Charles was silent, but felt ashamed of his own injustice. “At present you and I are alone in possession of the secret. Ann’s confession was made only to me; would you wish me, were the matter in your own choice, to hush up the affair, let all things go on as before, and leave you to enjoy—not enjoy, but possess—the title and estate, which is the right of a brother?” “Oh no; I am not quite so wicked as that!” cried Charles, throwing himself into the arms of his friend, and burying his face in his bosom. “Forgive me! oh, forgive me my impatience and injustice! You were right; the things which it pains me so to part with, I was not fit to keep. They must have been my idols, though I did not know it. But this trial seems to have made me full of evil.” “It has not made the evil, it has only shown it to you, my dear boy. Water often looks clear until it is stirred; but the stirring does not cause the sand which arises, it was there while the water looked purest.” “This, then, is one of the uses of trial, I suppose, to make us know how wicked we are. An hour ago I felt so good and so happy, I thought the way to heaven so easy and delightful; and in the very first difficulty that I met, all my goodness melted away in a moment.” “But now that you are recalled to yourself—now that you remember that as strangers and pilgrims upon earth, we must not cling too closely to anything in a world through which we are but passing—I trust that, by God’s help, you will show how cheerfully a Christian can submit to the will of his Master. You will not go away, like the rich young man, sorrowing, but, following the Saviour through all life’s changing scenes, rejoice in the treasure laid up for you in heaven.” “One thing I should like,” said Charles, his face brightening again, “may I be the first to tell the news to Mark? If he is half as much delighted as I was vexed—I should so like to see how he takes it!” “Most readily do I accede to your wish,” said Mr. Ewart, “but we must say nothing to excite him just now, while he is so feverish; and it is better that he should know nothing of the change until all is more decided and settled. I am just going to write to your uncle.” “My uncle!” said Charles, looking again rather grave; “ah, how astonished he will be, and Aunt Matilda, and Clementina! I wonder if it will make them feel differently towards me—if I shall lose many friends with my title.” “There is one at least whom you will gain.” “Ah, a brother! I daresay that Mark and I will love each other, only I can never fancy him a lord.” Charles almost laughed at the idea.