“You must be to him what Jonathan was to David. One might have feared that the son of King Saul, who must naturally have once hoped to succeed to the throne of his father, would have beheld with jealousy the shepherd boy who was chosen to rule in his stead. Yet between the two there was only confidence and love, love which, however much we may admire it in David, appears tenfold more beautiful in his friend.” “We must be like Christian and Faithful in the Pilgrim’s Progress,” said Charles, now quite regaining his usual cheerfulness of manner. “He has been passing through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, and struggling under all manner of trials, and now the way is growing smooth beneath his feet, and he will have a brother to walk beside him. He will teach me something of the Valley of Humility, and I will tell him what I know of Vanity Fair. I feel really ashamed of myself now—what a worldly, self-seeking pilgrim I have been!” “God be praised!” murmured the clergyman, as he quitted the room; “God be praised, who has supported and strengthened my dear pupil in the hour of his sore temptation.” CHAPTER XII. PILGRIM’S CONVERSE BY THE WAY. “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!” “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.”