“And you will be kind to some for my sake. Poor Madge! you will not desert her, nor turn away Ben and Jack?” “I shall never endure the sight of that boy!” exclaimed Charles, in an agitated voice. “He has given you nothing but torment, and now has cost a life ten million times more precious than his own.” “He may have been saved for better things, and then my life will have been well bestowed.” Mr. Ewart left the two brothers alone together, and with a slow, sad step, proceeded along the corridor, proposing to visit the gardener’s cottage, to which Jack had now returned. He met Clementina on the staircase. “Oh, Mr. Ewart, is it possible—is he really dying?” exclaimed the young lady in unaffected sorrow: “so young, and with everything to make life sweet; it is really too dreadful to think of! Does he know the doctor’s opinion?” “He knows all, and is perfectly tranquil.” “What wonderful strength of mind!” “The LORD is his strength,” replied the clergyman, and passed on. Many an anxious inquiry after the young lord had Mr. Ewart to answer from different members of the household, before he reached the gardener’s cottage. He was desirous to know what effect his own deliverance and Ernest’s danger would have upon the mind of young Lawless. He did not see Jack as he entered the cottage, and asked the gardener’s wife where he was. “Oh, he’s there on the bed, sir, with his face to the wall. He’s never moved, nor spoken, nor tasted a morsel, since he heard that the young lord lay a-dying. I can’t get him to answer a question; he lies there as still as a stone. I can’t say if he feels it or not, he has such a strange sullen way.” Mr. Ewart seated himself close to the boy, who appeared to take no notice of his presence. “You are not suffering, I hope, from your fall? Yours has been a wonderful preservation; but for the generous courage of Lord Fontonore, you would have been now before the judgment-seat of God.” Lawless gave no sign that he heard him. “I have just quitted his sick-room,” continued the clergyman. “He is quite calm in the prospect of death, for his life has for long been one preparation for it. The last words that I heard him utter were of you;—he was recommending you to the kindness of his brother.” Lawless convulsively clutched his pillow. “He said,” added Mr. Ewart, “that if you were but saved for better things, his life would have been well bestowed.” Jack suddenly half raised himself upon his bed, then dashed himself down again with frantic violence. “I can’t bear this,” he cried, in a choking voice. “I wish he would hate me, abuse me, trample upon me; anything would be better than this!” Yes, under all the deep crust of selfishness, malice, and pride, lay a spring of feeling, in the depths of that unconverted heart. That spring had been reached, the deep buried waters gushed forth, and the clergyman left the cottage with a faint but precious hope that his loved pupil had not suffered in vain. CHAPTER XXVII.