It was strange to watch the various emotions fast succeeding one another on the handsome countenance of Charles—astonishment, interest, doubt, pity, succeeded by a grave, inquiring look, as he said, “Then, if Mark be my brother, who is Lord Fontonore?” “He is, as the eldest son of your late father.” The face of Charles fell. “Then what am I?” said he. “Charles Hope; the same as your uncle.” “And the estate, and the castle, with its fine old hall, and all the pictures, everything that I have so prized and looked on as my own—are they all his?” “Everything is entailed on the eldest son.” “And have I nothing?” exclaimed Charles, his manner becoming excited; “what is to become of me, then?” “You will enter some profession, my dear boy, as your uncle did, and earn your livelihood honourably, I trust.” “But I am only a boy; how am I to be supported till then?” “Doubtless either something will be allowed from the property of your brother, or your uncle will—” “Oh, I can’t stand this!” exclaimed Charles, passionately, springing from his seat, and walking up and down the room in a state of excitement. “To be dependent—that is more than I can bear! It is bad enough to be poor, but to be dependent!” “Oh, my almost son!” exclaimed the clergyman, with emotion, “does not this very excess of grief at its loss prove that what is taken away would have been a snare to you? May you not reckon in another world amongst your chief mercies that which is now so painful to bear?” “And all my schemes of usefulness, too!” cried Charles, flinging himself down again upon his chair. “None can say what a career of usefulness may be before you yet. You may more glorify God, and more benefit man, than had your efforts never been stimulated by the necessity for exertion.” “If Mark had been the younger brother, it would have been far better; he would have been more than contented, and I—” [Illustration: CHARLES’S STRUGGLE.] “Let us never, Charles,” said Mr. Ewart, laying his hand upon his shoulder, “say that anything which man had no power to alter could be better than as the Almighty ordained it. Could we see all that He sees, past and future together; could we know all that He knows, both our powers and our interests, we should not even wish such things other than as they are; we should feel that whatever is, is right.” But pride, arrogance, and love of worldly glory were speaking too loudly in the heart of Charles to suffer him yet to listen quietly to the voice of truth. “I little thought when I found Mark what I was bringing upon myself,” said he; “and you, sir,” he added, bitterly, “you have thought much more of your new friend than of your old.” Unjust as was the reproach, it wounded Mr. Ewart. “What would you have had me do, Charles?” he said sadly, but without anger. “Gross wrong had been done, I could set it right; a much-injured boy had been long kept from his birth-right, would you have had me join with his oppressors in depriving him of it?”