his pale brow; “I think that it must all be a dream.”
“It is no dream,” said Mr. Ewart, seating himself by his side; “all is true that your brother has told you.”
“Brother!” exclaimed Ernest, fixing his moistened eyes upon Charles, “Oh, my lord!”
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“He is so wilful,” laughed Charles; “we shall never get him to sign himself Fontonore.”
“I do not wish to be a lord,” said Ernest, gravely; “I am not fit to be a lord. I know next to nothing. I have hardly read a book but the Bible. Oh, do you be the nobleman, and let me be your brother! You shall have the fortune, and the estates, and all that—I never could bear to deprive you of them!”
“You have no choice, Ernest,” said Mr. Ewart; “you can no more help being a noble than you can help being your father’s son: you cannot avoid receiving the ten talents; your care now must be to make a right use of them. Both Ann and Lawless have publicly confessed.”
“I hope that they are not to suffer on account of me,” said Ernest; “especially my mo—— she whom I once thought my mother. It would imbitter the whole of my life.”
“Lawless is committed to trial for forgery (a purse of base coin was found on his person); Ann, for her conduct towards you. I will try to do all in my power, as it is your wish, to make the sentence of the law fall lightly on the woman.”
“And my brothers?” said Ernest.
“What of me?” interrupted Charles. “Oh, I see that you intend to disown me already,” he added, playfully; “you will neither believe nor acknowledge me, so I shall
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 leave you to the management of Mr. Ewart,” and so saying he left the apartment.
“I am going to ask what I fear you will think a strange question,” said Ernest to the clergyman, as soon as they were alone; “I know that I am to have a very large fortune, but—but—shall I have any of it to spend as I like now?”
“You will doubtless have the same allowance that has been given to Charles,” replied Mr. Ewart, naming the sum.
“So much!” exclaimed Ernest in surprise; “and Lord Fontonore—I mean my brother?”
“What he may receive will depend upon his uncle. Poor Charles! he has nothing of his own.”
“Half of mine at least shall be his. Let him have it without knowing from whom it comes.”
Mr. Ewart smiled, and pressed the boy’s hand.
“And those unhappy children with whom I have been brought up, now separated from their parents, and helpless and friendless—tell me, sir, what can I do for them?”
“There are some excellent charities in London, where such are received, brought up to an honest trade, and instructed in the principles of religion. But there is considerable expense in keeping children at such asylums, unless they have been admitted by votes, which in the present case would be very difficult to procure.”
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“Would the remaining half of my allowance be enough?”
“You would leave yourself nothing, my dear boy. I honour your motives and feelings, but generosity must be tempered by prudence. The little girl you might place at an asylum.”
“And the boys?”
“Let me think what could be done with them. It seems to me,” said the clergyman, after a minute’s consideration, “that Mr. Hope might allow them, if such were really your desire, to be brought up under the gardener at the castle.”
“That is an excellent plan!” cried Ernest, clapping his hands; “there they would always be under your eye; you would teach them also the narrow way to heaven!”
“There might be some objections to the plan,” said Mr. Ewart, reflecting; “it might place you uncomfortably to have those near the castle who had known you in such a different position.”
“It will be good for me,” said Ernest, with animation. “If I ever am tempted to be lifted up with pride, I shall have but to look at them and remember what I was; and if anything can humble me, that will. Will you kindly write to Mr. Hope directly?”
“There is no need to do that,” replied the clergyman; “I have heard from him to-day, and came now to tell
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 you that it is his wish that as soon as you are equal to moving, you and your brother should start at once for the castle.”
“Oh, I am ready for anything!” cried Ernest; “I mean that I am ready to travel,” he added, correcting himself, “for my new situation I fear that I am not ready.”
“The two best introductions to any new sphere of life are—trust in God, and mistrust of ourselves.”
“Do you think that I shall have many dangers now, I mean as a pilgrim?” asked Ernest.
“You will have dangers still, though of a different kind. Your battle-field is changed, but not your enemy. The good seed in your heart was in peril before from the hot sun of trial beating upon it; now God grant that the cares, riches, and pleasures of this world may not spring up as thorns to choke it! Your great refuge must be self-examination and prayer; with these, by God’s grace, you will safely walk still on the slippery high path before you.”
“I trust that nothing will make me forget that I am a pilgrim,............