Perfectly satisfied with Mr. Ewart’s choice of a home for the more than orphan girl, Ernest quitted the asylum with his brother, thankful that an opportunity had been granted him of repaying evil with good. He was enabled to provide for three children, whose parents had inflicted on him deep injuries, and from whom he had received, during the years of childhood, unkindness which had imbittered his life. It is easier to forgive one great wrong than a long course of petty provocations; and when both are united to rouse the spirit of revenge, nothing but grace given to us from Heaven can make us forgive as we have been forgiven. As the brothers passed a bookseller’s shop, on their way home, Charles paused to look at a volume in the window. “Oh, Ernest,” he exclaimed, “look what a beautiful copy is there of that work which Mr. Ewart so much wished to see! Do let us buy it for him, as a New-Year’s gift, to take back with us to Fontonore. My funds are rather low; but if we join purses, we shall easily make out the sum together.” “I really cannot,” replied Ernest, looking wistfully at the beautiful book. “Oh, but you must! You know,” said Charles, lowering his voice to a whisper, “that Mr. Ewart never procures these indulgences for himself. I believe, from what I heard my uncle say, that he entirely supports an aged mother. I never knew him spend an unnecessary shilling on himself.” “Perhaps the book is in our library,” suggested Ernest. “It is not; it was his hunting all over it for the work that made me know how much he wished to have it. I wonder, Ernest,” added Charles, with a little temper, “that one rolling in wealth like you should make such a fuss about a few shillings.” “I am not rolling in wealth at present,” answered Ernest, rather vexed at his brother’s tone; “I have not a shilling left in my purse.” “Then you must have been wondrously extravagant. Why, even I, on my half-allowance, have managed to keep a little silver, and I was never famous for economy.” Ernest made no reply. “We had better go on,” said Charles. They walked on for some time in silence. “I am afraid that I spoke rudely to you just now; will you forgive me?” said Hope, at last. “Oh, do not talk about forgiveness,” replied Ernest, cheerfully. “I think that I could forgive you anything; and one should never take offence at a word.” “I ought to have remembered,” observed Charles, “that the child whom we have just seen is a great expense to you; and yet you seem to spend so little, that I hardly fancied that you could have got through the allowance of a whole quarter. Do you not receive the same sum that I used to have when I imagined myself to be Lord Fontonore?” “No,” replied his brother, and immediately changed the conversation. They walked on for some distance, talking on other matters, when, as they were passing through one of the parks, Charles stopped, as if some thought had suddenly crossed his mind.