“I have little doubt,” said Mr. Ewart, “that had he been commanded to build a place of worship, or to give liberal alms, he would at once have willingly complied.” “But he was told to give up _all_! Do you know, sir, that it has often struck me that that was a command very hard to obey. I am glad that in these days there is no need for such commands.” “There is the same need now, Charles, that there was then for a spirit of willing obedience. We may not now be called upon to give up all, but every Christian must be _ready_ to do so. If there is anything on earth on which we fix our hearts, so as to say, _I can yield to God anything but this_, that thing from that moment is an idol and a snare, and we are breaking the second commandment.” Charles was silent for a few moments, thinking over his tutor’s words, till Mr. Ewart began conversation on a different subject. “You must sometimes have heard speak of an infant brother of your own.” “Oh yes, little Ernest, who was drowned three days before I was born, whose marble monument I so constantly see in church—a lovely baby, sleeping amongst water-lilies.” “His monument is there, but not his body.” “No, poor little one, it never was found. I have heard all about his death many a time: how his careless nurse set him down to crawl on the grass, and was either called away or fell asleep, I forget which, and the poor baby rolled into the river and was lost, nothing of him being recovered but his little hat and plume, which was found floating on the top of the water.” “That was the story which was told at the time by one who shrank not from adding falsehood to cruelty.” “And the nurse was half wild with grief, and dared not wait till the return of her master, who had gone to London with my poor mother on account of her health; but she soon ran away, no one knew whither, and never could be traced any more.” “She fled the place,” said Mr. Ewart, “with a man who became her husband—one who, for his bad conduct, had been dismissed by your father from the office of gamekeeper, with a threat to send him into jail. This wicked man never forgot or forgave the threat, and tempted the wretched woman whom he made his wife to a crime, in order to gratify his revenge. The babe was not drowned, but stolen. After much ill-treatment and cruelty from the unprincipled pair, who brought him up as their own son, his true birth was at length providentially discovered by the clergyman who had baptized him more than twelve years before, from a most singular mark on his shoulder.” “You cannot mean Mark!” exclaimed Charles, in extreme surprise. “I do mean Mark; the confession of Ann has confirmed my suspicions. I have not the shadow of a doubt that the boy is your brother.”