By this time the brothers had reached home. Ernest found the drawing-room empty. A novel lay on the table near which Clementina had been sitting, but the Pilgrim’s Progress had evidently been moved from the place where her cousin had left it. He remained, like many others who try to do good, in uncertainty as to whether his endeavours had been fruitless; but with the sweet assurance that whether successful or not, the smallest attempt to serve others, for the sake of the Lord, would never be forgotten by Him. In another week the family returned to Fontonore, whither Mr. Hope had preceded them by a few days in order to carry on his canvass. If the castle was beautiful at the end of autumn, when Ernest first saw his birth-place, not less striking was its appearance now. The red globe of the winter’s sun seemed to rest upon the battlements, gleaming faintly on the arched windows crusted with hoar frost. Every twig on the creepers that mantled the walls, every leaf on the evergreens that adorned the entrance, was covered with white glistening crystals, like the work of a fairy enchantress. On the bridge on which Mr. Ewart had stood to see the boys depart, he again appeared to welcome them back; and nothing gave so much pleasure to their hearts as his warm, affectionate greeting. Ernest found everything much as he had left it. Ben appeared, indeed, to have somewhat improved under the careful instruction which he had received; but Jack was the same forward, reckless boy, dead to every feeling of gratitude or shame. He was noted in the castle for mischief-making; his word was never to be depended upon; he seemed to have inherited his father’s love for gambling; but perhaps the most painful feature in his character was his undisguised dislike of his young benefactor. “I should almost recommend,” said Mr. Ewart, when speaking on the subject to his pupil, “that some other situation should be found for this unhappy boy, where he might be under severer control, and less in a position to give annoyance.” “It would certainly be a great relief to me,” replied Ernest. “He might be apprenticed to some trade.” “That would cause some expense,” observed Ernest. “True, but your uncle—” “Oh, I never would trouble my uncle upon the subject. My own quarter’s allowance is now due, but I have spent it already in my mind. You know my little project for a school here: both Jack and Ben would attend that every day. Oh, we must give him a little longer trial; I cannot afford any changes at present without sacrificing things more important.” “But the irritation to yourself,” exclaimed Charles, who was present; “the constant annoyance and worry caused by such a creature as that!” “These are the little vexations that are sent to try our patience and forbearance,” replied Ernest. “If we seek to bear them with a pilgrim’s spirit, perhaps we may discover in another world that we have owed more to our enemies than to our friends.” CHAPTER XXII. A FEW STEPS ASIDE.